Between the Raindrops

What Matters

By late morning, the common room of the Althewaye Inn was sparsely populated. Hosea had taken a seat by the window, one that looked out onto Van Horn Street. He sipped his coffee and watched through the white lace drapes as Arthur and Miss Emelia walked by.

Emelia Griswold. A scion of a great American family. Interest in steel and rail and the manufacture of warships. A pack of filthy industrialists for certain. Hosea would not have known it to look at her. Living the modest life of a physician. Walking hand clasped with an outlaw, all blush and smiles. The top of the little brunette's head came just to Arthur's shoulder and she looked at him the way only a girl in love can. Eyes soft and wanting, adoration plain as can be.

And Arthur. This girl brought out a gentleness in the snarly enforcer that Hosea feared long scarred over. The couple turned down Main Street, strolling at an unhurried pace in the sunshine, no doubt on their way to the Surgery. Once he lost sight of them, Hosea turned his attention to the week's copy of the Blackwater Ledger and waited. The Founder's Day Celebrations were fast approaching, and Hosea noted the dates of the events. Some of the gang could use the distractions to their own advantages.

Finally, the bell above the door chimed. The conversations died abruptly a beat as the newcomer was assessed by the locals. Hosea looked up from the Ledger and nodded to Arthur.

"Spring is in the air," Hosea remarked, reaching for his coffee, as Arthur took a seat at the table.

"It is April," the enforcer said cautiously. A waitress poured him a cup and he nodded in thanks.

"It is," Hosea allowed. The old man's lips twitched in a smile. "Is this going to become a distraction?"

Arthur looked at him. "It ain't interfering with our business," he said.

"Not yet," Hosea said in warning. "Have you given it any thought as to how this might end?"

The younger man nodded, drawing his thumb against his clean-shaven jaw. "Thought about little else, to be honest."

As serious as Hosea suspected. "She doesn't strike me as the type to aspire to a life of migrancy."

"Bessie weren't no different," Arthur reasoned.

"No... she wasn't," Hosea conceded with a small chuckle. He smiled fondly at the thought of his dearly departed wife. His little Carnation. So much younger. Revitalizing and hopeful and doggedly kind. "She loved me too," Hosea said. "Encouraged me to be better. Gentler."

Arthur nodded. It needed not be said what they were really talking about. The seriousness of the potential commitment. "An' you brought her 'round," the younger man pressed. "It was a long time ago, sure, but I remember. She sure could play them dominos."

"We were different then," Hosea said. Campfires and the great dark, glittering sky. His arm around his young wife. Roistering with his best friend and the young unruly kid who was like a son. "Easier for her to turn a blind eye to the realities. Still, she wanted me out."

"I... I don't remember too much of it," Arthur conceded.

"She knew what I was," Hosea said, chuckling. "The woman had the patience of a Saint. But there was one time I almost did it, probably the time you're remembering. She wanted to try for a baby."

Hosea and Elizabeth Matthews moved into a small cabin, in the lush heartlands of New Hanover, just south of Valentine. Bessie had loved the name so much she didn't care the rumors of massacres or Indian curses. Hosea picked up odd jobs around the small town to make ends meet. Helping the bartender prepare the evening lunch and caring for the grounds of the old wooden church. The irony. Mending fences and hiring on to help with the shearing. Bessie cleaned rooms at the Saint's Hotel and maintained a little garden.