Phoenix Chapter 7/?
Jun. 25th, 2010 06:45 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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wl_fanfictionPhoenix
By:Pd
Edited by: Glyph
Disclaimer: I own the story and the OC's, everything else is moot
Rating: PG-13 for this chapter for unsettling scenes
Pairing: Past Ryan/OFC
Summary: The past comes roaring into the present
A/N: Howdy, ya'll it's been a while!
Hope I haven't lost all my readers, but I bring s'more offerin's! As always comments are love, and constructive criticism is WIN. Any spelling or punctuation errors are my fault, sorries
<3
pd
Ps: Enter Private Brad Sherwood
Decisions
A week since his arrival, Ryan was slowly realizing he could get used to this place.
Life was slower, true, but now he could stop and see the things he’d once before passed over completely. He could see it easily becoming home. It was nice, easy going, and the people… in Washington, if you didn’t tip your hat and let someone in nicer clothes move past you first, you were reprimanded by civilian and military men alike. If you didn’t rise and stand for someone with more money or undeserved status, you were sent to work somewhere you’d really rather not.
But most of all, Ryan could not stand the political intrigue that seemed to grip the nation more than ever now. Especially with the rumors going around that the blacks could become full citizens.
Everywhere Ryan had gone when he was in Washington, it was, ‘what do you think about this?’ or ‘you’re unpatriotic if you believe that they are people too,’ or, and this was Ryan’s personal favorite, ‘what is your position on the negros, and speak carefully because it could mean the difference between your advancing in your job in the military or at the newsstand selling trinkets made of cobbled together junk.’
Guess how Ryan had answered that one.
In the end, he’d been bumped out of the military just before he’d been about to be promoted to Colonel. All because he thought that the Negros were people, too. Hell, they spoke, bled, cried, and had fought for the same country his great-grandfather had, and the camps so-called ‘free men’ were forced to live in, still working for their formers masters for less than slave’s wages were a joke. Free men, indeed. It was far from right, and that belief was his down-fall.
The day Ryan’s career was basically destroyed was when he and his commander’s company were told to go to Louisiana to protect Francis Pendleton Bell, a Cajun tycoon with swamp rat in his blood and diamonds on his fingers. He’d gambled heavily and was having problems with paying. As a former school friend of the Commissioner, he’d begged for military protection, sweetening the deal with a promise of funding the Southern Infantry Cause in return.
Ryan had been second in command of the company, the 121st Cavalry. On the cusp of a promotion, with a shining record quietly sprinkled with ‘headstrong leadership qualities’, that when translated into plain speech read: ‘he didn’t always like following what he dubbed “foolhardy orders”,’ which was generally agreed to be the reason why he hadn’t been promoted already.
It had started with him being assigned with two others from the company, two good friends actually, to keep a watchful eye over the foreman and the handful of slaves kept on the estate. The trouble started when he had to go dare to fancy one of his charges, a little colored girl not much younger than he’d been, perhaps 17 to his 20.
Isabo… her name had been Isabo… and she had been so very lovely, with pale hazel eyes that turned true green in the warm morning sunshine when Ryan watched over her and her siblings go tend to the livestock kept out by the barn.
He was so shy around her in the beginning that he couldn’t say word one, and when she blinked those beautiful eyes at him, all he could do was smile and scratch the back of his neck, walking her and her basket of eggs back to the kitchen.
Soon, she began to give him glasses of sweet lemonade when she saw that he was sweating in the thick Louisiana heat. Then it was biscuits and lemonade with a sliver of real ice, and before long, oblivious to the suspicious and fiercely disapproving glances of his two friends, he began to take meals in the kitchen while she worked there with her aunts and grandmother.
They hadn’t known what to make of him at first, especially when he addressed the old, fierce looking grandmother as “ma’am”. Jim Crow would have shat his pants. But then, slowly, they realized he genuinely liked the girl. Then they began to speak to him, sometimes sing old songs Ryan couldn’t understand that made him think of hot, black nights that smelt of warm grass and open sky. Through it all, she began to smile shyly back. She dared to flirt, she was coy, and gentle, and had a smile that made him forget himself more than once in front of the other two soldiers and stare. It began to spiral out Ryan’s control, though it never had been in the first place, when the shy smiles became lingering brushes and bold glances.
For the first time in Ryan’s life a woman meant more to him than just a diversion from his punishment.
And it had been discovered.
His closest friend had been the one to walk in on a quiet moment between the love-struck pair. Ryan had to be held down by three soldiers as she was dragged from his arms screaming, taken and whipped in front of his agonized eyes for her audacity before someone brought the butt of a rifle down on the back of his skull. He had been sent back to town, regarded as a pervert, and deemed an unfit guard for so important a client, sorry, friend of the Commissioner.
Ryan had never seen Isabo again.
In Washington, his name was dirty. He wasn’t necessarily demoted, but he was frozen in place, obviously too radical for a high ranking position. That’s when he’d begun drinking in earnest, slowly crawling into a bottle, and as long as he functioned normally during the day, no one cared to notice. It was just another thing for them to laugh about behind his back.
Then… for some reason, he was assigned to be a guard at the President’s birthday party, and the rest, as they say, was history.
Perhaps that’s what he liked about Phoenix most of all. So far out here, no one knew what he’d done or who he was. And for some reason, he didn’t think anyone would care. The most political any argument around here seemed to get was voting for the town mayor, and that was almost always going to be Patterson.
The social politics were even stranger. In New York, even Washington, the blacks were like furniture, except you could dress them for any occasion. Here, even though Wayne was the only colored boy, he was generally accepted, just as Kai working in the grocery store was, and as the few Chinese folk that were coming in stayed on the outskirts, helping to build the railroad, were accepted, too.
He smiled to remember when he’d first gone through the, frankly, quite nice looking community the Chinese had managed to throw up in only a few short years out here. They were surprised to see Ryan riding through, and when asked, he must have surprised them even more by pointing out that they were part of Phoenix, too, and deserved his time. After that, someone always had a sweet type of rice cake waiting for him, which he would munch on as he did his sweep.
After that it was down to the small river, then back past Town Hall and into Phoenix proper. It was a routine he didn’t even know he knew: Greet the people, stop by the shops, help Old Mrs. Crowly take her daily shopping up her stairs for her, then stop by the barber’s whether he needed a shave or not. People smiled at him, joked, laughed. It was jarring to realize that, here, he could have friends again. He could be respected again, because no one cared who you were past a certain point, as long as you did your part to help the community stay afloat.
Maybe he could even find a girl one day, he supposed, though he knew that day was a long one off. Maybe she could look kind of like Isabo…
Ryan rubbed his eyes, shifting in the uncomfortably small chair and took a deep puff of his cigarette, watching the ebb and flow of the town that he was coming to love, convincing himself that the itching tears in his eyes weren’t from memories of Isabo and her smooth lips on his the single instance they’d dared to kiss. It was just the dust from the traffic.
With a physical effort that almost hurt, Ryan dragged himself out of the memories to see a small group of strangers ride past him, their hats pulled down low against the glare of the sun off the pale dust. They dismounted outside Denny’s saloon, dirty and worn looking, before they all turned and looked straight at him.
His eyes narrowed and he pulled his hat down firmly over his brow as he rose to lean against the railing in front of his jailhouse. They made him nervous, but he nodded to them with a placid smile, crossing his arms and caressing the butt of his pistol subtly. A comfort gesture, but it didn’t make the hair on the back of his neck settle.
They nodded back peaceably enough and sauntered into the saloon. Ryan flicked his cigarette away and made to follow at a leisurely pace when someone whistled at him. He turned, squinting down the main road. It was Jeff, motioning him over with an impatient face.
Ryan ambled over, following him inside the dusty office. The old man in the corner had moved about a foot since the week before, his head still on the desk, snoozing away. “You got something for me?”
Jeff nodded, slinking behind his desk, beeping under his breath.
While he was looking for the message and churning up a dust cloud, Ryan walked over to the door for fresher air and rested against the frame, watching the swinging doors to the saloon with sharp eyes. He didn’t like those men at all. An impatient sounding beep made him turn to find Jeff hovering behind him, frowning softly, but not at Ryan. He took the telegram from Jeff’s pale fingers and slowly figured out why Jeff was a little antsy.
“‘Unable to transfer Stop. You are being reinstated and promoted Stop. New papers sent by courier arriving Thursday 10th Wait for commanding officer Stop. Sincerely, Lt John Malcolm Haverstock, Wash, D.C.’” he read. He felt Jeff still hovering at his side pensively, chewing on a nail nervously. “Well… shit…” Ryan sighed.
“I thought you wanted to leave here as soon as you could,” Jeff spoke, startling Ryan with the English.
Ryan shrugged, slipping the telegram into his jacket’s inside pocket. “I did, but I kinda got to like it here. I guess that don’t matter anymore.”
“This means war is coming.”
Ryan tried to smile, but it must’ve came out more of a snarl or a baring of teeth and answered anyway. “Yeah… I guess it does.”
“But… with whom?”
“Who else?” Ryan patted the kid’s shoulder. “Ourselves.” And with that, Ryan stepped back out into the bright sun, leaving Jeff alone to nibble at his nails, biting one down to the bloody quick before he realized what he was doing.
Patterson was standing in front of the window of his office squinting down at a page in a large book when Ryan knocked. “Come in… ah, Sheriff! How wonderful to see you! Actually, I was just talking about you with Mr. Carey… what have you there?” He frowned down at the rumpled telegram.
Wordlessly, Ryan handed it to him, letting him read it himself. He barely managed to sneak two more of Patterson’s tasty cigars when the man let out a disgusted noise. “Dammit, what the hell do they think they’re doing taking you away so soon? We’re just about to get a fresh shipment of materials for the railroads, plus what’s needed for the new home steaders coming in from Nebraska! Damnation, do they have any idea how difficult it is to get these things done properly if they keep yanking me around by the how’s your father?”
“Ah, sir! Perhaps we should get Mr. Stiles’ papers in order so that he can do what he needs to without waiting for paperwork to be signed?” Leveson suggested hastily.
“Good thinking!” Patterson chuckled. “Well, this means we might have a going away celebration, too!”
“I don’t think so, sir, they’ll want to take me as soon as they can, I think,” Ryan winced internally at the thought of yet another party in his honor. He’d sooner ride off on Spud, but at least here was a legitimate reason.
“Hum, you’re probably correct.” Patterson sighed. “Come to think of it, I’d rather have a pie in the face than plan another one of those.” He signed off on a small packet of papers set in front of him by Leveson and handed them across the desk. When he wouldn’t let go of them, he peered at the tall man from over his half moon glasses. “Maxine looked lovely, didn’t she, Ryan?”
Ryan flushed guiltily, but nodded. “Have a good day sir,”
“You too, and good luck, Mr. Stiles,” Patterson’s smile slid away as Ryan glanced at him from the doorway. “It’s never an easy thing, war, and I’m loath to make it even more difficult for you… but you’ll take care of this town’s men, won’t you? The ones they’re going to take?”
Ryan frowned but nodded. “I’ll do my best, sir.”
“Somehow, I know you will.”
Back outside, Ryan took a deep steadying breath before he used the telegraph to light the cigar he’d smoked on in the tub not long ago. After a few breaths, he tucked it into the corner of his mouth and walked towards the saloon. Before he’d made it five paces from the town hall’s doors, there was an angry yell and Wayne came stumbling out of the swinging doors, his lip bleeding, to land on the hand still wrapped from when he’d landed in glass. Two of the strangers came hurrying out, looking thrilled, but they skidded to a stop when they noticed at whose feet Wayne had landed.
One, a stringy looking fellow with a blunt, mashed looking face ducked and bobbed like Ryan was about to slug him. Maybe it was the cigar. “Ah, Sheriff, just hackin’ on him, you know…”
“Hack on someone else, he’s got a job to do. Unlike yourselves,” Ryan growled. “Now is not the day to try me in my town.”
“But it isn’t your town anymore, Stiles,” a new voice said before its owner came out.
Ryan felt his face crease into a snarl-like smile, but inside, his guts twisted like a headless snake. “Sherwood… what brings you here?”
Private Bradley R. Sherwood smiled his shit-eating smile. The one that made god-fearing little old ladies want to punch him in the kisser. “I’m the courier Haverstock sent, of course. I have your papers, if you want ‘em.” He motioned to his horse.
“Then get the papers,” Ryan nodded, stressing that those should be the only thing the man would get, watching Sherwood closely. He knew not to give him an inch. It could potentially cost him his life if he did. Though Sherwood didn’t usually enjoy doing a person in in so public a place. He preferred night time, in shadows, behind your back. Ryan’s glance flicked down at Wayne, who had risen to stand nearby, before back up to the man rooting through one of his saddlebags. “You okay?”
Wayne nodded wordlessly.
“I would have thought your bein’ sent here would have cured you of your… perversions. After all, wasn’t falling in love with that colored girl what got you out here in the first place? What was her name? Joanna, Baue, Isabell…” Sherwood said, not looking up from his horse’s bag. If he had, he’d have seen Ryan, red-faced and furious, steadily ignoring the growing crowd who had heard every word. “Isabo.”
“Don’t you dare say her name again, Bradley… or we’re going to have problems…”
Brad cocked his head like a bird, eyes still bright with amusement as he glanced Ryan’s way. He had been Ryan’s greatest friend, at one time. It was Sherwood who’d watched Mr. Bell’s with him, had watched Ryan fall in love, had for some reason decided to tear them apart. It was he who had delighted in Ryan’s fall from grace, just as he was right now, all over again. “You gonna draw down on me, Sheriff? In front of all these good people?”
Ryan’s eyes flicked around at the watching faces before he could help it, and he nearly flushed again. At his side, he felt Wayne stand a little straighter, a little closer, showing his support as he glared full on at Sherwood. Ryan smiled slightly and looked Sherwood in the eye. “Don’t be a damned fool, Sherwood, you haven’t done anything wrong.”
Brad scowled at him now, his teasing ruined. He jerked the roll of papers bound in leather out of his plush, expensive saddlebag, and let his eyes slowly roll up and down Wayne’s stiff figure at Ryan’s side. “Looks like sheriffin’ made you even worse…”
Ryan just shook his head, and spoke calmly, “You still insist they aren’t really people, don’t you Sherwood.”
“It’s how it’s been for years. Who are you to say otherwise?”
“It only took a handful of men to say that something wasn’t right when the English insisted on ruling a free folk. And look where we are now. Looks familiar, don’t it?”
Sherwood gave that aimless shrug again staring at Wayne. “True, but then, those folks also said slavery was good.”
“Give me my damned papers,” Ryan grated, moving a little ahead, and thus in front of Wayne.
Sherwood strolled forward, invading both Ryan’s and Wayne’s personal space, that slow smile splitting his face. He glanced down at Wayne. “Looks like you have an attack dog, boy.”
Wayne tensed, but Ryan held a hand back, and he subsided, looking away. “My papers.” Ryan spoke, his voice sounding like barely contained thunder. Sherwood turned his placid, mocking gaze up to Ryan’s eyes and held them out into Ryan’s hand. “I don’t want you in this town. You or any of your friends.”
“Aw, now that hurts my feelings,” Sherwood pouted. “You wouldn’t begrudge us a night here before we ship off, will ya Sheriff?”
“Fine. But you start anything with anyone in this town,” Ryan’s voice got quiet, and Sherwood lost his smug look in favor of an angry, and rather frightened one. “And I will make sure children cry and women scream whenever you walk by.”
Sherwood swallowed, eyes glittering with fear and fury but didn’t argue, instead nodding and heading off towards the Black Café. His two friends, followed with the three others who’d come with him, slunk off after him, silent and sulking. Only when the door shut behind them did Ryan and Wayne, and pretty much everyone watching, let out the breath they had been holding and took their hands from their respective guns. With nods to everyone, the crowd slowly dispersed, the women flocking to their husbands for details.
Well… there went the ‘I can be respected again’ feeling. Ryan sighed and looked down at Wayne, who was looking a little unhealthy. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Sir, you are ruining what reputation you have by protectin’ me,” Wayne said quietly, glaring at the dirt.
“Then that’s my choice. Besides, I don’t have one anymore. Weren’t you listening?”
“Why on this god’s earth are you so set on changin’ how things have been?” the dark man asked desperately. “You’ll ruin yourself and I won’t have that on my head!”
“I wouldn’t ask you to take it up, but I do it because it ain’t right.” Ryan grated, and Wayne darted a surprised glance up at him before looking quickly back down. “You people didn’t ask for any of this,” Ryan turned and nodded to Colin, who came over, sweeping his bowler off and wiping at his sweating brow grimly.
“Noble words, sheriff,” Colin nodded back, slapping his bowler against his leg and looking the way the men had gone. “True ones, I’ve always felt, to be sure, but hell… you can’t win this war against people like them. It’s a belief to them, and people are too set in how they were raised…”
They turned at the sound of rustling skirts to find Denny coming out, arms crossed, frowning in the same direction. “It’s not impossible to change, but yeah… some people couldn’t see the truth if it shot them in the ass.” She sighed, looking at Wayne who ducked his head, embarrassed. “Sheriff, you seem to have a knack for keeping my friend here safe.” She gave a few half-hearted swipes at the dirt now caked on the man before sighing. “Come on, I’ll pour us all a drink. Yes Wayne, you too.”
They wound up in Denny’s backroom, sipping some of Denny’s private stock at a little table she had. No one had really anything to say, and none really made eye contact, instead favoring a spot on the floor, their drink or a fixed point in space. It had taken Drew coming back to buy a bottle of fancy brandy to make them remember they were even there.
He’d stood, blinking as everyone turned and stared at him. “Okay… what happened now?”
After Denny had finished telling him, Drew was sitting at the tiny table between Colin and Denny, staring grimly into his own drink of the brandy he’d bought, now half gone.
Wayne had politely declined a seat, and Ryan just wanted his back to a corner at the moment.
“So who were those men, Sheriff?” Drew asked, watching him curiously, eyes flicking between him and Wayne.
Ryan slammed his drink and winced as it burned its way down his throat to quietly explode in his belly. “Old friends from the army. We trained together, we bunked together, we ate together. Shit, the leader, Bradley Ramone Sherwood, was once a very good friend, but he didn’t see some people as anything more than property… and that turned into a very big problem between us as time went on.”
“I can see how, the whole country is thinking like you two,” Colin sniffed, sipping his drink and grimacing. “However, I know for a fact that this territory is Union, not,” he said with an air of finality, “Confederate.”
“Confederate?” Denny asked.
“This country has split in two, dear,” Colin said heavily, patting Denny’s hand. “People who think like our Sheriff,” he nodded to Ryan, who said nothing, “and people who think like Sherwood.”
“Do you think anything will come of it?” she asked nervously.
“Of course something will,” Drew said, leaning back in his chair and watching Wayne with glacier blue eyes. “Some people believe it’s in their god-given right to own other people, and some people believe that the statement ‘all men are created equal’ is really true, despite that the men who wrote it had slaves themselves.” Wayne shifted uncomfortably. “Don’t like me starin’ at you, boy?”
Wayne started to shrink a little, but stopped, straightening up in the face of an icy stare. “No sir, I don’t.”
“If the South wins this civil war, you would be whipped to within an inch of your life for daring to talk back to me that.”
“War! Heavens above Carey,” Colin said, breaking the tension between the two men. “There haven’t even been rumors!”
“Yes there have, for quite some time now. I’ve been speaking with my banks owners in New York. They’re telling me to hunker down and to not chose sides, because it’s coming. And they don’t want to be caught funding anyone.”
“Why not?” Denny asked, sounding like she didn’t actually want an answer.
Drew looked at her, and for a second, he made Ryan very nervous indeed. Those eyes were far too shrewd. “Would you want to be caught funding the enemy of the winners?” He finally answered.
She swallowed hard and Colin rubbed her arm sympathetically. She nodded, rallying before turning to Ryan. “You’ve been awfully quiet Sheriff. You know something, don’t you…” Her eyes narrowed and Ryan sighed as everyone turned to look at him.
“The reason Sherwood was here is to deliver my reinstatement papers. I’m to wait here for my commanding officer, have him stamp my documents making me a Lieutenant, and I’m to ship out with any nonessential, able-bodied young men to Fort Worth in New Mexico.”
“What?!” they exploded, all trying to speak at once. Only Wayne was silent. Ryan held up his hands and they stilled before he pointed to Colin. “You’re leaving? But you can’t, we’d have no sheriff! You’re essential to this town!”
“Not anymore> you’ll have a new one soon,” Ryan sighed.
“Do you know who?” Denny asked.
“No, he should arrive with my commanding officer.”
“Who are considered non-essential?” Drew asked.
“Not you, or Colin, or especially Jeff. You’re needed to keep this town functioning because they’ll probably want that railroad finished as quickly as possible to help re-supply troups.”
“Who are you fighting for?” Wayne asked softly.
Everyone looked at him, but his eyes were all for Ryan, hiding everything. Ryan and he stared at one another for a long time until Ryan spoke, softly but with conviction. “You…” Wayne blinked and the others at the table raised eyebrows, looking between the two men. “You and others like you… because now I can finally fight for what I believe…”
“You want this war?” Wayne asked, surprised.
“Don’t you? It could finally make you a person in the eyes of this mashed up gristle pit of a country.”
Wayne looked at the floor. “All I know is that violence… it’s not… it’s not something I would wish on anyone, and as the others have said before, even if your side wins the war and declares us, my people, as citizens… there will be people out there who are just waiting to prove us wrong…”
“I can’t help that, but I can do my part to make sure that this country is united in what it preaches.” He turned and glared at Drew. “That all men are created as equals.”
And for a moment, everyone in that room believed him.
In Ryan’s room later that evening, most of his things packed up already, he sat in naught but his trousers rolling a cigarette by the light of the little oil lamp. A soft knock arrived at his door. “Who is it?”
“Wayne.”
Ryan frowned but bade him enter. He did, shutting the door behind him. “What’s on your mind, Wayne?” he asked, not looking up from his cigarette until nearly a minute had passed and Wayne still hadn’t answered. “Well?”
“I’d like to volunteer to serve under you for this country,” Wayne finally said, looking him straight in the eye.
Ryan took the cigarette from his lips and snuffed the match before it burnt his fingers. “Why’d you want do that?”
Wayne frowned, as though not sure. “Because.”
Ryan stuck the cigarette behind his ear and rose, regarding Wayne from his height with a dubious brow. “‘Because’ is not a valid answer to enter the army, Wayne, neither is a false sense of patriotism. That won’t last when you’re out there killing your own kind. So what’s your real reason that you want to join the Union army?”
Wayne, who’d been staring up at the tall man frowning down at him, flushed darkly and looking away before staring defiantly back up at Ryan. “For you.”
Whatever Ryan had been expecting, that wasn’t it. His eyes widened, and his face was covered in surprise before he stumbled to cover it. He did so with a frown, wandered over to the window and pulled the cigarette down, lit and drew on it before handing it over to Wayne. He took it, hesitantly, and puffed, coughing almost immediately. Ryan laughed, patting the spasming back.
When Wayne could breathe, he smiled up at Ryan, not minding the hand still resting on his back. “I can’t use you, Wayne.”
Wayne blinked. “What?”
“Sorry, but you help Colin sometimes, so that makes you vaguely essential. I’m going to recommend to my superior when he gets here that you need to stay behind,” Ryan said, barreling over any of Wayne’s feeble protestations and going over to the door. He opened it with a sad sigh. “Thanks for the offer, though.”
Wayne blinked furiously at the floor before, spine rigid, he thrust the cigarette back into Ryan’s fingers and walked out without a backward glance.
Ryan shut the door and cursed, shaking his head before finishing the cigarette, going to bed early for the first time in a long time, but sleep was elusive that night.
By:Pd
Edited by: Glyph
Disclaimer: I own the story and the OC's, everything else is moot
Rating: PG-13 for this chapter for unsettling scenes
Pairing: Past Ryan/OFC
Summary: The past comes roaring into the present
A/N: Howdy, ya'll it's been a while!
Hope I haven't lost all my readers, but I bring s'more offerin's! As always comments are love, and constructive criticism is WIN. Any spelling or punctuation errors are my fault, sorries
<3
pd
Ps: Enter Private Brad Sherwood
Decisions
A week since his arrival, Ryan was slowly realizing he could get used to this place.
Life was slower, true, but now he could stop and see the things he’d once before passed over completely. He could see it easily becoming home. It was nice, easy going, and the people… in Washington, if you didn’t tip your hat and let someone in nicer clothes move past you first, you were reprimanded by civilian and military men alike. If you didn’t rise and stand for someone with more money or undeserved status, you were sent to work somewhere you’d really rather not.
But most of all, Ryan could not stand the political intrigue that seemed to grip the nation more than ever now. Especially with the rumors going around that the blacks could become full citizens.
Everywhere Ryan had gone when he was in Washington, it was, ‘what do you think about this?’ or ‘you’re unpatriotic if you believe that they are people too,’ or, and this was Ryan’s personal favorite, ‘what is your position on the negros, and speak carefully because it could mean the difference between your advancing in your job in the military or at the newsstand selling trinkets made of cobbled together junk.’
Guess how Ryan had answered that one.
In the end, he’d been bumped out of the military just before he’d been about to be promoted to Colonel. All because he thought that the Negros were people, too. Hell, they spoke, bled, cried, and had fought for the same country his great-grandfather had, and the camps so-called ‘free men’ were forced to live in, still working for their formers masters for less than slave’s wages were a joke. Free men, indeed. It was far from right, and that belief was his down-fall.
The day Ryan’s career was basically destroyed was when he and his commander’s company were told to go to Louisiana to protect Francis Pendleton Bell, a Cajun tycoon with swamp rat in his blood and diamonds on his fingers. He’d gambled heavily and was having problems with paying. As a former school friend of the Commissioner, he’d begged for military protection, sweetening the deal with a promise of funding the Southern Infantry Cause in return.
Ryan had been second in command of the company, the 121st Cavalry. On the cusp of a promotion, with a shining record quietly sprinkled with ‘headstrong leadership qualities’, that when translated into plain speech read: ‘he didn’t always like following what he dubbed “foolhardy orders”,’ which was generally agreed to be the reason why he hadn’t been promoted already.
It had started with him being assigned with two others from the company, two good friends actually, to keep a watchful eye over the foreman and the handful of slaves kept on the estate. The trouble started when he had to go dare to fancy one of his charges, a little colored girl not much younger than he’d been, perhaps 17 to his 20.
Isabo… her name had been Isabo… and she had been so very lovely, with pale hazel eyes that turned true green in the warm morning sunshine when Ryan watched over her and her siblings go tend to the livestock kept out by the barn.
He was so shy around her in the beginning that he couldn’t say word one, and when she blinked those beautiful eyes at him, all he could do was smile and scratch the back of his neck, walking her and her basket of eggs back to the kitchen.
Soon, she began to give him glasses of sweet lemonade when she saw that he was sweating in the thick Louisiana heat. Then it was biscuits and lemonade with a sliver of real ice, and before long, oblivious to the suspicious and fiercely disapproving glances of his two friends, he began to take meals in the kitchen while she worked there with her aunts and grandmother.
They hadn’t known what to make of him at first, especially when he addressed the old, fierce looking grandmother as “ma’am”. Jim Crow would have shat his pants. But then, slowly, they realized he genuinely liked the girl. Then they began to speak to him, sometimes sing old songs Ryan couldn’t understand that made him think of hot, black nights that smelt of warm grass and open sky. Through it all, she began to smile shyly back. She dared to flirt, she was coy, and gentle, and had a smile that made him forget himself more than once in front of the other two soldiers and stare. It began to spiral out Ryan’s control, though it never had been in the first place, when the shy smiles became lingering brushes and bold glances.
For the first time in Ryan’s life a woman meant more to him than just a diversion from his punishment.
And it had been discovered.
His closest friend had been the one to walk in on a quiet moment between the love-struck pair. Ryan had to be held down by three soldiers as she was dragged from his arms screaming, taken and whipped in front of his agonized eyes for her audacity before someone brought the butt of a rifle down on the back of his skull. He had been sent back to town, regarded as a pervert, and deemed an unfit guard for so important a client, sorry, friend of the Commissioner.
Ryan had never seen Isabo again.
In Washington, his name was dirty. He wasn’t necessarily demoted, but he was frozen in place, obviously too radical for a high ranking position. That’s when he’d begun drinking in earnest, slowly crawling into a bottle, and as long as he functioned normally during the day, no one cared to notice. It was just another thing for them to laugh about behind his back.
Then… for some reason, he was assigned to be a guard at the President’s birthday party, and the rest, as they say, was history.
Perhaps that’s what he liked about Phoenix most of all. So far out here, no one knew what he’d done or who he was. And for some reason, he didn’t think anyone would care. The most political any argument around here seemed to get was voting for the town mayor, and that was almost always going to be Patterson.
The social politics were even stranger. In New York, even Washington, the blacks were like furniture, except you could dress them for any occasion. Here, even though Wayne was the only colored boy, he was generally accepted, just as Kai working in the grocery store was, and as the few Chinese folk that were coming in stayed on the outskirts, helping to build the railroad, were accepted, too.
He smiled to remember when he’d first gone through the, frankly, quite nice looking community the Chinese had managed to throw up in only a few short years out here. They were surprised to see Ryan riding through, and when asked, he must have surprised them even more by pointing out that they were part of Phoenix, too, and deserved his time. After that, someone always had a sweet type of rice cake waiting for him, which he would munch on as he did his sweep.
After that it was down to the small river, then back past Town Hall and into Phoenix proper. It was a routine he didn’t even know he knew: Greet the people, stop by the shops, help Old Mrs. Crowly take her daily shopping up her stairs for her, then stop by the barber’s whether he needed a shave or not. People smiled at him, joked, laughed. It was jarring to realize that, here, he could have friends again. He could be respected again, because no one cared who you were past a certain point, as long as you did your part to help the community stay afloat.
Maybe he could even find a girl one day, he supposed, though he knew that day was a long one off. Maybe she could look kind of like Isabo…
Ryan rubbed his eyes, shifting in the uncomfortably small chair and took a deep puff of his cigarette, watching the ebb and flow of the town that he was coming to love, convincing himself that the itching tears in his eyes weren’t from memories of Isabo and her smooth lips on his the single instance they’d dared to kiss. It was just the dust from the traffic.
With a physical effort that almost hurt, Ryan dragged himself out of the memories to see a small group of strangers ride past him, their hats pulled down low against the glare of the sun off the pale dust. They dismounted outside Denny’s saloon, dirty and worn looking, before they all turned and looked straight at him.
His eyes narrowed and he pulled his hat down firmly over his brow as he rose to lean against the railing in front of his jailhouse. They made him nervous, but he nodded to them with a placid smile, crossing his arms and caressing the butt of his pistol subtly. A comfort gesture, but it didn’t make the hair on the back of his neck settle.
They nodded back peaceably enough and sauntered into the saloon. Ryan flicked his cigarette away and made to follow at a leisurely pace when someone whistled at him. He turned, squinting down the main road. It was Jeff, motioning him over with an impatient face.
Ryan ambled over, following him inside the dusty office. The old man in the corner had moved about a foot since the week before, his head still on the desk, snoozing away. “You got something for me?”
Jeff nodded, slinking behind his desk, beeping under his breath.
While he was looking for the message and churning up a dust cloud, Ryan walked over to the door for fresher air and rested against the frame, watching the swinging doors to the saloon with sharp eyes. He didn’t like those men at all. An impatient sounding beep made him turn to find Jeff hovering behind him, frowning softly, but not at Ryan. He took the telegram from Jeff’s pale fingers and slowly figured out why Jeff was a little antsy.
“‘Unable to transfer Stop. You are being reinstated and promoted Stop. New papers sent by courier arriving Thursday 10th Wait for commanding officer Stop. Sincerely, Lt John Malcolm Haverstock, Wash, D.C.’” he read. He felt Jeff still hovering at his side pensively, chewing on a nail nervously. “Well… shit…” Ryan sighed.
“I thought you wanted to leave here as soon as you could,” Jeff spoke, startling Ryan with the English.
Ryan shrugged, slipping the telegram into his jacket’s inside pocket. “I did, but I kinda got to like it here. I guess that don’t matter anymore.”
“This means war is coming.”
Ryan tried to smile, but it must’ve came out more of a snarl or a baring of teeth and answered anyway. “Yeah… I guess it does.”
“But… with whom?”
“Who else?” Ryan patted the kid’s shoulder. “Ourselves.” And with that, Ryan stepped back out into the bright sun, leaving Jeff alone to nibble at his nails, biting one down to the bloody quick before he realized what he was doing.
Patterson was standing in front of the window of his office squinting down at a page in a large book when Ryan knocked. “Come in… ah, Sheriff! How wonderful to see you! Actually, I was just talking about you with Mr. Carey… what have you there?” He frowned down at the rumpled telegram.
Wordlessly, Ryan handed it to him, letting him read it himself. He barely managed to sneak two more of Patterson’s tasty cigars when the man let out a disgusted noise. “Dammit, what the hell do they think they’re doing taking you away so soon? We’re just about to get a fresh shipment of materials for the railroads, plus what’s needed for the new home steaders coming in from Nebraska! Damnation, do they have any idea how difficult it is to get these things done properly if they keep yanking me around by the how’s your father?”
“Ah, sir! Perhaps we should get Mr. Stiles’ papers in order so that he can do what he needs to without waiting for paperwork to be signed?” Leveson suggested hastily.
“Good thinking!” Patterson chuckled. “Well, this means we might have a going away celebration, too!”
“I don’t think so, sir, they’ll want to take me as soon as they can, I think,” Ryan winced internally at the thought of yet another party in his honor. He’d sooner ride off on Spud, but at least here was a legitimate reason.
“Hum, you’re probably correct.” Patterson sighed. “Come to think of it, I’d rather have a pie in the face than plan another one of those.” He signed off on a small packet of papers set in front of him by Leveson and handed them across the desk. When he wouldn’t let go of them, he peered at the tall man from over his half moon glasses. “Maxine looked lovely, didn’t she, Ryan?”
Ryan flushed guiltily, but nodded. “Have a good day sir,”
“You too, and good luck, Mr. Stiles,” Patterson’s smile slid away as Ryan glanced at him from the doorway. “It’s never an easy thing, war, and I’m loath to make it even more difficult for you… but you’ll take care of this town’s men, won’t you? The ones they’re going to take?”
Ryan frowned but nodded. “I’ll do my best, sir.”
“Somehow, I know you will.”
Back outside, Ryan took a deep steadying breath before he used the telegraph to light the cigar he’d smoked on in the tub not long ago. After a few breaths, he tucked it into the corner of his mouth and walked towards the saloon. Before he’d made it five paces from the town hall’s doors, there was an angry yell and Wayne came stumbling out of the swinging doors, his lip bleeding, to land on the hand still wrapped from when he’d landed in glass. Two of the strangers came hurrying out, looking thrilled, but they skidded to a stop when they noticed at whose feet Wayne had landed.
One, a stringy looking fellow with a blunt, mashed looking face ducked and bobbed like Ryan was about to slug him. Maybe it was the cigar. “Ah, Sheriff, just hackin’ on him, you know…”
“Hack on someone else, he’s got a job to do. Unlike yourselves,” Ryan growled. “Now is not the day to try me in my town.”
“But it isn’t your town anymore, Stiles,” a new voice said before its owner came out.
Ryan felt his face crease into a snarl-like smile, but inside, his guts twisted like a headless snake. “Sherwood… what brings you here?”
Private Bradley R. Sherwood smiled his shit-eating smile. The one that made god-fearing little old ladies want to punch him in the kisser. “I’m the courier Haverstock sent, of course. I have your papers, if you want ‘em.” He motioned to his horse.
“Then get the papers,” Ryan nodded, stressing that those should be the only thing the man would get, watching Sherwood closely. He knew not to give him an inch. It could potentially cost him his life if he did. Though Sherwood didn’t usually enjoy doing a person in in so public a place. He preferred night time, in shadows, behind your back. Ryan’s glance flicked down at Wayne, who had risen to stand nearby, before back up to the man rooting through one of his saddlebags. “You okay?”
Wayne nodded wordlessly.
“I would have thought your bein’ sent here would have cured you of your… perversions. After all, wasn’t falling in love with that colored girl what got you out here in the first place? What was her name? Joanna, Baue, Isabell…” Sherwood said, not looking up from his horse’s bag. If he had, he’d have seen Ryan, red-faced and furious, steadily ignoring the growing crowd who had heard every word. “Isabo.”
“Don’t you dare say her name again, Bradley… or we’re going to have problems…”
Brad cocked his head like a bird, eyes still bright with amusement as he glanced Ryan’s way. He had been Ryan’s greatest friend, at one time. It was Sherwood who’d watched Mr. Bell’s with him, had watched Ryan fall in love, had for some reason decided to tear them apart. It was he who had delighted in Ryan’s fall from grace, just as he was right now, all over again. “You gonna draw down on me, Sheriff? In front of all these good people?”
Ryan’s eyes flicked around at the watching faces before he could help it, and he nearly flushed again. At his side, he felt Wayne stand a little straighter, a little closer, showing his support as he glared full on at Sherwood. Ryan smiled slightly and looked Sherwood in the eye. “Don’t be a damned fool, Sherwood, you haven’t done anything wrong.”
Brad scowled at him now, his teasing ruined. He jerked the roll of papers bound in leather out of his plush, expensive saddlebag, and let his eyes slowly roll up and down Wayne’s stiff figure at Ryan’s side. “Looks like sheriffin’ made you even worse…”
Ryan just shook his head, and spoke calmly, “You still insist they aren’t really people, don’t you Sherwood.”
“It’s how it’s been for years. Who are you to say otherwise?”
“It only took a handful of men to say that something wasn’t right when the English insisted on ruling a free folk. And look where we are now. Looks familiar, don’t it?”
Sherwood gave that aimless shrug again staring at Wayne. “True, but then, those folks also said slavery was good.”
“Give me my damned papers,” Ryan grated, moving a little ahead, and thus in front of Wayne.
Sherwood strolled forward, invading both Ryan’s and Wayne’s personal space, that slow smile splitting his face. He glanced down at Wayne. “Looks like you have an attack dog, boy.”
Wayne tensed, but Ryan held a hand back, and he subsided, looking away. “My papers.” Ryan spoke, his voice sounding like barely contained thunder. Sherwood turned his placid, mocking gaze up to Ryan’s eyes and held them out into Ryan’s hand. “I don’t want you in this town. You or any of your friends.”
“Aw, now that hurts my feelings,” Sherwood pouted. “You wouldn’t begrudge us a night here before we ship off, will ya Sheriff?”
“Fine. But you start anything with anyone in this town,” Ryan’s voice got quiet, and Sherwood lost his smug look in favor of an angry, and rather frightened one. “And I will make sure children cry and women scream whenever you walk by.”
Sherwood swallowed, eyes glittering with fear and fury but didn’t argue, instead nodding and heading off towards the Black Café. His two friends, followed with the three others who’d come with him, slunk off after him, silent and sulking. Only when the door shut behind them did Ryan and Wayne, and pretty much everyone watching, let out the breath they had been holding and took their hands from their respective guns. With nods to everyone, the crowd slowly dispersed, the women flocking to their husbands for details.
Well… there went the ‘I can be respected again’ feeling. Ryan sighed and looked down at Wayne, who was looking a little unhealthy. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Sir, you are ruining what reputation you have by protectin’ me,” Wayne said quietly, glaring at the dirt.
“Then that’s my choice. Besides, I don’t have one anymore. Weren’t you listening?”
“Why on this god’s earth are you so set on changin’ how things have been?” the dark man asked desperately. “You’ll ruin yourself and I won’t have that on my head!”
“I wouldn’t ask you to take it up, but I do it because it ain’t right.” Ryan grated, and Wayne darted a surprised glance up at him before looking quickly back down. “You people didn’t ask for any of this,” Ryan turned and nodded to Colin, who came over, sweeping his bowler off and wiping at his sweating brow grimly.
“Noble words, sheriff,” Colin nodded back, slapping his bowler against his leg and looking the way the men had gone. “True ones, I’ve always felt, to be sure, but hell… you can’t win this war against people like them. It’s a belief to them, and people are too set in how they were raised…”
They turned at the sound of rustling skirts to find Denny coming out, arms crossed, frowning in the same direction. “It’s not impossible to change, but yeah… some people couldn’t see the truth if it shot them in the ass.” She sighed, looking at Wayne who ducked his head, embarrassed. “Sheriff, you seem to have a knack for keeping my friend here safe.” She gave a few half-hearted swipes at the dirt now caked on the man before sighing. “Come on, I’ll pour us all a drink. Yes Wayne, you too.”
They wound up in Denny’s backroom, sipping some of Denny’s private stock at a little table she had. No one had really anything to say, and none really made eye contact, instead favoring a spot on the floor, their drink or a fixed point in space. It had taken Drew coming back to buy a bottle of fancy brandy to make them remember they were even there.
He’d stood, blinking as everyone turned and stared at him. “Okay… what happened now?”
After Denny had finished telling him, Drew was sitting at the tiny table between Colin and Denny, staring grimly into his own drink of the brandy he’d bought, now half gone.
Wayne had politely declined a seat, and Ryan just wanted his back to a corner at the moment.
“So who were those men, Sheriff?” Drew asked, watching him curiously, eyes flicking between him and Wayne.
Ryan slammed his drink and winced as it burned its way down his throat to quietly explode in his belly. “Old friends from the army. We trained together, we bunked together, we ate together. Shit, the leader, Bradley Ramone Sherwood, was once a very good friend, but he didn’t see some people as anything more than property… and that turned into a very big problem between us as time went on.”
“I can see how, the whole country is thinking like you two,” Colin sniffed, sipping his drink and grimacing. “However, I know for a fact that this territory is Union, not,” he said with an air of finality, “Confederate.”
“Confederate?” Denny asked.
“This country has split in two, dear,” Colin said heavily, patting Denny’s hand. “People who think like our Sheriff,” he nodded to Ryan, who said nothing, “and people who think like Sherwood.”
“Do you think anything will come of it?” she asked nervously.
“Of course something will,” Drew said, leaning back in his chair and watching Wayne with glacier blue eyes. “Some people believe it’s in their god-given right to own other people, and some people believe that the statement ‘all men are created equal’ is really true, despite that the men who wrote it had slaves themselves.” Wayne shifted uncomfortably. “Don’t like me starin’ at you, boy?”
Wayne started to shrink a little, but stopped, straightening up in the face of an icy stare. “No sir, I don’t.”
“If the South wins this civil war, you would be whipped to within an inch of your life for daring to talk back to me that.”
“War! Heavens above Carey,” Colin said, breaking the tension between the two men. “There haven’t even been rumors!”
“Yes there have, for quite some time now. I’ve been speaking with my banks owners in New York. They’re telling me to hunker down and to not chose sides, because it’s coming. And they don’t want to be caught funding anyone.”
“Why not?” Denny asked, sounding like she didn’t actually want an answer.
Drew looked at her, and for a second, he made Ryan very nervous indeed. Those eyes were far too shrewd. “Would you want to be caught funding the enemy of the winners?” He finally answered.
She swallowed hard and Colin rubbed her arm sympathetically. She nodded, rallying before turning to Ryan. “You’ve been awfully quiet Sheriff. You know something, don’t you…” Her eyes narrowed and Ryan sighed as everyone turned to look at him.
“The reason Sherwood was here is to deliver my reinstatement papers. I’m to wait here for my commanding officer, have him stamp my documents making me a Lieutenant, and I’m to ship out with any nonessential, able-bodied young men to Fort Worth in New Mexico.”
“What?!” they exploded, all trying to speak at once. Only Wayne was silent. Ryan held up his hands and they stilled before he pointed to Colin. “You’re leaving? But you can’t, we’d have no sheriff! You’re essential to this town!”
“Not anymore> you’ll have a new one soon,” Ryan sighed.
“Do you know who?” Denny asked.
“No, he should arrive with my commanding officer.”
“Who are considered non-essential?” Drew asked.
“Not you, or Colin, or especially Jeff. You’re needed to keep this town functioning because they’ll probably want that railroad finished as quickly as possible to help re-supply troups.”
“Who are you fighting for?” Wayne asked softly.
Everyone looked at him, but his eyes were all for Ryan, hiding everything. Ryan and he stared at one another for a long time until Ryan spoke, softly but with conviction. “You…” Wayne blinked and the others at the table raised eyebrows, looking between the two men. “You and others like you… because now I can finally fight for what I believe…”
“You want this war?” Wayne asked, surprised.
“Don’t you? It could finally make you a person in the eyes of this mashed up gristle pit of a country.”
Wayne looked at the floor. “All I know is that violence… it’s not… it’s not something I would wish on anyone, and as the others have said before, even if your side wins the war and declares us, my people, as citizens… there will be people out there who are just waiting to prove us wrong…”
“I can’t help that, but I can do my part to make sure that this country is united in what it preaches.” He turned and glared at Drew. “That all men are created as equals.”
And for a moment, everyone in that room believed him.
In Ryan’s room later that evening, most of his things packed up already, he sat in naught but his trousers rolling a cigarette by the light of the little oil lamp. A soft knock arrived at his door. “Who is it?”
“Wayne.”
Ryan frowned but bade him enter. He did, shutting the door behind him. “What’s on your mind, Wayne?” he asked, not looking up from his cigarette until nearly a minute had passed and Wayne still hadn’t answered. “Well?”
“I’d like to volunteer to serve under you for this country,” Wayne finally said, looking him straight in the eye.
Ryan took the cigarette from his lips and snuffed the match before it burnt his fingers. “Why’d you want do that?”
Wayne frowned, as though not sure. “Because.”
Ryan stuck the cigarette behind his ear and rose, regarding Wayne from his height with a dubious brow. “‘Because’ is not a valid answer to enter the army, Wayne, neither is a false sense of patriotism. That won’t last when you’re out there killing your own kind. So what’s your real reason that you want to join the Union army?”
Wayne, who’d been staring up at the tall man frowning down at him, flushed darkly and looking away before staring defiantly back up at Ryan. “For you.”
Whatever Ryan had been expecting, that wasn’t it. His eyes widened, and his face was covered in surprise before he stumbled to cover it. He did so with a frown, wandered over to the window and pulled the cigarette down, lit and drew on it before handing it over to Wayne. He took it, hesitantly, and puffed, coughing almost immediately. Ryan laughed, patting the spasming back.
When Wayne could breathe, he smiled up at Ryan, not minding the hand still resting on his back. “I can’t use you, Wayne.”
Wayne blinked. “What?”
“Sorry, but you help Colin sometimes, so that makes you vaguely essential. I’m going to recommend to my superior when he gets here that you need to stay behind,” Ryan said, barreling over any of Wayne’s feeble protestations and going over to the door. He opened it with a sad sigh. “Thanks for the offer, though.”
Wayne blinked furiously at the floor before, spine rigid, he thrust the cigarette back into Ryan’s fingers and walked out without a backward glance.
Ryan shut the door and cursed, shaking his head before finishing the cigarette, going to bed early for the first time in a long time, but sleep was elusive that night.
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no subject
Date: 2010-06-26 05:51 am (UTC)I love your writing style and the expertise you've put in, it's just like imagining it as a movie playing in your head. Superb. ^^
And there's something about badass Brad... om nom. 8D
x
no subject
Date: 2010-06-26 08:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-26 06:54 am (UTC)Once again, I love the way you use history in this! I'm learning so much in such a fun way! I can actually pciture everything! Poor Ryan and Isabo...
Nothing I can say critically! You're an amazing author!
no subject
Date: 2010-06-26 08:59 pm (UTC)Bawww, thank you for that :"> but I'm shite as a scholar, so as long as you know that anything in here could be a line of pure crap, then we'z kewl 8D
no subject
Date: 2010-06-26 11:17 am (UTC)I love this story so much, I literally squealed in delight when I saw this come up in my friends list :P
Your writing style is so utterly perfect, so imaginative and just incredible. Your description can place pictures so easily in the mid of the reader, it's just fantastic.
It is decided.
Brad is a BASTARD! My God. And AAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW for Ryan and Wayne lmao. That's pretty cute lol.
Oh Christ.....War....I hope everything goes ok :S
Love this fic so much :)
xx
no subject
Date: 2010-06-26 11:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-26 09:01 pm (UTC)Lol, long pause... BRAD'S A BASTARD XD lulz! Well, we're going right into the middle of it, hopefully without getting too chest-thumpingly patriotic in ah okey way. I'm all for patriotism, but not to 'Freedom' Toast levels XD!!!
THank you for the love!
<3
no subject
Date: 2010-06-26 11:28 am (UTC)This was amazing, I abosolutely adore Sheriff Stiles he has such a strong character, and his backstory rocks. Poor Ry-ry and Isabo. That story was so beautiful, and then his subsequent showdown with Brad.
Ryan has GOT to take Wayne... please? They are so cute together, even just as friends XP
And you mentioned Spud, this makes me happy!
no subject
Date: 2010-06-26 09:03 pm (UTC)Thanks for the lovin!
<3