Post by qohart on Feb 14, 2009 19:05:40 GMT -8
Without help from Pet and Apple, their encouragement and writing/editing skills too, this story would still be a work in progress.
As usual, I don’t own the characters, I just love them.
The Night of the Loss
by Cris Hart
Artemus Gordon sat in the living room of the private train he shared with his partner James West, reading the newspaper. He paid little attention to what he was reading. Instead, he was thinking about Jim and the woman he'd met on a recent assignment. He was glad they had this time off and equally glad Jim had suggested they return to Wisconsin so he could court the lovely Miranda. Artie smiled as he remembered the gleam in Jim’s eyes at the prospect. His partner was truly smitten. These last two weeks had been relaxing for him as well. He’d caught up on several journals he’d intended on reading and had written extensively in his own journals.
The door opened and Jim entered with Miranda Pollen. Artie stood to greet them.
"Good evening," he smiled pleasantly and gave a slight bow with his head.
"Hi, Artie," Jim greeted his friend returning the smile with a grin of his own.
"Hello, Artemus," Miranda intoned also giving Artie a pleasant smile.
"How was the show?" Artie asked conversationally.
"Very nice. Thanks for the tickets," Jim answered. He motioned toward the door with his head, an imperceptible movement only Artie caught.
"I hope you'll excuse me, Jim, Miranda, I have an appointment and I'm already late," Artie said gathering his jacket and hat. "Good night," he nodded to Miranda, cast a quick wink at his partner and closed the door behind him.
Jim took a moment to admire the beautiful woman he was now alone with. Long, auburn hair, thick and wavy, was pulled up and held with combs. It accented her brown eyes that were the color of brandy and flashed with golden flecks when she laughed. His eyes lingered on her full lips, now curling in a tiny smile. Jim allowed his eyes to drift over her hourglass figure, the emerald green gown she wore was low cut enough to tease him with a bit of cleavage and clung at her slim waist before flaring to a full skirt. She was the loveliest woman he’d ever known.
"Does he really have an appointment?" Miranda asked coyly, standing in front of Jim and placing her hands flat on his chest. She was in love for the first time in her life and she knew Jim loved her in return, she saw it in his eyes. She never tired of looking into his sparkling green eyes.
"He must. He left in such a hurry," Jim answered softly and leaned forward to kiss Miranda’s mouth.
When they parted, Miranda sucked her bottom lip for a moment. "When will he be back?" she asked, leaning closer to Jim, pressing her hips against his. She felt his arousal and smiled slyly at him.
"Not for a while, I’m sure," Jim responded quietly, drawing Miranda closer and kissing her deeply. He was falling in love with her. No, he corrected his thinking, I am already in love with her. "A long while," he added as Miranda pressed forward against him again. He’d known from their first meeting that she was the one for him. It was just a feeling at first, but getting to know Miranda first while still on their case, then afterward, had convinced him she was the one he loved and wanted to share his life with. Now certain of her returned feelings, he planned to move the relationship forward.
"Good," Miranda whispered and let him lead her down the corridor to his room. Dinner, the theatre, then the ride back to the train, they’d held each other, talked, kissed and courted. Miranda knew she should wait but she didn’t care. She wanted Jim, now, tonight.
Jim undressed her slowly, as she undressed him. Fingers unbuttoned buttons, unhooked hooks. Hands caressed bare flesh as pieces of clothing fell, touches becoming more urgent with each discarded item. Standing naked, bodies pressed together in a long kiss, Jim ran his hand lightly down her spine making her shiver as her fingers danced down his shoulder blades, his back, to his hips. He picked Miranda up and they slipped into his bed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Artie walked into the city. Superior, Wisconsin's streets were quiet at night, all the life having moved inside the saloons and dimly lit houses. Fur traders, and copper miners co-existed, mostly peaceably, with only the inevitable ‘who's tougher’ competitions breaking that peace. Artie entered the Lac Superior Saloon, crowded and smoky with the many trappers and miners puffing on cigars and drinking. He leaned against the bar watching a trapper and a miner arm wrestling. They seemed to be evenly matched. He smiled as the patrons cheered their favorite and the competitors strained and grunted in their effort to prove themselves the strongest.
"What'll it be, mister," the bar tender asked him wiping a spot on the bar near his elbow.
"Beer," Artie ordered watching as the miner finally pushed the trapper's arm to the table. A roar of cheers rose above the din as Artie took a sip of his beer.
"Who's next," the miner yelled, "Who wants to take me on," he looked around the room to see who might challenge him. His eyes fell on Artie, to the trapper’s eyes a dandy since Artie was the only one in the bar in a suit. "How about you, fella?" the miner asked him nudging a friend who snickered loudly.
Artie looked around and, realizing the miner was in fact addressing him, shook his head, "No thanks. I've seen you in action," he chuckled good-naturedly.
"You look like one of them rich, fancy lads," the miner taunted, "Lot’s o’ money to spend and not a lick of work done to earn it, eh? Might do you some good to give it a try. Build some muscle," he guffawed flexing his biceps. The men at his table laughed along with him. Even the trappers allied themselves with the miners in the obvious mismatch.
"Not interested, friend," Artie answered politely waving a hand and turned away taking another swallow of the beer. He decided a short evening was in order.
The miner grabbed Artie by the arm and spun him around, sloshing beer onto Artie’s hand. "The boys and me think you should give it a go," he menaced, flexing broad pectoral muscles. He laughed alcohol breath in Artie's face.
Artie pulled his arm free of the man's grip and set the beer back on the bar. "I said I'm not interested, friend," he said in an equally menacing tone. His eyes never left the miner’s as he wiped the beer from his hand on his handkerchief then returned the cloth to his pocket.
"Ain't your friend, Mr. Fancy Pants," the miner shoved Artie in the chest using both hands.
"I just came in for a beer and I've had that," Artie flipped a coin onto the bar and tried to step around the miner who shoved him back against the bar again. His friends laughed. "I wouldn't advise doing that again," Artie told him in an even tone having had enough of the drunken miner.
The miner laughed again and turned to his friends, "That sounded like a threat to me, boys. What say?" he asked them.
"Sure did, Buck," they chorused their agreement.
Buck turned back to Artie. "You threatening me, mister?" he asked pushing his face close to Artie's and grabbed hold of his lapels.
Artie could smell the liquor heavy on Buck's breath. "Not a threat, friend. I promise you, it's sound advice," he said in the same low, even voice and forcibly removed the man’s hands from his jacket front.
"I said I ain't your friend and I don't like being threatened by some rich, lazy, gad about," Buck said loudly and swung a fist at Artie’s face.
Artie ducked under the punch and came up swinging. He connected with Buck's chin sending him backward and over the table. Buck's stunned friends backed away from the table and looked down at him, paralyzed with surprise.
"I promised you it was sound advice, friend," Artie answered defiantly, stressing the word friend, and walked out of the bar without a backward glance. No one challenged the well-dressed stranger who had bested one of their own.
On the street, Artie shook his head and his hand, flexing his painful knuckles. He hadn't intended on a barroom brawl, and considered himself lucky to have been able to leave before one really erupted. Artie forced himself to stroll down the street in an effort to regain the peace and calm he’d wanted. Just a beer, he thought, all I wanted was a beer before retiring. Taking in a deep breath and exhaling it as slowly as his pace, he felt a measure of calm returning. Artie continued his leisurely walk until he found a decent hotel and checked in. In his room, as he undressed, he turned his thoughts again to Jim and Miranda. He could tell Jim loved her and wondered if Jim had admitted that fact to himself yet. He smiled, happy for his friend, as he climbed into the bed and closed his eyes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next morning dawned clear, a warm late spring day. Jim, already freshly shaved and dressed, sat on the edge of the bed watching Miranda sleep. He remembered their first meeting.
Stopping a gang of bank robbers, Jim had entered the latest targeted bank and found the robbery in progress. Miranda had been a witness to everything and Jim had spent time with her taking her statement and preparing for the trial. She had impressed him. Refusing to back down even when one of the gang members threatened her, Jim had found himself intrigued and wanting to know this woman better. He’d arranged it and Miranda had not objected in the least.
She stirred and opened her eyes dreamily and smiled at Jim.
"Good morning," she whispered sleepily, stretching languorously.
"Marry me," Jim answered a happy and love filled expression on his face.
Miranda stopped stretching and looked at him seriously. "What did you say?" she asked.
"Marry me," Jim repeated. He handed her a small jewel box.
Miranda sat up in the bed and opened the box. Inside was a diamond engagement ring. She gasped and threw her arms around Jim's neck sobbing and laughing at the same time.
"Is that a yes?" Jim teased hugging her tightly.
"Yes! Oh, yes," Miranda cried. She pulled back and Jim took the ring from the box and slipped it on her finger. "Oh, Jim, I'm so happy!" she sobbed happily looking from the beautiful ring on her finger to the handsome man she loved.
"So am I," Jim’s smile split his face from ear to ear, his eyes danced at his love’s happiness.
Miranda threw back the covers, rose and turned to him. “I need to wash up and get dressed,” she announced a little breathlessly.
“I drew you a bath,” Jim said softly and wrapped his arms around her, bending to kiss the nape of her neck. He led her to the washroom where a steaming bath awaited invitingly.
Miranda returned half an hour later and began to dress quickly. "There are so many plans to make," she laughed, "When should we have the wedding?"
"You decide. Anytime is fine with me," Jim answered watching her dress. He buttoned up the back of her dress for her.
"Next month," Miranda turned to face him putting her arms on his shoulders and caressing the back of his neck. "I've always wanted a June wedding," she gushed.
"Then you'll be a June bride," Jim agreed and kissed her. They held their embrace for a long time. Then Jim said, "I'd better get you home."
They walked into the living room together as the door opened and Artemus entered from outside.
"Whoops," Artie said and began to duck out again. He glanced up to see if Jim had put on the signal light as he drew the door closed, cursing himself for not having checked first.
"No, Artemus, stay," Miranda called. "We have some news."
Artie came back in, saw their happy countenances and guessed what the news was, but let them announce it on their own.
"We're going to be married," Jim said looking happier than Artie had ever seen him. Miranda held up her hand, wiggling her fingers, showing off her ring.
"Congratulations!" Artie cried and shook Jim's hand vigorously and clapped him on the shoulder. He turned to Miranda, "I'm so happy for you both," he smiled at her, raised his eyebrows in question and held his arms out inviting a hug. The tug of sadness in his heart he’d experienced last night, returned to momentarily mix with the happiness he truly felt for his best friend. Artemus, old son, you’re being selfish, he admonished silently.
Miranda gave him a friendly embrace, "So are we. It’s going to be next month." She turned to Jim, squeezed his arm excitedly, “I can’t wait to tell mother and father,” she exclaimed.
"I'm going to take Miranda home. I'll be back soon, Artie," Jim said and guided Miranda
out.
"Congratulations!" Artie called to them as the door closed. Slowly his smile faded. It was really going to happen. Jim would marry. He was genuinely happy for them and yet in the pit of his stomach, he felt a loss. Their relationship would change drastically now.
Married agents rarely did field work. Artie could not imagine working with another partner, but his smile returned when he thought about how happy Jim had looked. Artie went to his room to clean up and change. Jim’s happiness was well worth the adjustments. He mentally began to plan a big celebratory party for the happy couple.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Engaged!” cried Mrs. Pollen rushing to her daughter. She fussed over the beautiful diamond on Miranda’s finger. The news eased her disapproval of Miranda’s absence all night and her early morning return.
“Well, congratulations,” added her father, kissing her tenderly on the cheek. As the women oo’d and ah’d over the ring, Mr. Pollen turned to Jim. “You take good care of my baby girl,” he said seriously but with a glint in his eye. He shook Jim’s hand warmly. His mind, too, was relieved of the worry he’d experienced when his ‘little girl’ had failed to come home last night. He caught his wife’s eye and they briefly shared their relief.
“I will, sir,” Jim assured him with a firm shake in return. He was still smiling. It seemed he could not stop smiling. He was never happier than he was right now.
“Welcome to the family, son,” Mr. Pollen said softly, his words slightly choked with emotion.
“Have you decided when, baby bird?” Mr. Pollen asked Miranda when he’d composed himself.
“Next month, daddy, on the 25th. I’ll be a June bride,” Miranda answered, tears near spilling in her eyes. “Mother, we have so many things to do,” she added.
“I should get back to the train and start making some arrangements of my own,” Jim told the happy family.
“I’ll see you out, Jim,” Miranda answered hooking her arm in his.
In front of Miranda's house, they kissed again. "Let's take a sail on the lake next week and picnic on Apostle Island to celebrate," she suggested. “That will give mother and I a chance to get a good start on the wedding arrangements.”
"All right. The weather is warm and clear this time of year. It should be fun," Jim readily agreed.
"I'll fix a basket. Pick me up at noon on Wednesday?" Miranda asked.
"I'll be here," Jim promised. “And I’ll bring the wine.”
"Bring Artemus, too," Miranda said as he began to turn away.
Jim cocked his head quizzically at her, "Why?" he asked curious. It was not that he did not want his friend to join them, but the request surprised him a little coming from Miranda who did not know Artie well.
"I expect this is quite a surprise for him, Jim. You two have been partners a long time. He's going to have a big adjustment to make. And it will give me a chance to get to know him better. He is your best friend, after all. Besides it's the nice thing to do," she chided mildly.
"Then he'll come," Jim assured her and with one more, quick peck, he left.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Artie was just setting breakfast on the table when Jim returned. "Mmm. That smells good," Jim commented to his friend as he tossed his hat toward the rack by the door.
"Have a seat. There's plenty," Artie said placing a plate of eggs benedict at both places. "Coffee?"
"Absolutely," Jim replied sitting across from Artie. He'd been thinking about what Miranda had said about Artie adjusting to the idea of his marriage. "Artie," he broached the subject head on.
"Yes, Jim?" Artie answered expectantly as he passed a steaming cup to Jim.
"How do you feel about this? My getting married, I mean?" Jim asked looking his partner in the eyes.
"I couldn't be happier for you. Miranda's a wonderful girl and I've never seen you so happy," Artie beamed enthusiastically and honestly.
"But what about our partnership? How do you feel about how this will affect it?" Jim pressed.
"Well," Artie paused a second, "Selfishly, I'm sad about that. But the President will find me another partner, I’m sure. It won't be the same, of course, but it'll all work out," he said trying not to let his own emotions show and spoil his friend’s happiness.
"I don't plan on giving up field work completely, you know. We'll still get to work together sometimes," Jim told him. He saw right through his friend’s attempt at hiding his feelings, but knew that Artie was genuinely pleased for him.
"Sure we will," Artie lied, evoking a confidence in the statement he did not feel. "Now eat. Those eggs are terrible when they get cold," he said, "and I'm not making you more."
"Miranda and I are going to sail out to Apostle Island for a celebration picnic on Wednesday. We want you to join us," Jim said forking egg into his mouth satisfied that the issue was settled.
"Oh, no, I don't think so," Artie demurred, "You should be alone to celebrate."
"Please, Artie. We want you with us," Jim said sincerely, looking his friend in the eye.
Artie held his gaze then acquiesced, "All right then, I'd be honored."
They ate breakfast with Jim monopolizing the conversation with his plans for his future with Miranda, the home he planned to build for them, the children he hoped they’d have. Artie was uncharacteristically quiet, smiling at Jim’s happy talk and enjoying the fact that Jim was fulfilled at last.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
While the two friends were eating and talking and sharing dreams and plans for the future, the Pollen household was abuzz with activity. Mrs. Pollen called in a seamstress and Miranda described what she wanted for her wedding gown. The seamstress took measurements and suggested laces and beads placed decoratively but demurely. By the end of the day, the seamstress assured mother and daughter she could have the gown ready in a month.
Mr. Pollen ordered announcements printed on the finest stock the printer could provide. With that chore completed, he continued to the groggery to arrange for the best champagne and brandy. Nothing was too good for his little girl. He whistled happily as he rode back home that afternoon.
Jim and Artie called on a tailor who stated firmly he could never sew a tuxedo in just a month. Artie picked up on the little tailor’s accent and using a close mimic of it soon had the tailor welcoming the challenge of producing a tuxedo for the fine gentleman who stood before him in such a short period of time. They chuckled quietly as they left his shop and headed for the saloon, a drink, and some lunch.
The ensuing days found all parties similarly engaged. There were fittings with the seamstress and the tailor, flowers to be arranged, the minister and the church booked. In between, Jim and Miranda found time to visit every day. Usually they had time for a walk and a talk or a quick bite to eat. They exchanged information on how the plans were progressing, stole kisses, held hands and generally basked in their happiness.
Wednesday came and the agents picked Miranda up at noon in their buggy. Artie sat in the back and felt a little like a fifth wheel as the couple kissed and touched and spoke lovingly to each other during the ride to the lake.
"Last chance to enjoy your celebration alone," Artie offered after they'd rented a sailboat.
"Nonsense. You're joining us and I promise we won't embarrass you with our behavior," Miranda smiled at him and squeezed Jim's arm. Then hooking an arm in each of the men’s, she walked with them to where the sailboat awaited.
Apostle Island was a nearly deserted spit of land off the tip of Wisconsin. The breeze was soft and they slipped over the placid water like a sled over ice. Artie guided the boat up to the rocky shore of Apostle Island where Jim jumped out and helped Miranda disembark. The trio walked along the shore and collected shells and smooth, polished stones, chatting pleasantly. Miranda directed questions to Artie, attempting to get to know him. She knew only what Jim had told her about him and she truly wanted to be his friend. It was something she knew Jim would appreciate and if it was important to Jim, then it was important to her as well. Finally, they spread out their picnic and enjoyed the food and more conversation.
By mid afternoon, a few clouds scudded across the blue sky. Lake Superior was famous for its sudden and potentially violent storms.
"Maybe we should head back," Artie suggested, casting a look up at the gathering clouds.
"It is getting late and those clouds are coming in fast," Jim agreed.
"Just let me pack up the basket," Miranda said placing their leftovers into the basket. She handed the loaded box to Jim and they boarded the little skiff.
The lake surface was already dotted with tiny whitecaps. As they sailed the wind picked up quickly. More clouds crowded the sky, darkening it with a thick black mantle, heralding a storm. When the clouds inevitably burst, the three were doused with a hard, cold rain. The waves rose to large swells then beyond. One broke over their craft as they were tossed on the choppy water like a toy boat. Thunder rolled loudly and lightening split the sky. The wind screamed in their ears and bit at their faces.
Artie tried to steer them, Jim struggled to control the whipping sail. Miranda sat wide-eyed and frightened, gripping the sides of the boat.
"Get the sail down," Artie yelled over the crashing torrent of the storm.
"Not yet. Get us closer," Jim yelled back. The sail, though, flailed in the wind nearly useless.
"Get the sail down," Artie shouted more urgently. He was staring out across the water where a large rogue wave was rushing toward them.
Jim tugged and yanked at the lines. "It's jammed," he yelled turning toward Artie.
"Get down," Artie cried frantically, but he was too late.
The sail whipped around and the yard arm caught Jim in the back of the head hurling him into the dark churning water. The huge wave barreled over them and capsized the boat.
Jim bobbed in the swirling water. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs left by the blow from the yardarm. With a clearer head, he began searching the surface for his friends. Miranda popped up sputtering to his right and by the overturned boat, and right after her, to her right, Artie broke the surface taking in a lungful of air. Jim swam the short distance to them, he and Miranda on one side of the capsized boat, Artie on the other. They clung to the hull as the waves surged and crashed and tossed them haplessly across the lake.
A strong undertow pulled Artie down. The next instant, Miranda slipped under the water caught in the same strong current. Jim instinctively reached for Artie first then drew back, turned and dove after Miranda.
"Miranda!" he shouted before disappearing under the surface.
Artie fought his way to the surface and came up next to the boat. He hung onto the hull, gasping in air, scanning the lake for the other two.
Jim came back up without Miranda. He looked left then right then dove under again. Artie dove under the waves with him. They came up together, took in lungs full of air and dove again. Twice more, they repeated their dives, still with no sign of Miranda. Artie dove down the fourth time with Jim but had to come up for air before him. He was too tired from the struggle against the waves and currents.
Seconds ticked by seeming like hours. Jim was down longer than Artie thought was safe, so he dove under once again. He could barely see in the murky water. A flash of pale blue to his left and he grabbed it, hauling it and himself to the surface. Clutching the hull with one arm and holding onto Jim’s jacket, he looked into his partner’s eyes. Jim tore himself from Artie's grasp. He tried to go down again, but Artie stopped him by snatching his sleeve.
"Jim, you can't," he shouted urgently, aware that his friend must be as exhausted as he was…
"What are you talking about?" Jim cried angrily forcing Artie's fingers off his jacket.
"She's gone, Jim," Artie yelled miserably as thunder continued to boom..
"No!" Jim yelled back at him and dove under the wind whipped water one more time.
Artie clung to the hull and was about to go after Jim again when his partner broke the surface on the other side of the boat. Jim hauled himself up desperately, clinging to the hull a desolate look in his eyes. He was beyond exhaustion.
"I can't find her," he gasped. He lost his grip as a wave swelled over them and he began to slide into the water, his strength gone.
"Take my hand," Artie shouted and reached across the hull with his right hand.
Wretchedly, Jim reached up with his right hand and felt Artie grasp his wrist tightly. Another wave slammed down on top of them. Jim's forehead hit the upturned hull and his world went black.
How much later, he did not know, but slowly, Jim opened his eyes. A steady rain pelted his face. He raised his head and saw he was lying on a pebbled beach. His head thrummed and he winced as he slowly sat up. Artie was at the sailboat, now beached, examining the damaged yard arm.
"Where are we?" Jim asked groggily.
Artie came to him and knelt on one knee next to his friend. "No idea. Maybe Picture Rock Island," Artie said placing a hand on his partner’s shoulder, "Don't try to get up yet, Jim, just sit there and rest. You took quite a good whack on the head. Twice."
Jim shook his head trying to clear the cobwebs. Then he suddenly jumped up. "Miranda!" he exclaimed and raced toward the water.
Artie was on him in a flash, hauling him back. "Jim!" he shouted, wrapping his arms around his partner’s chest. "Stop it! You can't save her. She's gone!" he cried struggling to keep his hold on Jim, "She's gone," he said more gently as Jim slowed then finally stopped his struggling.
Artie let him go and Jim stood on the shore, head down, for a moment then looked up at Artie with eyes that startled his partner. "It's your fault!" Jim snarled and swung at Artie smashing his fist into his partner's face.
Taken unaware, Artie staggered back, landing hard on his backside. He wiped a trickle of blood from his lower lip and stared at Jim in surprise. He rose silently, not knowing what to say or do.
"If you hadn't been with us I could have saved her," Jim yelled, mad with grief. He hit Artie again, harder, this time connecting with his eye. Blinding sparks of light flashed behind Artie’s eye as Jim’s fist connected. Jim landed a blow to Artie’s stomach, causing the breath to whoosh from his lungs in a sudden exhalation that doubled him over. Jim clenched his fists and brought them down on Artie's back driving him to his knees.
Artie scrambled away from the assault and managed to regain to his feet. "Jim, stop," he said gently, holding one hand out placating. His friend was in pain and he didn't know what to do to help him other than be there for him. Jim rushed forward and tackled Artie to the ground again.
"Your fault!" Jim cried over and over, pummeling Artie with blow after blow. Finally he stopped, looking down at his partner. Tears streamed unchecked down his face. Shoulders slumped, Jim climbed off Artie and he knelt on the ground sobbing in anguish.
Artie crawled over to his friend and put an arm around his shoulders drawing him close. Jim sobbed against him then pushed him away roughly.
"I don't ever want to talk to you again," Jim said angry again. He stalked away from Artie to the edge of the lake and stood looking out over the calming waters as the sudden storm subsided as quickly as it had come on. Jim’s fists clenched and unclenched at his sides as he seethed.
The rain stopped and the sky began to clear. Artie worked to repair the sail the best he could. They did not speak until Artie was finished working on the boat. "We should try and get back," he said quietly to Jim. He reached out to take Jim by the elbow, but his partner sidestepped him.
Jim would not look at him, did not speak, but launched the boat. Artie stepped in and they sailed along the shoreline slowly until they found their way back to the dock. Jim immediately disembarked and walked away. He took the buggy leaving Artie to make his own way back to the train.
It was a grief stricken and disheveled James West that knocked on the door of the Pollen home. He’d made no attempt to tidy his appearance before facing the parents of his beloved Miranda. At the sight of him, they knew something dreadful had happened. When they heard the truth of it, Jim could only bear to stay long enough to express his sorrow and promise to help with any arrangements, before he had to leave them. He feared he would find himself keening on the floor next to Miranda’s poor mother. They did not blame him; there were no words of recrimination. Head down, Jim pulled himself into the buggy and headed toward the train. He did not stop the wash of tears down his cheeks as he rode.
When Artie finally arrived back at the train, Jim was sitting on the sofa his head in his hands. He did not look up when Artie entered; clothes now dry but wrinkled beyond hope.
"Jim," Artie said uncertainly as he pushed the door closed behind him, "Do you want to talk?"
"I thought I made myself clear about that," Jim answered bitterly. "Miranda was the only woman I ever loved and you took her away from me."
"How?" Artie implored softly, "How was my being there the cause of her death?" he asked morosely, desperate to understand what his friend was going through.
Jim looked up with hatred in his eyes. It was like a physical blow and Artie actually took a step back. "You both went under. I reached for you first. If you hadn't been with us,” Jim’s voice raised an octave, “I would have gone for her first. I might have saved her," Jim was yelling at him. "You're always around! Why did you come along?"
"You asked me to," Artie replied softly, the only answer he could give.
And something inside Jim snapped. Springing at Artie so quickly he didn't have time to react, Jim knocked him down and bashed his head against the floor, his fingers locked around his partner’s throat, yelling obscenities at him. Artie tried to pry Jim's fingers loose so he could breathe. Jim suddenly released his hold. Artie gasped loudly as breath returned. Jim began to beat him in the ribs until he heard the loud satisfying crack of a rib breaking. That seemed to please Jim and break the spell. He got up and with an awful grimace on his face, stood looking down at Artie as he gasped for breath and curled onto his side.
The telegraph began to chatter and Jim hurried to respond. Artie got up slowly, painfully, holding his injured side. He listened to the message and stared wide eyed at Jim.
"You wired for a new partner?" he moaned in shocked disbelief.
"I can't stand the sight of you. As soon as we get back to Washington, we're through. And if I can find a way to press charges against you, I will," Jim spat keeping his back to Artie.
"What charges?" Artie had to ask. He knew Jim was suffering and needed to blame someone. Artie did not care if Jim wanted to take his anger and frustration out on him, but charges?
"Causing the death of a civilian," Jim answered, but he sounded like he was searching for something more severe.
"Jim, you can't believe that," Artie responded calmly, "I didn't cause Miranda's death. She was pulled under and she drowned."
Jim's shoulders were shaking, "Why didn't you let me go after her," he sobbed bitterly.
"You dove after her five times. You were exhausted. You would have drowned too, that's why," Artie answered going to Jim and placing his hand gently on his friend's back.
"You should have let me drown, then," Jim replied despondently. He shrugged Artie's hand off and without another word, went to his room and closed the door
“You don’t mean that,” Artie’s shocked voice called to Jim’s retreating back. He got no response. He sat heavily on the sofa, head in his hands, thinking, worrying. He glanced down the corridor then ran his fingers through his hair as he made his way to his own room to change.
Artie’s attempts to speak to Jim or get him to eat some supper went unanswered. Jim refused to acknowledge him in any way. Worn out and worried, Artie retired to his room for the night. Once or twice he thought he heard Jim grieving with mournful cries.
The next morning, Jim came into the parlor, shaved and neatly dressed.
“Coffee?” Artie asked quietly, offering a cup.
“I have to meet with the Pollen’s and arrange a memorial service,” was all Jim said as he left the train without a glance at his partner.
Together with the Pollen’s, Jim helped to pick out flowers and speak to the minister about a memorial service. They had no body to bury, but he paid for a marker stone to be placed in Miranda’s family’s plot. At least her parents would have a spot to come and grieve their daughter. The service was to be held that evening, the stone placed when the engraving was completed.
“I’ll be back at 5:00, Mr. and Mrs. Pollen,” Jim spoke in an uncharacteristically morose tone, his voice thick with emotion.
“Jim, you made Miranda happy; happier than she’d ever been in her life. We’re so sorry for you too. We know you loved her as much as her mother and I did,” Mr. Pollen consoled him, shaking his hand.
There was nothing more he could say. Jim nodded to them and took his leave.
He rode back to the train slowly. He did not want to see Artie, could not bear to see him. Jim stopped at a saloon and downed a number of whiskey shots. It helped dull his pain for a while at least. Then he ran Blackjack as fast and hard as he could push him through a wooded area close to the train siding. He stopped to let his stallion rest and dropped to sit under a large pine tree.
Distraught, angry and confused, he wanted to cry out his grief and pain but held it in like a dark secret. It was a perverse twist he allowed himself. He wanted to feel the pain, wanted to let it fuel his anger so that he might be able to maintain control until after the service was over.
Jim kept replaying in his mind the events of the day before. He’d gone from ecstatically happy to utterly lost and forlorn all in the space of a few short hours. Miranda’s frightened eyes as she clung to the boat seemed to loom before his vision. He could still feel the relief when they hung on to the overturned craft. His fright when she slipped under the raging waters caused his heart to pound even now. His desperate attempts to find her haunted him.
After spending many hours as he could spare trying to discover what he could have done differently in order to save his love, the only answer he allowed himself was, if he had not reached for Artie first, he may have saved Miranda. Rage exploded in him and he jumped up and drove his fist into the trunk of the tree imagining Artie’s face there. With the crack of his knuckles against the bark, Jim knew he wanted to hurt Artie. Hurt him as much as he felt Artie had hurt him. Whether he would act on that feeling remained to be seen.
He had avoided Artie as long as he possibly could. He had to return to the train to change for the memorial service.
James West, controlled, stoic, and poised at all times had never experienced so strong and confusing an emotion as he did now. He wanted to be angry at Artie, wanted to hurt him, wanted to hate him. And yet, he desperately wanted relief, comfort, and understanding. In the past Jim had turned to his partner and friend for these. Now he refused to even entertain the thought and pushed the desire to deep into his subconscious. James West was experiencing the unbalance of mind and soul that depression fed itself on. And it was making a meal of Jim.
His hopes that Artie would be out or in his room or in the lab were dashed when he entered the parlor. Artie sat at the desk, writing in his journal. For some reason, that simple act enraged Jim.
“Jim,” Artie addressed him hesitantly.
“Leave me alone,” Jim replied tersely and went directly to his room. He heard Artie’s footsteps approaching and his anger flashed brighter and hotter.
"Why are you insisting on going through this alone?" Artie asked softly. "Let me help, talk to me, Jim, please," Artie said from outside the door. Silence. “Jim?” he called one more time.
Jim hastily changed into a black suit and white shirt. He could not answer and only hoped Artie would go away before it was time to leave for the service. As angry as he was, Jim was sure it would be easy to kill the man he’d once considered his friend, his brother. And it might just be worth his career to do so. How could Artie sit at the desk calmly writing in his precious journal! Jim started for the door but he heard Artie’s footfalls retreating, sparing him a murder charge. Jim chose to slip out through the stable car rather than chance confronting Artie again.
Artie heard Jim’s exit and sighed wearily. All their years of friendship lay broken before him. A chasm as wide as the Grand Canyon seemed to yawn between them. Was it irreparable, he wondered? He hoped not, but unless Jim talked to him, it might be. He turned to his journal and poured out his heart into the pages.
The memorial service was short and solemn. Miranda’s mother wept inconsolably, her husband holding her so she did not collapse onto their daughter’s plot. Jim managed to control his emotions during the service and during the time he spent with the Pollens and the family and friends who returned to the house with them, for their sake, he told himself. But a few hours later, he wept bitter, angry tears as he returned to the train alone. Alone. Jim felt he was completely alone and as he approached and regained his composure, he clung to the feeling, wrapping himself in its embrace.
Artie spent those same hours alone with his thoughts. Finally, he heard Jim re-enter the train from the stable car. It was nearly half an hour after that, before he heard Jim come up the corridor. He waited and was surprised and hopeful when he heard him nearing the parlor rather than entering his room.
Jim came in, eyes averted, and poured himself a cup of coffee from the service on the table.
“Jim?” Artie asked gently, hopefully. “Are you all right?”
The coffee pot clattered loudly as Jim set it down roughly. All right? He’d never be all right again. “No,” was the one word answer he gave.
Deciding to press his luck, Artie went and stood in front of Jim ducking his head to try and catch Jim’s eye. “Jim, I want to help but I can’t if you won’t tell me what you’re feeling, what’s going on inside you. Please let me help,” he started. He saw Jim’s eyes narrow, but they did not meet his.
"It hurts too much to even see you," Jim spoke barely above a whisper. “I’ve told Alex to get us to Washington as fast as possible.” He turned and went to his room abandoning the coffee without a sip.
Artie felt the familiar lurch of the train as they started for Washington and his heart took a lurch as well. Later in the evening, Artie tried again to reach his friend and brought a tray to Jim's room. He knocked.
"Go away," Jim said flatly.
"I brought you something to eat. I'll leave the tray for you here," Artie replied softly.
"I don't want it," Jim answered with a bitter exhalation.
"I'll leave it anyway, in case you change your mind," Artie said and placed the tray on the floor. He retired to his own room for the night.
The tray was still there, untouched in the morning. Artie took it away with a shake of his head. Time was passing, slipping away from him. He wracked his brain trying to find a way to reach his partner. But how do you reach a man who won’t even look at you, let alone speak. A couple of hours later when Jim had still not come out, he brought coffee to him and knocked. There was no answer so he knocked again.
Getting no answer again, Artie called softly, "Jim, are you awake?" Silence. "If you don't answer, I'm coming in," Artie announced. Silence. He opened the door slowly and peered in. Jim lay on the bed, an empty bottle of scotch on the floor, another having spilled its few remaining drops onto the bed. Artie put the coffee on the nightstand and picked up the empty bottles. His ribs screamed their protests when he leaned down to pick up the bottle from the floor. If only it was Jim's pain he was bearing. He wanted desperately to take it from his friend, ease his sick heart. Artie sat on the edge of the bed and gently shook Jim's shoulder.
Jim opened bleary eyes, staring for just a moment. "What do you want?" he snapped.
"I brought you coffee," Artie answered patiently, "Do you want some breakfast?"
"No," Jim answered and rolled away from him.
"Can I get you anything?" Artie asked standing.
"Yes. Scotch--and then you can get the hell away from me," Jim rebuked acidly.
"You’re already drunk. You think this will help?" Artie asked patiently, in a soft voice usually reserved for someone speaking to a child.
"What does it matter to you?" Jim shot back fixing Artie with a painful glare.
“Jim, it does matter to me,” he answered quietly. The bitter words stung. Jim rolled away from his gaze. With a sigh, Artie went and got a bottle of scotch. "Do you want a glass?" he asked.
"No," Jim snatched the bottle, opened it and took a long swallow. He glared at Artie, daring him to reprimand. When none came Jim changed his expression to one of expectancy.
As usual, I don’t own the characters, I just love them.
The Night of the Loss
by Cris Hart
Artemus Gordon sat in the living room of the private train he shared with his partner James West, reading the newspaper. He paid little attention to what he was reading. Instead, he was thinking about Jim and the woman he'd met on a recent assignment. He was glad they had this time off and equally glad Jim had suggested they return to Wisconsin so he could court the lovely Miranda. Artie smiled as he remembered the gleam in Jim’s eyes at the prospect. His partner was truly smitten. These last two weeks had been relaxing for him as well. He’d caught up on several journals he’d intended on reading and had written extensively in his own journals.
The door opened and Jim entered with Miranda Pollen. Artie stood to greet them.
"Good evening," he smiled pleasantly and gave a slight bow with his head.
"Hi, Artie," Jim greeted his friend returning the smile with a grin of his own.
"Hello, Artemus," Miranda intoned also giving Artie a pleasant smile.
"How was the show?" Artie asked conversationally.
"Very nice. Thanks for the tickets," Jim answered. He motioned toward the door with his head, an imperceptible movement only Artie caught.
"I hope you'll excuse me, Jim, Miranda, I have an appointment and I'm already late," Artie said gathering his jacket and hat. "Good night," he nodded to Miranda, cast a quick wink at his partner and closed the door behind him.
Jim took a moment to admire the beautiful woman he was now alone with. Long, auburn hair, thick and wavy, was pulled up and held with combs. It accented her brown eyes that were the color of brandy and flashed with golden flecks when she laughed. His eyes lingered on her full lips, now curling in a tiny smile. Jim allowed his eyes to drift over her hourglass figure, the emerald green gown she wore was low cut enough to tease him with a bit of cleavage and clung at her slim waist before flaring to a full skirt. She was the loveliest woman he’d ever known.
"Does he really have an appointment?" Miranda asked coyly, standing in front of Jim and placing her hands flat on his chest. She was in love for the first time in her life and she knew Jim loved her in return, she saw it in his eyes. She never tired of looking into his sparkling green eyes.
"He must. He left in such a hurry," Jim answered softly and leaned forward to kiss Miranda’s mouth.
When they parted, Miranda sucked her bottom lip for a moment. "When will he be back?" she asked, leaning closer to Jim, pressing her hips against his. She felt his arousal and smiled slyly at him.
"Not for a while, I’m sure," Jim responded quietly, drawing Miranda closer and kissing her deeply. He was falling in love with her. No, he corrected his thinking, I am already in love with her. "A long while," he added as Miranda pressed forward against him again. He’d known from their first meeting that she was the one for him. It was just a feeling at first, but getting to know Miranda first while still on their case, then afterward, had convinced him she was the one he loved and wanted to share his life with. Now certain of her returned feelings, he planned to move the relationship forward.
"Good," Miranda whispered and let him lead her down the corridor to his room. Dinner, the theatre, then the ride back to the train, they’d held each other, talked, kissed and courted. Miranda knew she should wait but she didn’t care. She wanted Jim, now, tonight.
Jim undressed her slowly, as she undressed him. Fingers unbuttoned buttons, unhooked hooks. Hands caressed bare flesh as pieces of clothing fell, touches becoming more urgent with each discarded item. Standing naked, bodies pressed together in a long kiss, Jim ran his hand lightly down her spine making her shiver as her fingers danced down his shoulder blades, his back, to his hips. He picked Miranda up and they slipped into his bed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Artie walked into the city. Superior, Wisconsin's streets were quiet at night, all the life having moved inside the saloons and dimly lit houses. Fur traders, and copper miners co-existed, mostly peaceably, with only the inevitable ‘who's tougher’ competitions breaking that peace. Artie entered the Lac Superior Saloon, crowded and smoky with the many trappers and miners puffing on cigars and drinking. He leaned against the bar watching a trapper and a miner arm wrestling. They seemed to be evenly matched. He smiled as the patrons cheered their favorite and the competitors strained and grunted in their effort to prove themselves the strongest.
"What'll it be, mister," the bar tender asked him wiping a spot on the bar near his elbow.
"Beer," Artie ordered watching as the miner finally pushed the trapper's arm to the table. A roar of cheers rose above the din as Artie took a sip of his beer.
"Who's next," the miner yelled, "Who wants to take me on," he looked around the room to see who might challenge him. His eyes fell on Artie, to the trapper’s eyes a dandy since Artie was the only one in the bar in a suit. "How about you, fella?" the miner asked him nudging a friend who snickered loudly.
Artie looked around and, realizing the miner was in fact addressing him, shook his head, "No thanks. I've seen you in action," he chuckled good-naturedly.
"You look like one of them rich, fancy lads," the miner taunted, "Lot’s o’ money to spend and not a lick of work done to earn it, eh? Might do you some good to give it a try. Build some muscle," he guffawed flexing his biceps. The men at his table laughed along with him. Even the trappers allied themselves with the miners in the obvious mismatch.
"Not interested, friend," Artie answered politely waving a hand and turned away taking another swallow of the beer. He decided a short evening was in order.
The miner grabbed Artie by the arm and spun him around, sloshing beer onto Artie’s hand. "The boys and me think you should give it a go," he menaced, flexing broad pectoral muscles. He laughed alcohol breath in Artie's face.
Artie pulled his arm free of the man's grip and set the beer back on the bar. "I said I'm not interested, friend," he said in an equally menacing tone. His eyes never left the miner’s as he wiped the beer from his hand on his handkerchief then returned the cloth to his pocket.
"Ain't your friend, Mr. Fancy Pants," the miner shoved Artie in the chest using both hands.
"I just came in for a beer and I've had that," Artie flipped a coin onto the bar and tried to step around the miner who shoved him back against the bar again. His friends laughed. "I wouldn't advise doing that again," Artie told him in an even tone having had enough of the drunken miner.
The miner laughed again and turned to his friends, "That sounded like a threat to me, boys. What say?" he asked them.
"Sure did, Buck," they chorused their agreement.
Buck turned back to Artie. "You threatening me, mister?" he asked pushing his face close to Artie's and grabbed hold of his lapels.
Artie could smell the liquor heavy on Buck's breath. "Not a threat, friend. I promise you, it's sound advice," he said in the same low, even voice and forcibly removed the man’s hands from his jacket front.
"I said I ain't your friend and I don't like being threatened by some rich, lazy, gad about," Buck said loudly and swung a fist at Artie’s face.
Artie ducked under the punch and came up swinging. He connected with Buck's chin sending him backward and over the table. Buck's stunned friends backed away from the table and looked down at him, paralyzed with surprise.
"I promised you it was sound advice, friend," Artie answered defiantly, stressing the word friend, and walked out of the bar without a backward glance. No one challenged the well-dressed stranger who had bested one of their own.
On the street, Artie shook his head and his hand, flexing his painful knuckles. He hadn't intended on a barroom brawl, and considered himself lucky to have been able to leave before one really erupted. Artie forced himself to stroll down the street in an effort to regain the peace and calm he’d wanted. Just a beer, he thought, all I wanted was a beer before retiring. Taking in a deep breath and exhaling it as slowly as his pace, he felt a measure of calm returning. Artie continued his leisurely walk until he found a decent hotel and checked in. In his room, as he undressed, he turned his thoughts again to Jim and Miranda. He could tell Jim loved her and wondered if Jim had admitted that fact to himself yet. He smiled, happy for his friend, as he climbed into the bed and closed his eyes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next morning dawned clear, a warm late spring day. Jim, already freshly shaved and dressed, sat on the edge of the bed watching Miranda sleep. He remembered their first meeting.
Stopping a gang of bank robbers, Jim had entered the latest targeted bank and found the robbery in progress. Miranda had been a witness to everything and Jim had spent time with her taking her statement and preparing for the trial. She had impressed him. Refusing to back down even when one of the gang members threatened her, Jim had found himself intrigued and wanting to know this woman better. He’d arranged it and Miranda had not objected in the least.
She stirred and opened her eyes dreamily and smiled at Jim.
"Good morning," she whispered sleepily, stretching languorously.
"Marry me," Jim answered a happy and love filled expression on his face.
Miranda stopped stretching and looked at him seriously. "What did you say?" she asked.
"Marry me," Jim repeated. He handed her a small jewel box.
Miranda sat up in the bed and opened the box. Inside was a diamond engagement ring. She gasped and threw her arms around Jim's neck sobbing and laughing at the same time.
"Is that a yes?" Jim teased hugging her tightly.
"Yes! Oh, yes," Miranda cried. She pulled back and Jim took the ring from the box and slipped it on her finger. "Oh, Jim, I'm so happy!" she sobbed happily looking from the beautiful ring on her finger to the handsome man she loved.
"So am I," Jim’s smile split his face from ear to ear, his eyes danced at his love’s happiness.
Miranda threw back the covers, rose and turned to him. “I need to wash up and get dressed,” she announced a little breathlessly.
“I drew you a bath,” Jim said softly and wrapped his arms around her, bending to kiss the nape of her neck. He led her to the washroom where a steaming bath awaited invitingly.
Miranda returned half an hour later and began to dress quickly. "There are so many plans to make," she laughed, "When should we have the wedding?"
"You decide. Anytime is fine with me," Jim answered watching her dress. He buttoned up the back of her dress for her.
"Next month," Miranda turned to face him putting her arms on his shoulders and caressing the back of his neck. "I've always wanted a June wedding," she gushed.
"Then you'll be a June bride," Jim agreed and kissed her. They held their embrace for a long time. Then Jim said, "I'd better get you home."
They walked into the living room together as the door opened and Artemus entered from outside.
"Whoops," Artie said and began to duck out again. He glanced up to see if Jim had put on the signal light as he drew the door closed, cursing himself for not having checked first.
"No, Artemus, stay," Miranda called. "We have some news."
Artie came back in, saw their happy countenances and guessed what the news was, but let them announce it on their own.
"We're going to be married," Jim said looking happier than Artie had ever seen him. Miranda held up her hand, wiggling her fingers, showing off her ring.
"Congratulations!" Artie cried and shook Jim's hand vigorously and clapped him on the shoulder. He turned to Miranda, "I'm so happy for you both," he smiled at her, raised his eyebrows in question and held his arms out inviting a hug. The tug of sadness in his heart he’d experienced last night, returned to momentarily mix with the happiness he truly felt for his best friend. Artemus, old son, you’re being selfish, he admonished silently.
Miranda gave him a friendly embrace, "So are we. It’s going to be next month." She turned to Jim, squeezed his arm excitedly, “I can’t wait to tell mother and father,” she exclaimed.
"I'm going to take Miranda home. I'll be back soon, Artie," Jim said and guided Miranda
out.
"Congratulations!" Artie called to them as the door closed. Slowly his smile faded. It was really going to happen. Jim would marry. He was genuinely happy for them and yet in the pit of his stomach, he felt a loss. Their relationship would change drastically now.
Married agents rarely did field work. Artie could not imagine working with another partner, but his smile returned when he thought about how happy Jim had looked. Artie went to his room to clean up and change. Jim’s happiness was well worth the adjustments. He mentally began to plan a big celebratory party for the happy couple.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Engaged!” cried Mrs. Pollen rushing to her daughter. She fussed over the beautiful diamond on Miranda’s finger. The news eased her disapproval of Miranda’s absence all night and her early morning return.
“Well, congratulations,” added her father, kissing her tenderly on the cheek. As the women oo’d and ah’d over the ring, Mr. Pollen turned to Jim. “You take good care of my baby girl,” he said seriously but with a glint in his eye. He shook Jim’s hand warmly. His mind, too, was relieved of the worry he’d experienced when his ‘little girl’ had failed to come home last night. He caught his wife’s eye and they briefly shared their relief.
“I will, sir,” Jim assured him with a firm shake in return. He was still smiling. It seemed he could not stop smiling. He was never happier than he was right now.
“Welcome to the family, son,” Mr. Pollen said softly, his words slightly choked with emotion.
“Have you decided when, baby bird?” Mr. Pollen asked Miranda when he’d composed himself.
“Next month, daddy, on the 25th. I’ll be a June bride,” Miranda answered, tears near spilling in her eyes. “Mother, we have so many things to do,” she added.
“I should get back to the train and start making some arrangements of my own,” Jim told the happy family.
“I’ll see you out, Jim,” Miranda answered hooking her arm in his.
In front of Miranda's house, they kissed again. "Let's take a sail on the lake next week and picnic on Apostle Island to celebrate," she suggested. “That will give mother and I a chance to get a good start on the wedding arrangements.”
"All right. The weather is warm and clear this time of year. It should be fun," Jim readily agreed.
"I'll fix a basket. Pick me up at noon on Wednesday?" Miranda asked.
"I'll be here," Jim promised. “And I’ll bring the wine.”
"Bring Artemus, too," Miranda said as he began to turn away.
Jim cocked his head quizzically at her, "Why?" he asked curious. It was not that he did not want his friend to join them, but the request surprised him a little coming from Miranda who did not know Artie well.
"I expect this is quite a surprise for him, Jim. You two have been partners a long time. He's going to have a big adjustment to make. And it will give me a chance to get to know him better. He is your best friend, after all. Besides it's the nice thing to do," she chided mildly.
"Then he'll come," Jim assured her and with one more, quick peck, he left.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Artie was just setting breakfast on the table when Jim returned. "Mmm. That smells good," Jim commented to his friend as he tossed his hat toward the rack by the door.
"Have a seat. There's plenty," Artie said placing a plate of eggs benedict at both places. "Coffee?"
"Absolutely," Jim replied sitting across from Artie. He'd been thinking about what Miranda had said about Artie adjusting to the idea of his marriage. "Artie," he broached the subject head on.
"Yes, Jim?" Artie answered expectantly as he passed a steaming cup to Jim.
"How do you feel about this? My getting married, I mean?" Jim asked looking his partner in the eyes.
"I couldn't be happier for you. Miranda's a wonderful girl and I've never seen you so happy," Artie beamed enthusiastically and honestly.
"But what about our partnership? How do you feel about how this will affect it?" Jim pressed.
"Well," Artie paused a second, "Selfishly, I'm sad about that. But the President will find me another partner, I’m sure. It won't be the same, of course, but it'll all work out," he said trying not to let his own emotions show and spoil his friend’s happiness.
"I don't plan on giving up field work completely, you know. We'll still get to work together sometimes," Jim told him. He saw right through his friend’s attempt at hiding his feelings, but knew that Artie was genuinely pleased for him.
"Sure we will," Artie lied, evoking a confidence in the statement he did not feel. "Now eat. Those eggs are terrible when they get cold," he said, "and I'm not making you more."
"Miranda and I are going to sail out to Apostle Island for a celebration picnic on Wednesday. We want you to join us," Jim said forking egg into his mouth satisfied that the issue was settled.
"Oh, no, I don't think so," Artie demurred, "You should be alone to celebrate."
"Please, Artie. We want you with us," Jim said sincerely, looking his friend in the eye.
Artie held his gaze then acquiesced, "All right then, I'd be honored."
They ate breakfast with Jim monopolizing the conversation with his plans for his future with Miranda, the home he planned to build for them, the children he hoped they’d have. Artie was uncharacteristically quiet, smiling at Jim’s happy talk and enjoying the fact that Jim was fulfilled at last.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
While the two friends were eating and talking and sharing dreams and plans for the future, the Pollen household was abuzz with activity. Mrs. Pollen called in a seamstress and Miranda described what she wanted for her wedding gown. The seamstress took measurements and suggested laces and beads placed decoratively but demurely. By the end of the day, the seamstress assured mother and daughter she could have the gown ready in a month.
Mr. Pollen ordered announcements printed on the finest stock the printer could provide. With that chore completed, he continued to the groggery to arrange for the best champagne and brandy. Nothing was too good for his little girl. He whistled happily as he rode back home that afternoon.
Jim and Artie called on a tailor who stated firmly he could never sew a tuxedo in just a month. Artie picked up on the little tailor’s accent and using a close mimic of it soon had the tailor welcoming the challenge of producing a tuxedo for the fine gentleman who stood before him in such a short period of time. They chuckled quietly as they left his shop and headed for the saloon, a drink, and some lunch.
The ensuing days found all parties similarly engaged. There were fittings with the seamstress and the tailor, flowers to be arranged, the minister and the church booked. In between, Jim and Miranda found time to visit every day. Usually they had time for a walk and a talk or a quick bite to eat. They exchanged information on how the plans were progressing, stole kisses, held hands and generally basked in their happiness.
Wednesday came and the agents picked Miranda up at noon in their buggy. Artie sat in the back and felt a little like a fifth wheel as the couple kissed and touched and spoke lovingly to each other during the ride to the lake.
"Last chance to enjoy your celebration alone," Artie offered after they'd rented a sailboat.
"Nonsense. You're joining us and I promise we won't embarrass you with our behavior," Miranda smiled at him and squeezed Jim's arm. Then hooking an arm in each of the men’s, she walked with them to where the sailboat awaited.
Apostle Island was a nearly deserted spit of land off the tip of Wisconsin. The breeze was soft and they slipped over the placid water like a sled over ice. Artie guided the boat up to the rocky shore of Apostle Island where Jim jumped out and helped Miranda disembark. The trio walked along the shore and collected shells and smooth, polished stones, chatting pleasantly. Miranda directed questions to Artie, attempting to get to know him. She knew only what Jim had told her about him and she truly wanted to be his friend. It was something she knew Jim would appreciate and if it was important to Jim, then it was important to her as well. Finally, they spread out their picnic and enjoyed the food and more conversation.
By mid afternoon, a few clouds scudded across the blue sky. Lake Superior was famous for its sudden and potentially violent storms.
"Maybe we should head back," Artie suggested, casting a look up at the gathering clouds.
"It is getting late and those clouds are coming in fast," Jim agreed.
"Just let me pack up the basket," Miranda said placing their leftovers into the basket. She handed the loaded box to Jim and they boarded the little skiff.
The lake surface was already dotted with tiny whitecaps. As they sailed the wind picked up quickly. More clouds crowded the sky, darkening it with a thick black mantle, heralding a storm. When the clouds inevitably burst, the three were doused with a hard, cold rain. The waves rose to large swells then beyond. One broke over their craft as they were tossed on the choppy water like a toy boat. Thunder rolled loudly and lightening split the sky. The wind screamed in their ears and bit at their faces.
Artie tried to steer them, Jim struggled to control the whipping sail. Miranda sat wide-eyed and frightened, gripping the sides of the boat.
"Get the sail down," Artie yelled over the crashing torrent of the storm.
"Not yet. Get us closer," Jim yelled back. The sail, though, flailed in the wind nearly useless.
"Get the sail down," Artie shouted more urgently. He was staring out across the water where a large rogue wave was rushing toward them.
Jim tugged and yanked at the lines. "It's jammed," he yelled turning toward Artie.
"Get down," Artie cried frantically, but he was too late.
The sail whipped around and the yard arm caught Jim in the back of the head hurling him into the dark churning water. The huge wave barreled over them and capsized the boat.
Jim bobbed in the swirling water. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs left by the blow from the yardarm. With a clearer head, he began searching the surface for his friends. Miranda popped up sputtering to his right and by the overturned boat, and right after her, to her right, Artie broke the surface taking in a lungful of air. Jim swam the short distance to them, he and Miranda on one side of the capsized boat, Artie on the other. They clung to the hull as the waves surged and crashed and tossed them haplessly across the lake.
A strong undertow pulled Artie down. The next instant, Miranda slipped under the water caught in the same strong current. Jim instinctively reached for Artie first then drew back, turned and dove after Miranda.
"Miranda!" he shouted before disappearing under the surface.
Artie fought his way to the surface and came up next to the boat. He hung onto the hull, gasping in air, scanning the lake for the other two.
Jim came back up without Miranda. He looked left then right then dove under again. Artie dove under the waves with him. They came up together, took in lungs full of air and dove again. Twice more, they repeated their dives, still with no sign of Miranda. Artie dove down the fourth time with Jim but had to come up for air before him. He was too tired from the struggle against the waves and currents.
Seconds ticked by seeming like hours. Jim was down longer than Artie thought was safe, so he dove under once again. He could barely see in the murky water. A flash of pale blue to his left and he grabbed it, hauling it and himself to the surface. Clutching the hull with one arm and holding onto Jim’s jacket, he looked into his partner’s eyes. Jim tore himself from Artie's grasp. He tried to go down again, but Artie stopped him by snatching his sleeve.
"Jim, you can't," he shouted urgently, aware that his friend must be as exhausted as he was…
"What are you talking about?" Jim cried angrily forcing Artie's fingers off his jacket.
"She's gone, Jim," Artie yelled miserably as thunder continued to boom..
"No!" Jim yelled back at him and dove under the wind whipped water one more time.
Artie clung to the hull and was about to go after Jim again when his partner broke the surface on the other side of the boat. Jim hauled himself up desperately, clinging to the hull a desolate look in his eyes. He was beyond exhaustion.
"I can't find her," he gasped. He lost his grip as a wave swelled over them and he began to slide into the water, his strength gone.
"Take my hand," Artie shouted and reached across the hull with his right hand.
Wretchedly, Jim reached up with his right hand and felt Artie grasp his wrist tightly. Another wave slammed down on top of them. Jim's forehead hit the upturned hull and his world went black.
How much later, he did not know, but slowly, Jim opened his eyes. A steady rain pelted his face. He raised his head and saw he was lying on a pebbled beach. His head thrummed and he winced as he slowly sat up. Artie was at the sailboat, now beached, examining the damaged yard arm.
"Where are we?" Jim asked groggily.
Artie came to him and knelt on one knee next to his friend. "No idea. Maybe Picture Rock Island," Artie said placing a hand on his partner’s shoulder, "Don't try to get up yet, Jim, just sit there and rest. You took quite a good whack on the head. Twice."
Jim shook his head trying to clear the cobwebs. Then he suddenly jumped up. "Miranda!" he exclaimed and raced toward the water.
Artie was on him in a flash, hauling him back. "Jim!" he shouted, wrapping his arms around his partner’s chest. "Stop it! You can't save her. She's gone!" he cried struggling to keep his hold on Jim, "She's gone," he said more gently as Jim slowed then finally stopped his struggling.
Artie let him go and Jim stood on the shore, head down, for a moment then looked up at Artie with eyes that startled his partner. "It's your fault!" Jim snarled and swung at Artie smashing his fist into his partner's face.
Taken unaware, Artie staggered back, landing hard on his backside. He wiped a trickle of blood from his lower lip and stared at Jim in surprise. He rose silently, not knowing what to say or do.
"If you hadn't been with us I could have saved her," Jim yelled, mad with grief. He hit Artie again, harder, this time connecting with his eye. Blinding sparks of light flashed behind Artie’s eye as Jim’s fist connected. Jim landed a blow to Artie’s stomach, causing the breath to whoosh from his lungs in a sudden exhalation that doubled him over. Jim clenched his fists and brought them down on Artie's back driving him to his knees.
Artie scrambled away from the assault and managed to regain to his feet. "Jim, stop," he said gently, holding one hand out placating. His friend was in pain and he didn't know what to do to help him other than be there for him. Jim rushed forward and tackled Artie to the ground again.
"Your fault!" Jim cried over and over, pummeling Artie with blow after blow. Finally he stopped, looking down at his partner. Tears streamed unchecked down his face. Shoulders slumped, Jim climbed off Artie and he knelt on the ground sobbing in anguish.
Artie crawled over to his friend and put an arm around his shoulders drawing him close. Jim sobbed against him then pushed him away roughly.
"I don't ever want to talk to you again," Jim said angry again. He stalked away from Artie to the edge of the lake and stood looking out over the calming waters as the sudden storm subsided as quickly as it had come on. Jim’s fists clenched and unclenched at his sides as he seethed.
The rain stopped and the sky began to clear. Artie worked to repair the sail the best he could. They did not speak until Artie was finished working on the boat. "We should try and get back," he said quietly to Jim. He reached out to take Jim by the elbow, but his partner sidestepped him.
Jim would not look at him, did not speak, but launched the boat. Artie stepped in and they sailed along the shoreline slowly until they found their way back to the dock. Jim immediately disembarked and walked away. He took the buggy leaving Artie to make his own way back to the train.
It was a grief stricken and disheveled James West that knocked on the door of the Pollen home. He’d made no attempt to tidy his appearance before facing the parents of his beloved Miranda. At the sight of him, they knew something dreadful had happened. When they heard the truth of it, Jim could only bear to stay long enough to express his sorrow and promise to help with any arrangements, before he had to leave them. He feared he would find himself keening on the floor next to Miranda’s poor mother. They did not blame him; there were no words of recrimination. Head down, Jim pulled himself into the buggy and headed toward the train. He did not stop the wash of tears down his cheeks as he rode.
When Artie finally arrived back at the train, Jim was sitting on the sofa his head in his hands. He did not look up when Artie entered; clothes now dry but wrinkled beyond hope.
"Jim," Artie said uncertainly as he pushed the door closed behind him, "Do you want to talk?"
"I thought I made myself clear about that," Jim answered bitterly. "Miranda was the only woman I ever loved and you took her away from me."
"How?" Artie implored softly, "How was my being there the cause of her death?" he asked morosely, desperate to understand what his friend was going through.
Jim looked up with hatred in his eyes. It was like a physical blow and Artie actually took a step back. "You both went under. I reached for you first. If you hadn't been with us,” Jim’s voice raised an octave, “I would have gone for her first. I might have saved her," Jim was yelling at him. "You're always around! Why did you come along?"
"You asked me to," Artie replied softly, the only answer he could give.
And something inside Jim snapped. Springing at Artie so quickly he didn't have time to react, Jim knocked him down and bashed his head against the floor, his fingers locked around his partner’s throat, yelling obscenities at him. Artie tried to pry Jim's fingers loose so he could breathe. Jim suddenly released his hold. Artie gasped loudly as breath returned. Jim began to beat him in the ribs until he heard the loud satisfying crack of a rib breaking. That seemed to please Jim and break the spell. He got up and with an awful grimace on his face, stood looking down at Artie as he gasped for breath and curled onto his side.
The telegraph began to chatter and Jim hurried to respond. Artie got up slowly, painfully, holding his injured side. He listened to the message and stared wide eyed at Jim.
"You wired for a new partner?" he moaned in shocked disbelief.
"I can't stand the sight of you. As soon as we get back to Washington, we're through. And if I can find a way to press charges against you, I will," Jim spat keeping his back to Artie.
"What charges?" Artie had to ask. He knew Jim was suffering and needed to blame someone. Artie did not care if Jim wanted to take his anger and frustration out on him, but charges?
"Causing the death of a civilian," Jim answered, but he sounded like he was searching for something more severe.
"Jim, you can't believe that," Artie responded calmly, "I didn't cause Miranda's death. She was pulled under and she drowned."
Jim's shoulders were shaking, "Why didn't you let me go after her," he sobbed bitterly.
"You dove after her five times. You were exhausted. You would have drowned too, that's why," Artie answered going to Jim and placing his hand gently on his friend's back.
"You should have let me drown, then," Jim replied despondently. He shrugged Artie's hand off and without another word, went to his room and closed the door
“You don’t mean that,” Artie’s shocked voice called to Jim’s retreating back. He got no response. He sat heavily on the sofa, head in his hands, thinking, worrying. He glanced down the corridor then ran his fingers through his hair as he made his way to his own room to change.
Artie’s attempts to speak to Jim or get him to eat some supper went unanswered. Jim refused to acknowledge him in any way. Worn out and worried, Artie retired to his room for the night. Once or twice he thought he heard Jim grieving with mournful cries.
The next morning, Jim came into the parlor, shaved and neatly dressed.
“Coffee?” Artie asked quietly, offering a cup.
“I have to meet with the Pollen’s and arrange a memorial service,” was all Jim said as he left the train without a glance at his partner.
Together with the Pollen’s, Jim helped to pick out flowers and speak to the minister about a memorial service. They had no body to bury, but he paid for a marker stone to be placed in Miranda’s family’s plot. At least her parents would have a spot to come and grieve their daughter. The service was to be held that evening, the stone placed when the engraving was completed.
“I’ll be back at 5:00, Mr. and Mrs. Pollen,” Jim spoke in an uncharacteristically morose tone, his voice thick with emotion.
“Jim, you made Miranda happy; happier than she’d ever been in her life. We’re so sorry for you too. We know you loved her as much as her mother and I did,” Mr. Pollen consoled him, shaking his hand.
There was nothing more he could say. Jim nodded to them and took his leave.
He rode back to the train slowly. He did not want to see Artie, could not bear to see him. Jim stopped at a saloon and downed a number of whiskey shots. It helped dull his pain for a while at least. Then he ran Blackjack as fast and hard as he could push him through a wooded area close to the train siding. He stopped to let his stallion rest and dropped to sit under a large pine tree.
Distraught, angry and confused, he wanted to cry out his grief and pain but held it in like a dark secret. It was a perverse twist he allowed himself. He wanted to feel the pain, wanted to let it fuel his anger so that he might be able to maintain control until after the service was over.
Jim kept replaying in his mind the events of the day before. He’d gone from ecstatically happy to utterly lost and forlorn all in the space of a few short hours. Miranda’s frightened eyes as she clung to the boat seemed to loom before his vision. He could still feel the relief when they hung on to the overturned craft. His fright when she slipped under the raging waters caused his heart to pound even now. His desperate attempts to find her haunted him.
After spending many hours as he could spare trying to discover what he could have done differently in order to save his love, the only answer he allowed himself was, if he had not reached for Artie first, he may have saved Miranda. Rage exploded in him and he jumped up and drove his fist into the trunk of the tree imagining Artie’s face there. With the crack of his knuckles against the bark, Jim knew he wanted to hurt Artie. Hurt him as much as he felt Artie had hurt him. Whether he would act on that feeling remained to be seen.
He had avoided Artie as long as he possibly could. He had to return to the train to change for the memorial service.
James West, controlled, stoic, and poised at all times had never experienced so strong and confusing an emotion as he did now. He wanted to be angry at Artie, wanted to hurt him, wanted to hate him. And yet, he desperately wanted relief, comfort, and understanding. In the past Jim had turned to his partner and friend for these. Now he refused to even entertain the thought and pushed the desire to deep into his subconscious. James West was experiencing the unbalance of mind and soul that depression fed itself on. And it was making a meal of Jim.
His hopes that Artie would be out or in his room or in the lab were dashed when he entered the parlor. Artie sat at the desk, writing in his journal. For some reason, that simple act enraged Jim.
“Jim,” Artie addressed him hesitantly.
“Leave me alone,” Jim replied tersely and went directly to his room. He heard Artie’s footsteps approaching and his anger flashed brighter and hotter.
"Why are you insisting on going through this alone?" Artie asked softly. "Let me help, talk to me, Jim, please," Artie said from outside the door. Silence. “Jim?” he called one more time.
Jim hastily changed into a black suit and white shirt. He could not answer and only hoped Artie would go away before it was time to leave for the service. As angry as he was, Jim was sure it would be easy to kill the man he’d once considered his friend, his brother. And it might just be worth his career to do so. How could Artie sit at the desk calmly writing in his precious journal! Jim started for the door but he heard Artie’s footfalls retreating, sparing him a murder charge. Jim chose to slip out through the stable car rather than chance confronting Artie again.
Artie heard Jim’s exit and sighed wearily. All their years of friendship lay broken before him. A chasm as wide as the Grand Canyon seemed to yawn between them. Was it irreparable, he wondered? He hoped not, but unless Jim talked to him, it might be. He turned to his journal and poured out his heart into the pages.
The memorial service was short and solemn. Miranda’s mother wept inconsolably, her husband holding her so she did not collapse onto their daughter’s plot. Jim managed to control his emotions during the service and during the time he spent with the Pollens and the family and friends who returned to the house with them, for their sake, he told himself. But a few hours later, he wept bitter, angry tears as he returned to the train alone. Alone. Jim felt he was completely alone and as he approached and regained his composure, he clung to the feeling, wrapping himself in its embrace.
Artie spent those same hours alone with his thoughts. Finally, he heard Jim re-enter the train from the stable car. It was nearly half an hour after that, before he heard Jim come up the corridor. He waited and was surprised and hopeful when he heard him nearing the parlor rather than entering his room.
Jim came in, eyes averted, and poured himself a cup of coffee from the service on the table.
“Jim?” Artie asked gently, hopefully. “Are you all right?”
The coffee pot clattered loudly as Jim set it down roughly. All right? He’d never be all right again. “No,” was the one word answer he gave.
Deciding to press his luck, Artie went and stood in front of Jim ducking his head to try and catch Jim’s eye. “Jim, I want to help but I can’t if you won’t tell me what you’re feeling, what’s going on inside you. Please let me help,” he started. He saw Jim’s eyes narrow, but they did not meet his.
"It hurts too much to even see you," Jim spoke barely above a whisper. “I’ve told Alex to get us to Washington as fast as possible.” He turned and went to his room abandoning the coffee without a sip.
Artie felt the familiar lurch of the train as they started for Washington and his heart took a lurch as well. Later in the evening, Artie tried again to reach his friend and brought a tray to Jim's room. He knocked.
"Go away," Jim said flatly.
"I brought you something to eat. I'll leave the tray for you here," Artie replied softly.
"I don't want it," Jim answered with a bitter exhalation.
"I'll leave it anyway, in case you change your mind," Artie said and placed the tray on the floor. He retired to his own room for the night.
The tray was still there, untouched in the morning. Artie took it away with a shake of his head. Time was passing, slipping away from him. He wracked his brain trying to find a way to reach his partner. But how do you reach a man who won’t even look at you, let alone speak. A couple of hours later when Jim had still not come out, he brought coffee to him and knocked. There was no answer so he knocked again.
Getting no answer again, Artie called softly, "Jim, are you awake?" Silence. "If you don't answer, I'm coming in," Artie announced. Silence. He opened the door slowly and peered in. Jim lay on the bed, an empty bottle of scotch on the floor, another having spilled its few remaining drops onto the bed. Artie put the coffee on the nightstand and picked up the empty bottles. His ribs screamed their protests when he leaned down to pick up the bottle from the floor. If only it was Jim's pain he was bearing. He wanted desperately to take it from his friend, ease his sick heart. Artie sat on the edge of the bed and gently shook Jim's shoulder.
Jim opened bleary eyes, staring for just a moment. "What do you want?" he snapped.
"I brought you coffee," Artie answered patiently, "Do you want some breakfast?"
"No," Jim answered and rolled away from him.
"Can I get you anything?" Artie asked standing.
"Yes. Scotch--and then you can get the hell away from me," Jim rebuked acidly.
"You’re already drunk. You think this will help?" Artie asked patiently, in a soft voice usually reserved for someone speaking to a child.
"What does it matter to you?" Jim shot back fixing Artie with a painful glare.
“Jim, it does matter to me,” he answered quietly. The bitter words stung. Jim rolled away from his gaze. With a sigh, Artie went and got a bottle of scotch. "Do you want a glass?" he asked.
"No," Jim snatched the bottle, opened it and took a long swallow. He glared at Artie, daring him to reprimand. When none came Jim changed his expression to one of expectancy.