"Do you want a fresh beer?" Ellie asked as she made the rounds of the tables. "No," Brisco answered quietly. "Suit yourself," she answered. "Oh, before I forget. Your rent's due tomorrow." "Okay," he replied absently. Ellie wondered what was going on. Brisco had come in earlier, moody and quiet. He'd spent most of the night at one of the back tables, chin in hand, an untouched beer at his elbow. At first, she thought he was drunk, but then she realized that he was angry, almost bursting at the seams. Ellie knew better than to ask him what was wrong; when he got in these moods, he was uncharacteristically quiet and kept himself apart from other people. The next day almost always found him back to normal, as if he needed time to work through whatever was bothering him. Later, when she looked over at his table, Brisco had gone, leaving money for the beer next to the glass.
He was hot, and when he threw the covers off, he was cold. After thrashing around in bed for an hour, Brisco finally got up and decided to go outside for a walk. He poured some water in the wash basin and splashed some on his face. He'd have to go on foot. Comet was angry with him and would probably dump him in the nearest manure pile. Brisco scrubbed at his face with a towel.
"If you'd take off your shirt and hang it up like I taught you, instead of sleeping in it, it wouldn't wrinkle."
Brisco whirled to the figure seated on his bed. The towel fluttered to the floor. "Ma?" he said, incredulous. "But-"
"Yes, I'm still dead," Mary Beth County smiled. "But one of the problems with being a parent is that you can never stop worrying about your child. You've acted foolishly, and you're too bull-headed to admit you were wrong. You've alienated the very people who have become your family since your father passed on." She stood, and Brisco was surprised at how tiny she was.
"It's only that you've grown taller since you last saw me," she said, reading his mind. "I think a little lesson is in order to make you see the error of your ways. Come," Mary Beth held out her hand to him.
Brisco stepped warily towards her, expecting her vanish.
"Take my hand," she said. "I won't disappear. Not yet."
Brisco took her offered hand, startled to find it cold, but solid. There was a rush of cold wind about them, and then they were on the street.
Brisco looked around him. They were still in San Francisco, but things were different. There was a saloon that he recognized from years ago; it had changed owners and names not long after he'd returned from Harvard. It was dark, and the only people around were night watchmen and gas lighters.
"We're in San Francisco," he muttered. "But when?"
"It's 1875," his mother replied. She pointed. "Look over there."
Brisco walked to the alley. Huddled on the ground beside a crate was a drunk. He was curled up in a ball around his bottle, his tattered clothing wrapped around him in an effort to stay warm. Brisco could smell him from where he stood. He stepped back when a night watchman approached.
"How many times do I have to tell you, County?" the man snarled, kicking the drunk savagely. "You can't sleep here!"
"County?" Brisco gasped. He turned and looked wild-eyed at his mother. "Me?"
Mary Beth shook her head sadly and said, "Look at his face."
Brisco turned to see the night watchman haul the drunk to his feet. The lamplight caught the man's face. "Dad?" Brisco hissed. He launched himself at the night watchman. "That's my father! Leave him alone!" As Brisco grabbed for the guard's sleeve, his hands passed through the man as though he was fashioned of vapor. Brisco stopped and stared at his hands.
"They can neither see or nor hear you, Brisco," Mary Beth said quietly.
"Why is this happening?" Brisco demanded, turning on her. "Why is Dad like that?"
"He didn't have the strength to go on after I died," his mother replied.
"But he had Sheriff Bob, and Li Pow to help him," Brisco answered in exasperation. "He had me," he added quietly.
"But he didn't have you."
"What!?"
"That's what this little scene is supposed to show you," Mary Beth said sternly. "What life would have been like if you hadn't been born."
He flinched as if she'd slapped him. "Never been born?"
"Without you to raise, your father lost the will to live after I died. He had a stupid argument with Bob and never spoke to him again."
"But Li Pow-"
"Li Pow was so distraught over being the cause of my death that he committed suicide." She looked tenderly at her husband, who was being dragged away to jail. "Poor Brisco. He didn't realize that Chinese honor forced Li Pow to do what he did. He thought his friend had abandoned him."
"But when I was a boy, Li Pow didn't kill himself after you died." Brisco was trying to make sense of this.
"Your father asked him to watch over you in case something happened to him. Li Pow was honor-bound to stay alive for you." Mary Beth held out her hand. "Come. We have a lot of ground to cover this night."
When Brisco took her hand, the wind swirled around them. He found himself in a cemetery in broad daylight. Two men were tossing shovels of dirt from a hole. One stopped and wiped his brow with his arm.
"That's enough diggin'," he said. "This poor bastard's not gonna have anyone weeping over his grave."
"Y'know," his companion said, leaning on his shovel. "We oughta just dump the guy into the hole and sell the coffin back to the undertaker."
"Good idea," the first man said. The two gravediggers crawled out of the hole and pulled the lid off the pine box that was lying beside the grave.
"On the count of three, all right? One, two, three---" The gravediggers tipped the coffin on its side, spilling the corpse into the hole. Brisco caught a flash of yellow.
"Look," his mother pointed to the grave. Brisco cautiously approached the hole and looked down.
"Oh, Matt," he groaned, sinking to his knees. They'd hacked the noose off and left it on his friend's neck. Matthew Carter's bright blond hair was an ugly contrast to his ashen skin and the purple welts around his neck.
"You weren't there to defend him, Brisco," Mary Beth said. "The townspeople dragged him out of the jail and lynched him for the murder of Potter Crow."
"But he was innocent," her son protested stubbornly. "He was framed."
"You weren't there to defend him," she repeated. As she touched his shoulder, the wind swirled around them.
Brisco found himself standing next to his mother in what looked like a Catholic mission. A woman, a novice by her habit, was on her knees, scrubbing the floor.
"Who is she?" Brisco whispered.
"Don't you recognize her?" his mother asked.
An older nun, one whom Brisco thought looked vaguely familiar, approached and laid a gentle hand on the novice's shoulder. The novice flinched, gathering her hood around her face. "Myra," the older woman said gently. "Please come and eat something."
"If you don't mind, Mother Superior," the novice said quietly. "I'll eat in my cell."
Mary Beth watched her son form the word, Myra, on his lips. They watched as the abbess helped the younger woman to her feet. The novice leaned on the abbess as she forced her crippled legs to move, all the while keeping her hood folded to hide her face.
"Oh, Dix," Brisco moaned in despair. "What happened to her?"
"Big Smith found out about Dixie's plan to take over his operation," Mary Beth replied stonily. "He beat her nearly to death. Aye, it would have been a kindness to kill her. But instead, he broke her legs, her face, and her spirit. It took her a year to learn to walk again. Such as it is," she watched Dixie Cousins' shambling, crippled walk. Mary Beth forced Brisco to look at her. "And she is always afraid now. She scrubs floors every day because she thinks that God will one day forgive her and let her die."
Brisco let out a sigh that sounded like a sob. "This happened to Dixie because I wasn't there, is that it?" His mother nodded. "I think I understand what you're trying to show me." He looked at Dixie's retreating figure. "God, I didn't think it would be like this," he whispered.
She laid her fingertips on his sleeve. "Not much more, I promise you." The wind swirled around them again.
Brisco found himself on Fisherman's Wharf, surrounded by a mob of pushing, shouting people. He saw a tall thin man, wearing tattered mittens and a scarf, shouting at those around him while gamely trying to add figures to a tiny account book.
"Wait your turn!" Socrates Poole cried anxiously. "I'll settle your accounts in a reasonable fashion if you just line up in a calm, collected row."
"Socrates?" Brisco asked incredulously. "Why is he here?"
"The bounty hunter he hired to capture John Bly and his gang failed. The robber barons had to have someone to blame," Mary Beth replied. "Who better than Socrates?"
"Poor Soc," Brisco said, sympathizing with the harassed ex-lawyer. "He always hated to be dirty. And now look at him. Surrounded by fish."
"Not for much longer. In every job since he was fired from the Westerfield Club, Socrates has been taken advantage of because he refuses to stand up for himself. He will soon lose this job because others are taking money from the till and he will be blamed for it."
"Wait a minute," Brisco frowned. "You said that the bounty hunter that Soc hired failed to catch John Bly."
"Come," his mother said.
As the wind settled, Brisco found himself in another cemetery. His mother pointed towards a stone. Brisco was afraid to look, but forced himself to turn. The stone said,
JAMES LONEFEATHER
"Bowler," Brisco groaned, dropping down beside the grave. He looked up only when his mother stroked his dark hair. "What happened to him?" he whispered, wiping angrily at the tears running down his face.
"You know what happened," Mary Beth replied. "You were there."
"John Bly killed him," Brisco remembered. "And I jumped through some kind of hole in time to get an orb so I could warn Bowler before it was too late." He looked up at her, grief-stricken. "But since I wasn't born, I wasn't there to save him."
Mary Beth smiled a tired smile. Was it his imagination, or was she becoming more transparent? "It's almost time to for me to go. Do you understand now why you need to be a part in other people's lives? That what you do touches others in ways that aren't readily apparent to you?"
Brisco nodded, getting to his feet. "Before you go, can I ask you a question? Is Dad with you? Uh, where you are?"
"Oh, my son," Mary Beth wrapped her arms around him and hugged him. "We're soulmates. We can't be parted." She smiled up at him. "You'll know that some day when you find yours." Then she seemed to vaporize in his arms.
"Ma?" Brisco called out in confusion. He found himself on the floor of his room, twisted in the bedclothes. A rosy glow at the window told him it was nearly dawn. Brisco disentangled himself, muttering that he'd had too much to drink the night before. Then it hit him that he'd gone to bed sober. He looked around the room, wondering if his mother had actually visited during the night. He shivered, recalling the scenes she'd shown him. He needed to find Bowler and apologize. Brisco frowned. What had they argued about, anyway? Well, it didn't matter, as long as they remained friends.
Brisco rummaged through his stuff until he located an envelope. He wrote RENT on it, signed it, and put twenty dollars inside. As he passed through the darkened saloon downstairs, he walked around the bar, hit the NO SALE button on the till, and put the envelope in the drawer where Ellie would be sure to find it. He looked at the row of bottles behind the bar. There was a full bottle of Bowler's favorite whiskey on the shelf. Brisco added some more money to the till before shutting the drawer. He tucked the bottle in the crook of his arm and set off on his journey.
It was too early for any fruit vendors to be out, so Brisco decided to walk to Bowler's house. He'd buy some green apples on the way home as a peace offering for Comet. The thought made the burden in his heart lighter, and put a spring in his step.
When he got to Bowler's house, Brisco realized that it was still quite early. He was afraid to wake his friend and incur more wrath, so he decided to wait on the steps for Bowler to come out.
He didn't wait long. The door opened, and Bowler stomped down the steps.
"Goddammit, Brisco," he growled. "I just about tripped over you. Would've dropped this here bottle of whiskey on yo' head."
"That's all right," Brisco said amicably, holding up the bottle he'd brought. "I have a spare."
His friend took a long look at him, then plopped down on the step. "What are you doin' here this early?"
"Waiting for you to wake up so I could apologize to you."
"Apologize? You got nothin' to apologize for. I'm the one who oughta be apologizing."
"You? You've got no---. No. Wait." Brisco grinned at the foolishness of it all. "We'll just get into another argument about who should apologize. Let's just shake on it, okay?"
Bowler nodded and extended his hand. "So what were we arguing about, anyway?"
"I have no clue, Bowler. No clue. You know," Brisco said. "I had the weirdest dream last night."
His friend looked at him sharply. "So did I."
Surprised, Brisco ventured, "Was your mother in it?"
"Yeah," Bowler said warily. "Was your mamma in yours?"
"Yeah. Seems like our mothers were pretty busy last night."
Bowler snorted. "I ain't been called to task like that since I was five years old. Probably needed it," he added quietly.
"I know I did," Brisco agreed.
"Was nice to see her," Bowler added.
Brisco laughed. "When I wasn't scared shitless, yeah. It was nice to see her. Tell you what," he said, standing. "I'll buy you breakfast and we can swap stories."
His friend grinned. "Deal."
As they ambled down the street, Bowler nudged Brisco. "Wonder if Poole's mamma visited him."
"Oh, no," Brisco laughed. "That's just too scary to contemplate."