Katherine "Kissin' Kate" Barlow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ikissdhimbck) wrote2009-01-10 09:46 pm
ikissdhimbck) wrote2009-01-10 09:46 pm
Entry tags:
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.
.
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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"You learn that in your previous employ?"
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"I've known how to shoot since I was old enough to not get knocked on my ass by a rifle's kick when I pulled the trigger."
He swallows slightly, and the front of his shoulder feels like it's burning hot under his shirt.
"As for the six, well...yes an' no."
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Samuel does nothing but watch Jay intently as he speaks.
"Yes and no?"
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"You see a lotta use for a six when you're movin' cattle," he offers. "Sometimes all y'got between keepin' and losin' a herd when they start runnin', is a good horse and a gun. Plus y'get...unsavory folk, from time to time, tryin' to make off with somethin' they shouldn't be."
Jay looks up at the man and meets his eyes.
"So yes," he nods slightly.
(That 'no' is still hanging there. He won't be able to lie if Samuel asks.)
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He stands up, straightening his vest as he does so. He offers a smirk to Jay, but there's something in his eyes. Something along the lines of 'Tread carefully, son.'
After Henry has left them, Samuel sits quiet for a spell, sipping thoughtfully at his bourbon.
"Movin' cattle is hard work," he agrees softly, turning his glass absently in his hand. "But I'm beginning to wonder.
"You gonna tell me what it is you really do for a living, Jay?"
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Jay focuses his attentions at the near-empty glass of whiskey sitting on the table, as he thinks of just what to say. After a moment of quiet silence, he nods slightly.
"I...I used to work for a gentleman who had a cattle ranch. He was havin' trouble with another landowner...real bastard," he admits, with a shake of his head. "Hired me and some other boys to keep an eye on things. We did your normal ranchwork, movin' cattle and mendin' fences, that sort of thing. But if he went into town, one of us went with him, always. Keep watch, so to speak."
He pulls in a quiet breath. "Couple of years ago, he got murdered. Since then...well, honestly?" He looks up at her father and meets his eyes. "I done some things I ain't proud of, sir, but that ain't what I do no more."
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At last, he speaks.
"All right," he nods, once, placing his glass on the table in front of him and leaning his elbows on his knees. "I believe you."
The 'this time' is implied.
"You understand my caution, don't you?" He gesticulates as he speaks. "Young man pulls in with a gun on his hip, and that scar under his eye. What I'd wager is a bullet hole clean through his hand. Talking about drivin' cattle out to New Orleans?"
He shakes his head, short and quick.
"Now, I know how it gets out there, sometimes. Life after the war was tough, and I've done things I'm not so proud of my own self. But I got a family here, needs protecting. That includes my men, and my livestock. If I got any reason not to toss you back off my property right now, in the name of my own self interests, well. I'd sure like you to speak up."
His voice never raises above a low, raspy murmur, the entire time he speaks. His voice is soft, tinged with that Southern politeness and European charm that ever-so-gently laces each word.
And the expression on his face is softly imploring Jay to speak truthfully with him, this time.
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I would never hurt her and I would never hurt you, swear to God.
Jay looks down at his hands and that through-and-through scar that mars the surface of his left palm, then turns that hand over and looks at the back, before he glances up at Samuel and lifts the hand, slightly. "You're right 'bout that, too," he adds.
Hurt like hell.
He pulls in a deep breath and rubs at the back of his neck, then scratches lightly at his jaw before he looks up at the man. "I know you don't got no reason to trust me right now, but I swear, sir. I don't...I'm tired of livin' like I've been livin' and all I want is t'clean my act up, work honest, again. I ain't the person I used to be, after I saw John killed. Took a long time t'stop bein' angry and realize that I wasn't gonna survive to thirty if I kept goin' like I was, but I get that, now."
It isn't desperation, in his voice. Just raw honesty, the only kind you can get from a boy who's just a bit scared and tryin' not to show it, while hanging onto his pride as best he can.
"I would never, ever, dare cross you or your family. I swear that on my life and what honor I got left, sir."
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"I appreciate your candor," he finally says, sincerely. He can see that struggle on Jay's face, as the young man fights to keep his emotions reined in.
To be twenty-four again...
"An' I won't dare bring your honor into question, son. I believe in second chances, perhaps a spot more than most 'round these parts. You want honest work, you have it, long as you stay on with us."
It's not presented as a question.
"But I'd consider it a favor if you're more honest with me in the future. You have your secrets, and you're entitled them. I won't ask if you're not offering. But when it comes to me and mine, and this here land? I'm watching you, son. And I've gotten rather good at seein' through a lie."
He holds his palms up jokingly.
"Fair warning."
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"Fair's fair," he agrees.
That's all there is to say...well, not quite.
A little serious. "Thank you, sir," he adds. "I mean that."
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He smiles briefly.
"You got a long day in front of you. We wake up before the sun -- it's the only way to beat the heat of the day. You best get yourself some good rest, because I'll expect your horse to be packed and ready by dawn."
He stands up, taking his glass with him, and drains what's left of the liquor in one solid swallow.
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"Yes, sir," he replies. "I will, and we'll be ready."
(He'll be ready before dawn.)
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"Oh, and one more thing, Jay."
There's a clinking of glass as he puts the liquor away, dusting his hands and turning to his young employee when finished.
"If you so much as touch my daughter, every boy on this here farm will know about it, and every one of us will take it out of your hide, slow and careful-like."
His face is grave, serious, and full of warning.
Beat.
And then he smirks, cheekily. "You have yourself a good rest, now."
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He definitely expected that.
Jay keeps his eyes on his, and he nods slightly, honest.
"Wouldn't dare, sir."
I ain't that stupid.
And then he takes his leave, heading back out to the bunkhouse to catch a few hours rest before the morning.