The saloon was empty except for seven men who had nowhere else to go on Christmas Day. The rest of the townsfolk had conveniently forgotten the men who protected them day in and day out, being too concerned with their own family duties to worry about those who had none.
Nathan smiled wryly as he gazed around the well-fed group. That wasn't strictly true. Nettie Wells and Mrs. Potter had cooked them up a small feast, and several of the other townsfolk had added in a few treats too. Certainly none of them had starved today and the company had been the best he could recall in many a year.
As he sipped at his whiskey he glanced at each man in turn, finally letting his gaze fall upon their self-appointed leader. It surprised him when Chris agreed to spend the day with them as he had half-expected him to escape to his shack for the day to spend the time mourning his own past Christmases. Instead, Chris was sipping at his whiskey and, every once in a while he'd smile at something one of the others said. He had a pleasant smile that lifted his whole face into sunshine. Nathan sighed. It was a shame Chris didn't smile more often but then, Nathan realised that he did tend to smile far more now than in the early days when they first met. He wondered how many other preconceptions he had of these few men that he ought to ponder over.
Chris the heavy drinker and violent, nasty drunk?
No. The man drank more coffee than whiskey, and Nathan could only recall seeing Chris drunk on a few occasions. The only time he was ever a nasty drunk was on the anniversary of the murder of his wife and child, and Nathan reckoned any man should be forgiven for being unsociable on a day like that.
"Ah, hell, Nathan, you know Chris don't say more than 3 words in a day."
Nathan shook his head in remembrance. Now that was the truth. Chris was one of the most close-mouthed people Nathan had ever come across unless he had something of importance to say - and then he used as few words as he could get away with. Nathan often wondered why Chris was so reticent. It wasn't like he was poorly educated. Nathan often saw Chris reading books loaned to him by Josiah or others, and he noticed him buying a book from the store in Eagle Bend last time they were out that way. It wasn't one of those dimestore novels that JD favoured, nor was it some factual account or instructional book like the medical and anatomical books that Nathan preferred. It looked like a book of verse or poetry. Nathan wondered if Chris might loan it to him one of these days.
His eyes were drawn across to Vin Tanner as the ex-bounty hunter - and resident poet - laughed at something Ezra said. Vin was their dark horse. He was an old soul in a young body; wise beyond his years. He'd spent most of his life alone and it was fairly obvious that he'd never been to school as a child, and yet he knew more than most people about what truly mattered in life. He and Chris made a strange pair. Both of them quiet, both of them standing apart from the rest of the world and yet they moved around each other with an innate gracefulness like... like ballet dancers. Nathan grinned at that thought, remembering the few times he'd accompanied his ex-master to those society events in Atlanta. He never did understand what the hell was happening on stage, but he'd always admired the way those dancers moved; seeming to know exactly what the other was gonna do. Vin and Chris had that same knowledge of each other and, on occasion, it was real scary to see it working.
He looked harder at the slightly scruffy, long-haired, blue-eyed sharpshooter.
What kept Vin here with them when common sense told a man with a price on his head to keep moving? There had been a few bad moments when some bounty hunter had picked up his trail and come here but they tended to leave in a hurry - or in a pine box. Maybe that's why Vin stayed... cos he'd discovered he didn't have to be alone no more, and that he could trust others to watch his back.
Nathan saw the sly smile Vin gave to Chris, and the slightest twitch of lips he gained from Chris in response. Next thing, Buck's legs were flying into the air as the pair worked in uncanny unison to unseat him. Raucous laughter filled the saloon as Buck staggered to his feet; his beer dripping from his thick moustache.
"Damn it, Chris. You an' Vin sure act like kids on occasion. Oughta take a switch to the pair of ya."
Despite the harsh words, Buck was grinning as he pulled his chair upright and sat back down. He swiped his hand through his moustache, deliberately aiming the spray to hit Chris. Chris was grinning broadly; his green eyes dancing with devilment, and Vin was just as unrepentant with those blue eyes twinkling mischievously.
Nathan let his thoughts turn to Buck as the large man settled back down.
Buck was another man who fooled people with his easy-going nature. He was rarely seen without a smile on his face and many a man pegged him for a fool. Certainly he tended to clown around and was easily distracted when there was a lady near by but those who underestimated him lived to regret it. The first time Nathan realised there was more to this man than the affable clown was that last day in the tent city of whores. Lydia had gunned down Wicks and they all believed he was dead, but he rose up, drew his gun and aimed it at Chris's unprotected back. Buck had cut Wicks down before anyone else could react, but it was the look on his face when he did it that caused Nathan's blood to chill. There had been no smiling blue eyes and no toothy grin as Buck pulled the trigger. Instead there had been a hardness in his expression that Nathan had only ever seen before on a cold-blooded killer. Since then, Nathan had noticed the fierceness in which he protected his friends - and most especially Chris and JD.
That thought led him to the fresh-faced kid who had wormed his way into their ranks. JD had jumped off a stagecoach and into the fray armed only with his dimestore novel knowledge of the Wild West. Even after being shot and knifed, his enthusiasm was still not diminished. The only time Nathan could recall seeing that spirit close to broken was when a bullet from JD's gun found an innocent woman. He had come close to heading back East that time but, fortunately, had realised that running back home with his tail between his legs was not the answer.
Of all of them, he had been the only one invited to spend Christmas in a real household - with Nettie Wells and her niece - but had opted, instead, to spend the day in town with Buck and the others. Why? Nathan thought JD was sweet on Casey so it didn't make sense to stay here when there was an equally warm reception awaiting him elsewhere.
Nathan laughed as JD pulled faces behind his best friend and mentor's back while Buck was remonstrating with Chris and Vin. Ezra was trying to keep his poker face in place but Nathan could see it slipping when JD waggled his finger with exactly the same timing as Buck.
Ezra Standish.
Nathan had been determined not to like Ezra from the moment they met, seeing in him a reflection of every white man who had owned him as boy and man. After all, he had come this far West to escape the hated southern drawl that had dominated more than half his life. Nathan smiled wryly as he recalled all the occasions where he had deliberately looked for faults in Ezra even where none had existed. Whenever Ezra did anything for anyone, Nathan had overlooked the kindness in favor of uncovering the opportunity that the Southerner was trying to exploit. In doing so he had missed several chances to become one of the finest of friends with this man. However, their presence here today on Christmas told him that he had not missed all of his chances and that there was still time to build a deeper friendship.
What did he truly know of Ezra though? He had met the man's mother; a grifter with far less scruples than her only child though he did recognise the soft spot she held for her son - and his friends. From what he knew, Ezra had been passed from relative to relative as a child, only gracing his mother's presence when she wanted to use him in one of her cons. She had taught him the basics of grifting, had given him the ability to lie and deceive with ease but had she ever given him a decent Christmas?
Ezra was grinning broadly as Buck tried to extricate himself from the hole he had dug with his talk on the fineness of the female form. This same topic had been the reason why Buck had found himself upended only moments before as both Vin and Chris tried to stop the flow of that particular conversation. They had all heard the same speech a dozen times over in the past year. Josiah's hearty laugh filled the saloon as Ezra's quick wit and sarcasm flummoxed Buck.
"Amen to that."
One friendship Nathan did not have to work on was the one he shared with Josiah. They had met several years ago on a Kiowa reservation in Texas when Nathan had offered his healing skills to the tribe and Josiah had been seeking guidance from the elders. They had shared a tepee and quickly discovered the common ground between them as one cared for the physical well being of the people they met while the other dealt with spiritual needs. Together they made a good team, and rode on side-by-side when the time came.
Over the years he had learned a little about this man; about the father who preached one thing but did another. Nathan knew Josiah was well travelled, and that he had seen parts of the world that the others could only read about in books. And yet, for all his worldly knowledge, Josiah had only come to find some peace of mind since arriving here in this town.
Josiah was smiling at the antics of the younger men around him, and enjoying the playfulness that Chris, Vin and Ezra rarely showed. He looked like a father taking pleasure in his children - which was a strange idea for Nathan to have. Josiah was the oldest among them, and he did take it upon himself to give guidance where he could but he was no father figure. He was more like an older brother who willingly deferred to his siblings when the occasion arose.
Thinking of siblings, Nathan wondered what the ex-Priest was thinking. Josiah had mentioned riding out to visit with his sister but, instead, he had stayed in the town to spend the day with this mismatched group of men. Nathan recalled Josiah once saying he had been to see his sister every Christmas and spent the most part tormented by the fact that she did not even know him. So why was today different? Had he finally accepted that his penance was at an end? Had he finally allowed himself the chance to celebrate this day rather than wallow in booze and self-pity? Certainly he had not been drinking as heavily since the group learned of his sister.
Perhaps all Josiah ever needed was someone to talk to, but everyone was so used to him being their pillar of spiritual strength that *his* needs had been overlooked. At least, until he fell in with this unruly bunch.
Nathan turned his thoughts to himself. Why was he here when he could have been with Rain at the Seminole Village? Not that they celebrated Christmas there. He thought back to past Christmases in the hope that it would give him some clue.
They had celebrated Christmas on the plantation every year, marking the occasion with a day of rest for all but the main household slaves. Those slaves were expected to serve the masters as usual; dressing them, cooking for them, serving their meals and fine wines and, maybe, serving other needs that no one spoke too loudly about. The number of kids with white blood born to household slaves being testament to the goings on at the big house.
As a child, Christmas had been a magical day when neither of his parents were expected to work in the cotton fields. Instead they would play with him and present him with toys his father had spent his free time making for him and his siblings in secret.
In the afternoon all the children would go up to the big house and stand in awe of the magnificent tree overflowing with bright bows and other ornaments. The master would call the head of his household slaves forward and watch as each child was given a rare piece of striped candy.
A Christmas treat.
Later, as the sun set, all the slaves would gather together around a massive fire and they would eat and drink merrily, singing songs in praise for the Baby Jesus as well as old ones from the lands of their ancestors. If he listened hard enough, Nathan could still hear the joyous voices lifted in song, mouthing strange words that still meant nothing to him.
Until he was seven years old, every Christmas had held that magical quality giving all of them an illusion of freedom, but it all faded away with the sun rising on the following day. The magic never returned after he and his family were sold to an Alabama plantation owner; leaving their mother far behind.
Those days in Georgia had been good times, or at least they had seemed that way to an ignorant slave boy.
He knew the truth now - about his mother and his father, about the cruelty and fear that had governed all of their lives from long before he was born. It had taken away the magic and left a bitter taste in his mouth whenever he thought of those days.
His first taste of Christmas as a free man should have been the best of times, but instead, it was the worst. He had spent the previous day ferrying the dead and wounded from the battlefield, heedless of whether they wore the blue of the Union or the grey of the Confederates. A kind of temporary ceasefire was issued for the day itself but that didn't stop the wounded from screaming in pain or dying.
For the first part of Christmas Day, Nathan held down men while the surgeon did his best to salvage what he could of the man. Screams would fill the air when the surgeon cut into a limb to amputate it; the screams choked off as blessed unconsciousness brought temporary relief. Some say many of those amputations weren't necessary and, with what Nathan knew now, he had to agree. However, they had neither the time nor the resources to save any man's leg or arm. It was easier for the surgeon to amputate the limb and be done with it. Of course the same didn't apply to the officers who had their own personal surgeons with plenty of time and resources to deal with their wounds.
It had made Nathan realise that injustice was not the realm of only the slave but of the poor too.
In the late afternoon, he went around the injured offering what little comfort he could to ease their pain and suffering. It was very late in the evening when he made his last round before turning in for the night. There was one young white boy who barely looked old enough to be away from his mama - and he was dying. Nathan sat with him awhile, holding his hand and listening as the boy told him the story of his last Christmas... his best Christmas. After a while the words softened to a whisper and then died away. The weak fingers clasping his own relaxed as the boy slipped into the final deep sleep that was death. A few minutes later, Christmas was over and the first post-Christmas rifle shot echoed in the darkness.
Laughter brought Nathan back to the present and he realised that this was the first time he had marked the occasion since he was seven years old. But why now? He glanced at the men surrounding him in bewilderment.
Ezra slid the half-full bottle of whiskey across the table top towards him; his green eyes holding a little concern, and Nathan smiled back in genuine affection.
Family. That's why they were all here together when they could have not bothered to mark the day at all. Some how, over this past year, the seven of them had formed a family and, though he doubted they were any stranger than most families he'd come across in his time, Nathan knew he would always think of this particular Christmas as his best one ever.
THE END