Chapter Text
The hinges of the front door must have frozen, because Goodnight’s righteous quest to bust the skull of whoever was trying to disturb his beloved’s well-earned sleep was interrupted when the damn door wouldn’t open.
Setting his rifle down, he put one foot on the wall, grabbed the knob and pulled so hard that his back bent, and his hat fell off his head.
“God damn, sorry state of things when the fucking door won’t do its job,” he muttered.
With a groan the door came open a few inches, and then a few inches more. A third pull gained him a few feet, and it wasn’t much but it was large enough for one irate Cajun to squeeze through.
“Mr. Robicheaux?” Alice asked. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I,” Goodnight said as he wiggled through the entrance. “Am about to rain retribution down on the heads of whoever just tried to set this place on fire!”
He fell most of the way out of the door, dusted the snow off his coat, and then reached back in for his rifle and hat, only to find that his rifle was now out of reach.
“Um, Miss Alice if you could be so kind as to hand me that?”
Alice, who had put her own coat on while Goodnight had been collecting door splinters, picked up the rifle, and followed Goodnight through the small amount of door space with much less complication.
“Alice!” Miss Gloria called from inside. “Where are you going? Do you have your scarf? You’ll catch a cold!”
“Goodnight claims someone tried to burn our home down, Glory,” Alice called back.
There was a beat of silence, and then Miss Gloria was wiggling through the door. “Someone what?”
The trio marched toward their quarry in a noble formation that would have been Goodnight’s old general proud. Or, at least they did until they got off the porch and landed in hip-deep snow. Then it was more of an awkwardly paced waddle as they followed Goodnight to the back of the house.
“There!” Alice said.
In the distance, Goodnight saw a figure making a painfully slow escape. He had no doubts that the snow only grew deeper further out, and whoever it was was struggling mightily as they made their way to a sled that waiting under an icicle covered tree with two dogs hooked to it.
Goodnight had his rifle up, and the target in his sights before he’d fully realized what he was doing. This rat had tried to kill him. More importantly they’d try to kill Billy, and Goodnight was going to send them right to Hell for it.
Pull the trigger, a voice that sounded haunting like Faraday’s jeered. Pull it for Billy. Or are you so weak you can’t defend your own beloved?
His hands began to shake. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.
When I open my eyes I’ll do it. I will. I’ll do it. I’ll do it for Billy. It’ll be just like Rose Creek. It’s different if I do it for a righteous cause. It is!
It wasn’t. Bogue’s men had joined his haunted dreams the same way the men and women from the long ended war had, and Goody’s nights were no more peaceful than they’d been before bell towers and angry red heads.
Still. Enough was enough, and if he could just-
“I’ll take this, thank you.”
Goodnight’s eyes few open as Miss Gloria lifted the rifle out of Goodnight’s shaking hands without batting an eye, and nestled the butt of it onto the inside of her shoulder socket.
“Abigail Pickman!” She shouted, her voice shattering the silent, snow-filled world. “Stop or I will blow a hole into the back of that poorly crafted bonnet!”
“That’s who that is?” Alice groaned. “Can’t you tell from the poorly rushed stitches decorating that coat and hat?”
“No Glory. Of course I can’t because that’s insane.”
“A well-made coat is the difference between life and death out here,” Miss Gloria countered. “And my god if she was going to add embroidery then she could have at least picked a more pleasing color than orange.”
“I like orange,” Alice said.
“She’s getting away,” Goodnight said.
The gunshot made Goodnight jump, and frightened by the noise the dogs took off into the woods trailing the empty sled behind them. Luckily, the retreating figure’s head did not exploded in a shower of blood and bone. Instead one of the thicker icicles that had been dangling from the tree plummeted into the snow.
“You got two choices now, Abigail,” Miss Gloria called. “You can freeze or you can march yourself back this way.”
Abigail Pickman chose the latter.
They retreated to the bee keeper’s front porch, everyone stomping feet, and blowing air into their gloved hands to ward off the cold. Everyone but Miss Gloria who kept Goodnight’s rifle pointed at their would be arsonist. Abigail was still drenched from the water bucket, and was shivering so hard that Goodnight was afraid she’d shake to pieces before they could question her.
“Gloria,” Abigail said, and then almost as if it pained her. “Alice.”
“You will not go first,” Miss Gloria snapped. “You try to burn my home and place of business down, and you have the audacity to think you get to speak first!”
“Fine!” Abigail said, throwing her hands into the air. They were ungloved, and looked painfully chapped. “Then you go first Gloria! You go right ahead and have the floor!”
Miss Gloria opened her mouth, and then shut it. Her lip curled back into a snarl, and a low hissing sound escaped from between her clenched front teeth.
“What Gloria is trying to say,” Alice said. “Is that we can’t believe you would try to harm us, but what else could we expect from such a person.”
“Such a person!” Abigail squawked. “What are you talking about?”
“Well,” Alice said slowly. “The kind of person who would burn a hotel down, and then try to burn down the home of two bee keepers…well that kind of person. What was your third target, Abigail? The church? How could you? Right, Gloria?”
Speech thankfully returned to the other woman, and she nodded quickly. “An arsonist. Right here in Burnt Fish Junction. I suppose we should have seen it coming. You do so love a good bonfire.”
“I did no such thing!” Cheeks aflame with rage Abigail leaned far too close to the muzzle of the rifle for Goodnight’s comfort. “You are the ones hiding the real perpetrators of that crime, and if no one else was going to take matters in hand then I knew I had to! I was protecting this town from those painted whores. You brought this on yourself.”
Gloria snorted. “Oh yes, Abigail. I am hiding a whole group of outlaws under my floorboards. You think Alice would allow that kind of influence near her grandson? That I would give the time of day to the jezebels who spat in my face when I offered them hearth and home? You know me better than that.”
“Besides,” Alice said. “You and two prominent members of our community were just here. Not even a day ago, and you saw nothing of interest.”
“You’re hiding them!” Abigail spat. “And if there’s nothing suspicious going on then who is he?”
Goodnight pushed his hands into his pockets, and lifted his chin.
“You weren’t here yesterday! Who are you? There are supposed to be two men here taking shelter after the hotel fire, and we saw neither hide-nor-hair of them! So who, sir, are you?”
It was exactly the kind of opening Goodnight needed. His brain kicked into gear, and despite the cold, the stree, and anxiety of the last few days it launched onto something he knew he could do. He started to tell her a story.
“Well, I can’t attest to the two gentlemen who are supposed to be here….,” he began.
“As I told Josiah, and Adam,” Alice said. “Those fools took off into the storm before we’d even reached the house. We tried to warn them, but they’re probably frozen dead on the side of the road.”
“I feel a bit of a kinship with those poor travelers,” Goodnight said, and took his hat off as a show of solemn companionship. His ears were immediately assaulted by the wind, and so he put it back on. “My companion and I also attempted such foolishness after the hotel burnt down. We left as quickly as we could, and headed into the mountains hoping to miss the storm. We got held up in a cave, and I am sorry to say we woke up a rather irate bear. My companion was injured after wrestling it into submission.”
Goodnight was glad that Abigail had turned away from Gloria in order to hear his tale. The look painted across the woman’s face would have ruined the game entirely.
“He was bleeding badly,” Goodnight continued. “And I knew if we stayed in that cave he’d die. As soon as the snow stopped I carried him down the mountain with the last of my strength. Lord bless us both, these kind women found us just this morning and took us in. I owe them more than they will ever understand, and will defend their good name with my dying breath.”
He puffed himself up as the words flowed. Squared his shoulders, and harnessed the energy and cheer of the leading men he used to adore in plays and theater. The kind of person you immediately liked because how could all that charm not be true? And all that bravery not be real? He became the best liar in the world, and lord help him he loved every second of it.
“And you are who exactly?” Abigail asked through chattering teeth.
“I,” Goodnight bowed. “Am Goodnight Robicheaux.”
He grinned. Gold tooth winking in the moonlight.
“I imagine you’ve heard of me.”
There was a look in her eyes that Goodnight needed. One of interest, appreciation and even a little romance. He had her. Had her eating right out of the palm of his hand. Lord forgive him he'd done it again.
Abigail sniffed. "I thought you'd be taller."
The living room was empty when they frog marched Abigail Pickman into the house. Queen Ann's gang must of had razor sharp instincts by now, and he had no doubt that they'd found a spot in the house to hide in. Alice led Abigail up the stairs where she’d be locked in the guest room until morning.
“There’s a hope chest up there full of extra clothes,” Gloria called. “Make sure you change Abigail. I have no interesting in nursing your sorry carcass through anything so little as a hangnail let alone full blown pneumonia. Once daylight hit I’ll take you back into town, and let the sheriff deal with you.”
Sensing that his part in this little drama was quite played out, and with his adrenaline was quickly fading, Goodnight was turning back to Billy’s room when Gloria touched his arm.
“Don’t worry,” she said softly. “They’ll be no trouble from the sheriff no matter what kind of fit Abigail throws. Abigail and I were both born and raised in this little town, and Burnt Fish tends to take care of its own. Death is the only thing that could really cause it to take action, and everyone under this roof is still kicking. To the town, this matter is like an extinguished match. Nothing left but smoke, and so little of it that there’s no reason to sound an alarm. You just stick with your partner, and if anyone comes around you pull out that ridiculous story you spun from air and cobwebs. Go write your letter. I’ll put a stamp on it, and take it with me when we go to town tomorrow. The sooner your lawman is here the better.”
There were questions Goodnight knew he should ask. Turns of phrase that caught his attention in their strangeness, and concerns he should iron out, but he kept silent. Truthfully, he’d never expected anything. Not from Burnt Fish Junction, its sheriff or the great scales of justice that Sam put so much belief into. That Abigail Pickman could attempt to kill her neighbors, and escape with no consequence was depressingly unsurprising, and he didn’t have the energy it would take to unearth the deep roots this town had sunk into its citizens even if he wanted.
Instead he took Miss Gloira’s hand in his own, and gave it a thankful squeeze.
“I’ll get right on that.”
The sick room was draped in shadow when Goodnight closed the door. The fire in the stove had burned to embers, and the lamp blown out. The entirety of Queen Ann’s gang was crowded into the tiny room, and circling Billy's bed. They turned almost as one to greet Goodnight, but their faces were masked in a play of firelight and darkness, and Goodnight was unable to make out their expressions. He felt ice rush through his stomach, and the room tilted dangerously. He was dead. Goodnight had left for one second, and Billy had gone and died on him. Only death would demand this much attention in such a small space. He’d left Billy to die alone so that he could chase down an evil he couldn’t even kill. He was alone now. He should really just walk right back outside into the cold, and keep walking until-.
A hand waved in front of his eyes, and then snapped impatiently under his nose. Goodnight blinked.
Nina stood in front of him. With the stove at her back even the red firelight was gone from her face and form, leaving only a shadowed specter in the place of a woman.
“You day dream?” she asked, softly. “Now? Now is time to be awake.”
Queen Ann motioned to Goodnight from her spot at the head of Billy’s bed.
“His fever broke,” she whispered. “Guess Henry won’t be mummifying anyone till that dog dies after all.”
Three Weeks Later
The fifteenth time Goodnight pressed his hand against Billy’s forehead an expression that could only be described as “murderous” spread across his face like a blush.
“Goodnight,” Billy said. “If you check my temperature one more time I will tie you to that chair.”
“I’m sure you will,” Goodnight said, and left his hand right where it lay on Billy’s cool forehead.
Billy rolled his eyes, and took hold of Goody’s wrist. He gently lowered it to the blankets, and leaned in close.
“I mean it. I’m fine. I walked to the kitchen for breakfast.”
“You wobbled the whole way there, you were weak as a kitten by the time you got to a chair, and I will add out of breath,” Goody said. “You still need your rest, and since you have no interest in resting you still need me hovering. Think of me as a particularly interested honey bee buzzing around a beautiful wild flower.”
“I’m going to forget that you ever said that last part to me.”
“Honey bees are all female Mr. Silver-Tongue.”
Queen Ann appeared in the doorway looking as deadly as a winter storm. Her pack was practically bursting with supplies, and her freshly sharpened axe was in hand. Her boots, pants, shirt and coat were all mended, fortified or at some points completely new.
“I am so glad you two ain’t coming with us. I cannot watch you make cow eyes at one another for however long this trip will take. I will throw up.”
“Hello, your majesty,” Billy said.
“Hello yourself,” Queen Ann said. “I’m here to tell you it’s time, and if you want to say good-bye you have to get yourself into the next room seeing as the lot of us can’t all fit in here.”
Billy shook his head, and then offered his hand to Goodnight with a long-suffering sigh.
“Want to help me?”
“Always!”
The bee keeper’s living room was full of chaos and noise.
Miss Gloria and Alice rushed from living room, to kitchen, and then back again, each time returning with another jar of honey, another pack of jerky, another set of warm gloves for the gang to take. Bluebell trotted from one person to the next, tail happily wagging as she investigated each new pair of boots. Henry, nervously pushing his falling sweater back up his arms, was gesticulating wildly about….something. He’d cornered Red Harvest who in turn had knelt to get the little boy on eye level. Meanwhile, Cornflower, Cherry, and Josephine were clustered around Sam, all of them gazing at him with a mixture of pride, awe and delight. Sam seemed unsure of what to do with the sheer weight of the emotions, which was fine since none of the girls seemed to care all that much how he took their affections so long as he took them.
Goodnight helped Billy settle onto the love seat, keeping a hand firmly on his shoulder. Billy raised an eyebrow, and Goodnight looked right back at him with an expression that said, “I will gladly let you topple over.”
Billy, gaze cool and level, raised his chin as if to say, “I will take you down with me.”
“And then,” Cherry said. “Mr. Indigo who wasn’t Mr. Indigo, he was Mr. Rocks the whole time, told me I could be Indigo if I liked just like his fine horse. So that’s why I’m no longer calling myself Cherry. I’m calling myself Indigo.”
“That is,” Sam thought the story over. “A mighty fine new name.”
Cherry, now Indigo, beamed.
Alice wrapped a scarf around Josephine, and then hugged the girl. Josephine hugged the other woman right back, but when she pulled away it was with a wicked grin on her face that made Alice laugh.
“Behave,” she warned. Over Josephine’s shoulder, Alice looked directly into Vasquez’s eyes. Vasquez held her gaze, but then slowly, deliberately took a careful step backward “Don’t scare the folks of your new home too badly.”
Alice started to move down the line of women, checking their packs and examining their weapons.
She handed Nina, whose nose and eyes were red and watering, a fresh handkerchief.
“None of that! All that water will just make your lips and cheeks get chapped.” She cupped Nina’s chin and looked into the girls’ muddy brown eyes. “It’s going to be fine. This is a new start for all of you in a good place with good people.”
Nina scrubbed her cheeks clean with the handkerchief, and blew her nose.
“Say it with me, Nina. It will be okay.”
“It will be okay,” Nina agreed. It was a wobbly agreement, but Alice looked pleased all the same.
“You write me soon as you get there.” Miss Gloria glared at the jar of honey in her hands as though it had just attempted to burn down here home, and then tried for a second time to fit it into Queen Ann’s bursting pack. “If you don’t write me I will ride out to this Rose Creek with a shot gun, and a hive of angry bees to make sure nothing awful as happened.”
“Don’t test her,” Goodnight said. “I have no doubt that she’ll do it.”
Queen Ann flipped Goodnight a rude hand gesture. Miss Gloria triumphantly backed away from Queen Ann’s pack, the jar of honey finally tucked away, and turned the girl around to face her for their farewell.
“Don’t worry,” Queen Ann promised. “I won’t mess this up.”
“Oh my girl,” Miss Gloria said. “Try not to be so hard on yourself in this new life.”
Queen Ann shrugged, and then quick as a lightening flash kissed Miss Gloria’s cheek. With the tips of her ears burning, she grabbed her pack and her axe and made a bee line for the door, flinging it open and taking a deep breath of the fresh air. With the open door came a burst of cold wind, but also thick tendrils of bright sunshine that stretched across the floor. Outside the hard packed snow sparkled, and Queen Ann stood at the precipice, engulfed in the cold with the light haloing her face.
“Come on then!” she called, stepping into the bright, winter day. “Horses won’t saddle themselves.”
The rest of the gang was quick to follow, and the bee keepers, Vasquez and Red Harvest trailed the group as they made their way to the barn. Sam was the only one who hesitated, crossing the room to put a hand on Goodnight’s shoulder.
“We’ll be seeing you two soon?” he asked.
“Soon as Goodnight stops taking my temperature,” Billy said.
Goodnight elbowed him. “We'll follow soon as we can. Be nice to see Rose Creek again.”
Goodnight stood to pull Sam into an embrace.
“Try not to find anyone who needs help until you finish helping the posse you got,” Goodnight said. “You’re not as young as you used to be. One adventure at a time, and all that.”
Sam snorted. “Me? I'm not the one sending letters about people and problems that sound like they belong in a dime novels.”
Sam pounded him hard on the back, and then pushed him away so that the two men could face each other.
"I've been meaning to ask you. How much did you pay that mail carrier? Because whatever it was wasn't enough. Letter like that should have taken a full on month to reach me, not a week, and that's if I don't take the weather into account. I understand circumstances were dire, but-what? What is that look?"
"What are you talking about?" Goodnight asked. " Miss Gloria sent it through the post, marked for Rose Creek with a stamp and everything. I didn't think there was any other options out here for mail. How did you get my letter?"
Sam scratched his head, and rested a hand on his belt. "I was sitting on Emma's porch after supper, and this tall, lanky woman on a black horse came riding up. Pale skin, black hair, big blue eyes, and wearing men's trousers. Said she had a special delivery for me, and handed me your letter. There was no postage on the thing. Just my name scratched across the front. She rode off before I could ask her any questions. I figured you'd paid one of the locals to make a quick delivery."
In the hearth, the fire popped and crackled. Outside, Goodnight could hear Vasquez talking to the girls, and the jingle of tack as the horses were led to the front of the house.
"It's probably better," Billy said. "If we don't question this."
"I suppose it might be," Sam agreed.
"I hate this town," Goodnight muttered.
Sam took that moment to pull Goodnight's hat down over other man's eyes, and while Goodnight squawked at the indecency of this Sam shook Billy's hand good-bye. With a final tip of his hat, he left the bee keeper’s cabin, the door banging shut behind him.
Left alone in the sudden quiet, Goodnight collapsed onto the love seat, and leaned into Billy’s warmth. He was about to suggest they get under a blanket when a cough caught his attention. The two men looked up to see Henry standing on the other side of the table, a mess of jars clutched in his arms, and a hopeful expression on his face.
“Okay Henry,” Billy said. He pressed back into Goodnight, warming and balancing him all at the same time. “Come tell me about death, and the desert.”
Pushing the sleeves of his exorbitant sweater up to his elbows, Henry set the first of his jars on the table, and began to talk.
The End