ikissdhimbck | OOM: Barlow estate: 1881

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OOM: Barlow estate: 1881

It was mid-morning when Doc rode out from Green Lake on his new paint, with saddlebags a little fuller since staying the night previous with the Hawthorn's. Millicent had packed him a lunch, though it was really just bits and pieces he could eat in the saddle: pulled pork wrapped in brown paper; fresh bread; and rhubarb jam.

It takes a little over an hour and a half, once heading out north from the road behind the old church, to get to the little barbwire fence the doctor had said would lead him into the Barlow's estate.

The barley harvest is already past, and there can be seen a few men out among the golden fields, threshing the barley hay and getting it divided and tied off for feed, which they will later carry up the gently sloping hill to the barn for the winter. They pause and watch Doc as he rides up the path, exchanging nods as he passes.

Closer to the farmhouse, on the opposing side of the road, grows rows of corn, some new and green, but most nearly ripe. There's a silo, back behind a large red barn, and several corrals straight ahead.

As Doc draws near, two hounds come barreling out from the vicinity of the barn, baying loudly as they trip over each other to get to Doc. They pass a gentleman who is crouched near a fence, fixing a bit of barbing. He tips his head back to peer from beneath the wide brim of his hat, squinting down the path at the young man on the paint horse. He straightens, calmly wiping sweat from his brow, and walks to join the small convoy.

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Once they head out of the bunkhouse, he follows along with the rest of the boys as they make their way into the farmhouse, not unlike the way the hounds followed along while he and Samuel walked a bit earlier in the afternoon - though there is definitely more obedience on his part than those dogs.

He's quiet, because he's not sure exactly where they're going, and he doesn't want to get in the way.

Which is just as well, seeing as how Tom doesn't need any more fuel for his fire. Not that he has it in for Jay, but he's the new guy. That means a jab here and harmless shove there.

Boys will be boys.

Inside the farmhouse, however, is an entirely different story. All the boys are quiet then, and respectful, and well-mannered. They meet Henry at the door, who kindly shakes hands with Jay, and invites them into the dining room where more hires have already gathered, Samuel at the head of the table laughing and talking.

And as Jay finds a seat, he might be able to see into the open doorway leading to the kitchen, where Katherine is standing with another young woman preparing food. She's smiling, and laughing, and occasionally wiping flour from her face (when she isn't flicking it at the other woman, of course).

This brings back memories.

The first night they had dinner when Billy joined the gang. Steve and Charlie were hackin' on Billy, just messin' with him, and John made them wash the crockery...

The afternoon they were all settled 'round that table up at Blazer's Mill, no lamps lit, just the sunlight streaming in through the windows. Richard is tryin' to lead the prayer, but Billy won't have none of it, guns drawn over the table.

"Richard, would you be so kind as to pass the gravy please."

The day they're sitting at Beaver's, cold beans and bread, tequila between them, and none of them are sayin' much because nobody wants to talk. They know they're screwed. He knows he can't leave and head back to New York City, now.

(Out of all the memories, the first sticks in his head the clearest - he's grateful for that small mercy, tonight.)

He settles into a chair after letting most of the boys make moves for empty seats first, still keeping quiet. He catches a glimpse of her through the doorway, mid-flick of a small puff of flour, and it makes him smile a little before he settles down and turns his attentions to the table, and the other men at it.

There's something singular about Samuel Barlow's dinner table.

Something frightfully unusual.

In addition to the fact that employer and employees are breaking bread together, among the employees there are men of various color. Both Indian and Mexican, White and Black. There doesn't seem to be assigned seating, and no one is yet serving the other. They're all simply sitting, talking, and laughing.

And soon they will be joined by two women.

It's a sight that would appall nearly any other gentleman landowner of the time, but then Samuel Barlow has never been big on dinner guests.

"Mr. Gordon?" he calls across the chatter, to where Jay is sitting. The table grows quieter so he can speak easier. "It's nice of you to join us. Are you acquainted with everyone here?"

He does, indeed, notice the fact that this is not your typical 1880's dinner table in a southern farmhouse.

(He wonders if this is why Mayor Walker seemed...clipped, when speaking about Samuel Barlow. He has a feeling he's not far off the mark, in some respects.)

When addressed, he nods politely and then glances around the table, making mental note of the names of the other men seated around. Over the course of the day he's met them all, either on their earlier walk-around or just a few minutes prior, in the bunkhouse.

Then he looks back at Samuel and nods. "Yessir, I believe I am," he replies. "And thank you for havin' me."

And hirin' me on.

But he doesn't need to say that, not when the older man can likely read it straight out of his eyes.

Oh, he can.

"The pleasure is mine," he nods, before turning his gaze to the womenfolk as they enter the room.

There are already dishes set out on the table -- bread and potatoes and fresh corn (doesn't get much fresher than pulled straight from the backyard this afternoon), meats and butter and gravy -- and the two women add to it, more summer vegetables and fried chicken.

Katherine glances at Jay as she sets the dishes down. She has on proper skirts now, and her hair is done up off her neck. Her gaze is perhaps quieter now, less accusatory, and it doesn't linger long before she moves to sit next to her father.

"There," he smiles, when all are settled and the food has been set out. His hand reaches for Katherine's, and he clasps it lightly as his eyes move down the table, again to where Jay sits.

"Mr. Gordon," he says, a spark in his eyes. "It's customary for us to ask new hires to lead us in our evening's grace. Would you be so kind?"

Every eye turns to him.

Well.

He should have expected that.

"Ah...of course."

Doc swallows lightly and folds his hands in front of him, and nods once before he bows his head, taking just a few seconds to gather his thoughts in the silence.

"Almighty God," he starts, voice a little quiet before he picks it up a little. "We gather tonight an' ask that you would bless the food which we're about t'eat, and the hands that worked t'gather and prepare it. Let it give us strength and...and we ask that y'keep watch over us, and all those who ain't...who aren't here with us, keep them in your heart as well. Thank you for the day an' all the good that came from it. Amen."

It's not that long, and it's a bit simple, but he hasn't done this in such a long damn time he's not quite sure what to say, and he hopes it's acceptable.

To be fair, Samuel Barlow is having a bit of fun with him.

But his group is a respectable enough crowd, and they refrain from laughing, even under their breath.

When Jay is done, everyone murmurs a solemn "Amen," and begin passing the food around. Jay even gets first dibs at the chicken and corn, for his trouble.

"Very nice," Samuel nods, smiling. "Thank you."

He nods his 'you're welcome' to his employer, catching a glimpse of the small smirk on his daughter's face.

Well.

He should have expected that, too.

Jay helps pass the dishes along, at least this is familiar.

The banter over the course of dinner should feel familiar, too.

Of course, a good deal of it centers on the new occupant of the dinner table, both questions and gentle razzing (and not-so-gentle razzing, but there's only so much of that Samuel will permit, with his daughter at the table).

"So, uh, Jay. You said you came down south lookin' for cattle work, but you never did say what brought you to Texas in the first place."

"Armpit of the New America, s'what it is."

"Hey, I happen to like this armpit!"

Laughter.

"Sure a turn different than New Orleans, I'd reckon."

"Aw heck, I ain't never been up that way 'fore. What'd ya'll do there?"

"Well, Texas is a lot better than Kansas," he offers. "Least ya'll got scenery, isn't just flat as far as y'can see. They got stockyards up in Kansas City, big ones, but that...I didn't ever work in 'em."

A pause, as he has a drink.

"My daddy had a farm jus'outside of New Orleans, between Avondale an' Westwego."

Keyword: had

(It's close enough to the truth that he can lie about it without batting an eyelash. The details are the same - minus adapted crops to fit the local agriculture. The location is different, after all.)

"Sugarcane. Wasn't nearly as big an operation as ya'll got out here, though."

The table is quiet for a spell, minus the sounds of silverware clinking on china and mouths chewing.

"An' what happened to your daddy's farm?" asks Samuel, eyes focused on Jay.

Katherine glances from her father to the young man, then down at her plate once more.

He doesn't meet the older man's eyes for a second, then he does.

"Water rights kept goin' up and between a few bad years of crop and losin' money, had to sell it."

Jay reaches to the back of his neck and rubs slightly with his free hand.

"He works in minin', now. I gotta brother who works in New Orleans proper. I took a job with a shippin' company and then ended up workin' cattle."

Eyes shift and move across the dinner table.

To Jay.

To the boss.

To Jay.

Slowly, Samuel nods. "I'm sorry to hear that," he says quietly, stabbing up a mouthful of potatoes.

"How come you didn't start minin'?"

Samuel turns his head at the sound of the soft soprano speaking next to him -- as does half of the table.

"Katie."

It's a gentle warning.

He turns his attention to her daughter, focusing his eyes and his gaze on her - green on blue - then he glances at her father.

"It's all right," he murmurs quietly, nodding his head once before he addresses the young woman. "I didn't go into minin' because I couldn't stand the thought of bein' stuck underground, workin' down in the dark all day. You go down there and it's the same thing, day in, day out."

He pauses a moment.

"I like the way each day outside's different, be it the weather or the folk workin' next to you, or the cattle you're loadin' into the pens, it's different every day. Fresh. It ain't stale and dark, because it's always changin'. I like that too much to ever consider goin' underground like my daddy did."

Jay nods, once, respectfully, after finishing the answer to her question.

She doesn't flinch from his gaze, the way some women -- especially young girls -- might. She holds it, calm and steady.

And when he is finished speaking, his answer satisfies her. In fact, you can almost see a wild spark in her eyes, to accompany the soft smile spreading slow on her face.

She drops her gaze back to her food.

"Minin' s'tough work," Samuel adds, around a mouthful of food. "Dangerous, also. You did good to keep your head above ground."

He points his fork at Jay as he says so, before turning his attentions back to his meal.

She is a hellfire.

Once she drops her gaze - he's already dropped his - he looks at her father as he speaks. A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"Thank you, sir," he replies.

Then he returns to eating as well, and conversation resumes around the table.

The rest of dinner goes off without incident.

Well, without much, in the very least.

Some hands stick around to help the women clear the table, some hands head for late night chores or watches, or just to get cleaned up and to bed after a long day's work. But a few stick around.

Mr. Barlow catches Jay by the elbow, carefully. "You're welcome to join us in the parlor for a drink."

Beat.

"If you're old enough."

Smirk.

He nods, once. "I'd like that, sir."

Then Jay pauses for a moment, before he smirks a little himself.

"Born in '57," he murmurs quietly. "I'm twenty-four."

(He knows Barlow is kidding, but, he can play along.)

"Twenty-four," he sighs, with a slight shake of his head. The smile is still on his face, and in his eyes -- a far-off kind of reminiscence lighting the deep blue orbs.

"Got the whole world laid out in front of you."

Before long, they move to the parlor across the way. Henry, Jim, Samuel and Jay -- just the four.

There's whiskey, brandy, bourbon and scotch, and cigarettes for those who take them.

Samuel starts conversation by asking the other two men about the day's activities. It's common for him to do so, as he can't be everywhere, and having his 'master of the house' and stable master keeping ears and eyes out for him is invaluable.

"Tom says them boys been on the northeast field 'gain," Jim mutters, scratching his cheek absently before taking a drag off his cigarette.

Samuel Barlow does not look pleased. "They sack anything?"

"Coupla geese. Did a number on one of our fences, though."

"Damn it."

Edited 2009-01-13 07:20 (UTC)

He nods, slowly, as they move into the parlor.

All I want in the world is right here, sir.

Jay settles himself in a chair with a whiskey and a cigarette, and listens to the conversation as it starts. He can't help the way his eyes narrow slightly at the mention of the theft and property damage.

"You got trouble with locals?"

He asks before he can stop himself.

Jim narrows his eyes as he inhales from that fag between his lips, stony gaze settled on Jay.

Samuel Barlow rubs at his eyebrow absently with his thumb. "Neighbors," he offers, by way of explanation. "You'll ride out with me come mornin' to check on that fence."

He doesn't offer any further elaboration than that.

"Where the hell'd you get that colt?" asks Jim.

"Yes, sir," he tells the boss, before he looks at Jim and has a drink, then explains about Cortez.

"Galveston. He was already on the lot when I got into town, couple boys had broke him but he was squirrely 'nough that none of the buyers that came through lookin' for stock wanted to deal with him after that. The boy just needed a bit more space than a holdin' pen, that's all," he comments. "He's still a bit edgy, but he listens real well."

Except for his fascination with my hat.

"He's an ornery little bastard."

(Off in the corner, Samuel is smirking.)

Jay raises one eyebrow, curiously.

"He been givin' you trouble?"

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