Marshal's Law

MARSHAL'S LAW #5: KNOW WHERE TO DRAW THE LINE.

His heart pained, Marshal’s eyes closed.  “Boy, you never understood.”

“Then why don’t you tell me?”

Marshal ducked under the horse’s neck and pushed the heavy body until he had enough room to work.  He crooned a soft sound to the animal, settling it before returning to its grooming. “Fact was, the stuff wasn’t worth the fight.  You boys, though . . . I wasn’t losing you, no matter what it cost me.  Course, maybe you would’ve been better off with your ma . . .”

“Mom didn’t want me.”

“She didn’t want none of us, son.”  The horse shifted uneasily.  The strokes had gotten too hard.  “We embarrassed her.”

“You embarrassed her,” Mark corrected. “Talking like a backwoods bumpkin in the middle of a dinner party, driving old trucks just because they were paid for, wearing boots instead of dress shoes . . .”

“I am who I am, son.  I ain’t never apologized for it before.”

“But couldn’t you have just tried to fit in . . .?”

“Nope.”

Silence fell between them and thickened as the seconds ticked into full minutes.  Finally, “It’s a good job, dad.  The company wants to start a new program.  They need someone with a different kind of outlook.”  He laughed dryly. “God knows you’ve got that.”  He slapped the envelope onto a table. “Just . . . take a look.  Okay?”

He waited for an answer until Marshal grudgingly said, “I’ll look.”

“Thanks dad,” he said and started for the door.

“Why’s this so important to you, son?” Marshal called to his back.  “Your old man embarrasses you too?”

Mark turned at the door, his mouth turned down.  “No,” he said, offense lengthening the word. Leaning against the wide door frame, he knocked the back of his head against the wood. “I know the owner’s son.  Met him in college.  He’s the one who called me.”  He shifted his weight, looking for the right words. “Just knew you could help them, that’s all.”

And with those words, he finally disappeared out the stable door.

Marshal left the envelope until the horse was groomed, fed and stabled.  Then, opening his pocket knife, he slit the side of the envelope and withdrew the papers.

It wasn’t the standard help wanted blurb.  It was a series of e-mails that Mark and his college buddy, Brian, had passed back and forth- nearly ten pages worth.  Sitting on a prickly hay bale, Marshal started at the beginning and didn’t stop until he’d reached its end.

His son was right.  He could be happy doing something like this.  A couple of years ago, he would have jumped at the opportunity.  Shoot, even now . . . yeah, he was tempted.

But he wasn’t leaving Monica to fight the witch alone.

And the job?  It was in Idaho.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

A full twenty-four hours after the initial shock and Monica still sat, her eyes riveted on the horizon.  The lawyer’s advice buzzed in the periphery of her thoughts, refusing to wholly sink into her comprehension.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Nancy said as she forced a fresh cup of coffee into her daughter’s hands.

Monica blinked and stared at the coffee, dumbly. “Yeah.”

“You alright?”

She lifted her eyes to her mother’s.  Her chest heaved with heavy breaths.  By the time the tears had started, her mother had her wrapped in a warm, fleshy embrace.