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Sometimes Carwood wondered if he should just sell the farm and be rid of it.
Often, he'd find himself looking out, staring at the sprawling dirt field surrounding their small house, wondering what the point was.
He and Margaret had bought the farm with the intention to build a new life for themselves, start a family, create something. It was all so perfect, as idealistic as a pair of newlyweds should have been with their motivations. Carwood left Currahee with a spring in his step, a wife on his arm, and so many plans he wanted to fulfill with Margaret by his side.
But now Margaret was buried six feet under in the lifeless dirt behind their home and Carwood had yet to bring himself to do much more than endlessly prepare the fields for a harvest that might never come. There could be a day when crops would be ready, eventually grown enough to allow the farm to serve the purpose it was intended for, but that would mean they'd have to be planted first. He wasn't sure if he could do that.
After all, he and Margaret had yet to decide what they wanted to grow on their little farm.
As the months passed, Winters and Nixon had not so subtly reminded him of the fact that he would be welcomed back to Currahee Ranch if he so pleased. As time wore on, the weather shifted, and the seasons changed, Carwood felt more and more inclined to accept and do such a thing.
And even then, he never actually did.
Carwood couldn't give it up. In a way, it would be a betrayal to her. He'd be leaving her behind. Her memory and her.
So, as the days passed he got out there and worked. And worked. And worked.
Sometimes it was almost hard to believe that six months had passed. Most of the time it was the first thing he could think of in the morning. It was hard to forget when there was a cold spot in the bed beside him when he woke or an empty chair just across from him at the table. Even the little things made it obvious that there was something missing from his life. Too quiet, even outside. No longer was there a quiet voice humming beside him nor was there a light already shining from inside the house after he returned from a hard day's work.
There was no real way he could express how the loss felt. It just was. And it would continue to be.
He still had to push through and carry on, but there was something so tangible to it, floating thick in the air and clouding his mind that there wasn't any real way to just brush past and go without lingering.
It was obvious that the guys were trying to find ways to make things easier on him. Beyond the offers to return to Currahee, he could see it in the way Luz always made sure to spend a decent chunk of time just talking to him at the bar even though he was leaving Martin to do most of the work. He could see it in how Shifty would suggest they go out and camp under the stars like they would on past drives. He could see it in how all those he'd grown close to in his time living in Easy would tell him to just take a break and hire someone to help with the farm if he really, truly didn't want to give it up.
And while Carwood was sure that many of the guys would be willing to jump ship at the ranch to help him out just a bit, even if it meant a cut in pay, he simply couldn't imagine it. The farm was supposed to be his and Margaret's. Even if Margaret was no longer with him, he was still there and he could handle things himself.
Honestly, Carwood really didn't need a farmhand.
—
Carwood wasn't sure how he ended up at the 506th Saloon midday, especially when he didn't drink. He didn't actually smoke either, which meant that he didn't indulge in the second most desired service from the saloon—cigars and cigarettes. There was really no reason for him to actually go there besides wanting to converse. Still, he got his horse tied to the post outside the saloon and entered, smiling when he saw both Luz and Martin behind the bar.
The 506th wasn't ever too busy during the day, it was in the evenings when it was most lively and the guys from Currahee were done with their work, often in desperate need of a cold drink—Carwood would know considering he used to work at the ranch, even if he only indulged in the conversation there and not the alcohol. Still, seeing two of the bartenders there was surprising when the only other people inside were Malarkey sitting at the counter (Penkala and Muck suspiciously absent) and a pair of fellows he didn't know playing cards in the corner.
“Hey, Lip! What's the special occasion?” Luz greeted with his usual amount of fervor. They, just like many of the guys in Easy, had met while at the ranch. Of course now the two of them were off doing other things, Luz at the 506th and Carwood with the farm, but their friendship never felt any different than it had when they were both ranch hands.
“Just how things ended up today,” Carwood said with a smile, taking a seat at the stool on Luz's side of the bar. “What has you here so early?” Usually, like Grant, Luz would work the saloon at night. Most often he'd double as in-house nightly entertainment because of his natural charisma and his honestly fascinating talent for impressions alongside his many, many wisecracks.
Luz shrugged, pouring him a glass of water and sliding it across the counter. “Martin has to take off early, figured I'd do him a favor.“ From the other side of the bar, Martin shot a scowl at him. “Love ya too, Peewee, always here for you!”
“You better.” Martin frowned and poured a shot glass of whiskey for himself before stalking off into the back room.
Carwood turned back to Luz, a huff of laughter escaping him. “And that's it?” While Martin was in a near constant state of being peeved, that little interaction told him that Luz hadn't shared all of the details. Most of the time, he at least had a reason to be pissed off.
Quickly turning sheepish, Luz tapped a knuckle on the wooden countertop. “I might have also dropped a few glasses last night.”
“Oh?”
“...Like ten.”
“Shit, Luz, what were you trying to do?” It figured that the nights Carwood decided to stay in and keep to himself the interesting things always happened.
“Well...” Luz drew the word out, glancing towards Malarkey who'd begun to listen in with a shit-eating grin on his face, before returning back to Carwood. “There was a bet...”
“Buck?” Carwood asked. The lawyer had a penchant for gambling, so a bet didn't seem all that out there to suggest.
Luz shook his head. “No—which, actually, was probably a good thing because payday was yesterday for Currahee and Babe was here. It was um...” He looked off to the side, face scrunching up as he put an elbow on the counter. “It was with Toye.”
“Was it now.” That was not so unexpected.
“We were trying to see who could stack more glasses without them falling over! I just...got a little...ambitious.” At least Luz had the decency to look embarrassed. Carwood really wished he'd been there to see the events that conspired.
“I take it you lost then.”
“Five dollars, Lip! That's half my week's pay,” Luz lamented. “I swear...and then I gotta go into his store and buy shit and I have to see that fuckin' smarmy ass expression he has—you know the one—and...ugh.”
Carwood simply patted his shoulder, sympathy in the motion, and took a sip of his water. “You know there's other general stores in Easy, Luz.”
Groaning, Luz responded. “Well, yeah, but I don't shop anywhere else.” They both knew the reason why, even if neither of them would say it out loud. One of the guys from the table in the corner called out for Luz and he flashed a grin to Carwood. “Duty calls, be back in a minute.”
He nodded, watching as Luz moved over to help the men with whatever they needed.
For a moment, he was just left with his thoughts and the glass of water. Even though he didn't have any clues as to why the 506th was the place he ended up in the middle of the afternoon, Carwood found himself not minding it. Despite the fact that it was near dead, Luz still managed to liven it up with his conversation and could distract him from whatever was eating at him. Not that there was anything.
Loud clacking arose from behind him, making Carwood turn part way around to look.
A man pushed through the batwing doors, lightly covered in dust and dirt with a Cattleman on his head and a bandana covering half his face. Carwood could easily assume he was a drifter, not looking familiar in the slightest and having that general feeling about him. The drifter walked up to the bar, leaning an arm on the counter right next to him, and pulled down the bandana.
Briefly, Carwood caught a glimpse of flashing silver as his gaze dipped down, catching sight of a holstered gun. He had to drag his attention away when Luz started speaking again, returning back around the counter to stand in front of him, tossing a rag over his shoulder.
“So, Lip, give any thought to getting a helper out there?” Luz looked somewhat hopeful, a faint light glimmering in his eyes at the idea even when it was far beyond the hundredth time someone had brought it up before it was then subsequently shot down. It also had absolutely nothing to do with their previous conversation and everything to do with what he'd wanted to be distracted from.
Sighing, Carwood finished the rest of his glass and pushed it towards Luz. “Yeah, boy. Answers still no—you know I don't need one.” He appreciated the concern, really and truly, but the idea of having someone out there helping him that wasn't Margaret felt almost...blasphemous.
Martin's voice yelled from the back room, beckoning Luz with a harsh tone. “Consider it! I promise. Give it a chance, Lip. For me?” Before Carwood could even consider responding that he still didn't need a farmhand, his friend slunk off in the back to help Martin with whatever it was that happened back there.
At least it gave him the opportunity to survey the drifter. He had on fairly nice looking clothes, though the quality was a bit hidden due to the thin layer of dust coating him. He had to have been a fairly prosperous drifter then. Apparently though, Carwood was not so subtle in his appraisal because the drifter looked in his direction. “What's this place called?”
“Easy.”
Inclining his head slightly, the drifter asked another question. “What places are around here?” It took a moment for Carwood to decipher the meaning, but he assumed that he wanted to know about the various places of business. In times past, most drifters would stop in wanting a short-term job, needing some extra cash that was enough to line their pockets and get them through to the next town.
“You're looking for work?“ Carwood asked the drifter. Not too many people came through Easy randomly, most often it was young men looking for a place to work and get experience with cattle or the like.
The drifter eyed him, pushing up the brim of his hat which allowed Carwood to get a better look at him. He was taken aback briefly, not expecting a ruggedly handsome man to be the one to have stopped in town. “Maybe.”
Carwood smiled slightly, not too put off by the vagueness of the reply, he'd gotten worse. “Ah, well, if you're any good at working with cattle, there's Currahee Ranch, it's less than an hour's ride south from here. I used to work there, the owners are good people.”
“Used to?” The drifter raised an eyebrow.
“I own a small farm about thirty minutes out. Not much growing yet, but...I'm managing.” He didn't know why he brought that part up when he could have just left it at the first half. “I'm Carwood, Carwood Lipton.” He held a hand out, hoping to amend the awkwardness and smooth over any surfacing memories of Margaret that often bubbled up when he thought about these kinds of things for too long.
“Speirs,” The drifter said after a beat of silence, shaking his hand. “Thanks for the help.”
“It's no problem Speirs,” Carwood replied, trying to disregard the way he could feel his voice waver as an unwanted flood of Margaret's image coursed through his mind. “I hope you enjoy your time in Easy.” He meant it, he really did, but the thought of staying in the 506th any longer was steadily becoming difficult to stomach and he needed to go. He didn't know where, but sometimes there wasn't time to plan and he just had to go with the hand life dealt him.
Later, he could feel bad about the fact he didn't say goodbye to Luz, but Carwood needed to duck out and do something else before that awful feeling in his chest got any worse.
He touched the brim of his hat in lieu of a farewell to the drifter before placing a coin on the counter. He didn't need to pay for the water, he knew that neither Martin nor Luz would charge him for it, but Carwood felt the obligation to do so regardless.
And with that, he swept out of the saloon.
—
Easy was not a stop Ronald Speirs planned to make.
More specifically, he'd never even heard of the town before he arrived. It wasn't even until he'd asked where exactly he'd ended up that he found out. It was a small town, small enough he could see the edge from the road he'd entered on. Apparently, though, it had a rather prosperous cattle ranch. Intriguing, something he'd done at another time in another place.
Ron watched as the man, Lipton, left the saloon in a bit of a hurry. He seemed friendly enough with the bartender, but Lipton had hardly waited for him to return before taking his leave.
Only a minute or so later did that bartender return from the back, two of them actually. The one he recognized looked surprised at the empty stool beside Ron, paused, but eventually moved down towards the only other man at the counter. The unfamiliar bartender busied himself with arranging bottles of liquor on the shelves.
“Where'd Lip go?” asked the bartender to the man sitting across from him on the stool.
The man lifted his shoulders half-heartedly, “I don't know. He left.”
“I swear he's never gonna get someone out there to help him,” the bartender bemoaned, leaning against the counter. It seemed the two were amiable, and as familiar with Lipton as they were with one another. The saloon must have been the central hub for people to gather, Ron deduced, not uncommon but definitely helpful in terms of learning about Easy. “Gonna work himself to death just to forget her, can you believe that, Malark?”
“He's stubborn as a mule, Luz, you know that,” the man, Malark, responded, downing the rest of the contents from his glass and slamming it on the counter. “I heard Winters tell him he could come back to Currahee anytime, I don't know why he doesn't just do that.” Ron didn't often try to eavesdrop, though in his trade it'd become a useful skill that could mean the difference between life or death, yet he still found himself listening in on the conversation, mildly pleased at the fact that no one seemed to be paying much attention to him at the moment. It made things easier for him.
Now what he was hearing about Lipton, it too was illuminating. The man intrigued him, even after the briefest of encounters, and he found himself wanting to speak with him again. There was almost an...allure to the notion. And of course, Luz and Malark's conversation only made him more curious.
“Hey.” The other bartender, the seriously pissed looking one who stood with his arms crossed once he'd finished fussing with the alcohol, spoke up from the other end of the bar. “Lip's made his decision, alright? He doesn't need you two dickheads to decide what he should and shouldn't do. So quit fucking talking about it before I make you” —he pointed at Malark— “pay for yours and the rest of your friends' tabs” —he turned to Luz— “and make you deep clean this shithole with nothing but a rag.”
Luz put his hands up placatingly before grabbing the empty glass on the counter and beginning to clean it. “I meant nothing by it, Martin.”
“Me neither,” Malark agreed.
Slowly, Martin nodded at the two, uncrossing his arms and, at last, coming to Ron's part of the bar. “What can I get you?” The question was asked with a completely blank face, not even a hint of hospitality present on his features. Not that Ron cared, he just wanted a drink and a bit of time to reconcile with his thoughts. He took careful notice of the way the two at the other end of the bar were not so subtly looking at him and the very obvious revolver sitting inside the holster on his belt.
“Got port?”
Martin glanced back at the shelves behind him, Ron could see in the reflection of the mirror that he was surveying their stock. After a moment he pulled a bottle and set it in front of Ron, putting a glass beside it. “Yeah.”
“I'll have the bottle.” Ron set down a handful of coins on the counter, sure that it was enough to cover the cost. Martin stared for a moment, eyes flickering up to look at him briefly before he took the coins and left, shaking his head and mumbling something. Pouring himself a glass and turning to face away from the bar, Ron slowly sipped from it and surveyed the interior of the saloon, something he hadn't had much of a chance of doing before he'd gotten caught up in conversation.
A job. He reflected back on that first question he'd been asked. It wasn't something he'd thought about upon his arrival, he intended to leave as soon as possible—once both he and his horse was rested and he could have a drink or two—but...
Ron supposed there couldn't be that much of an issue for remaining in Easy for longer than he'd planned. After all, it seemed as if there were several opportunities available, all of which just so happened to be in his wheelhouse. A bit of money for when he set off once again would be far from unappreciated. And, perhaps, he could find a bit more intrigue and answers along the way.
As he refilled his glass, Ron nodded resolutely to himself.
Easy would be just fine to stay in for a while.
—
Carwood returned to the farm as evening set in, the sky painted with yellow, orange, and red hues that ate away at the last dregs of the day's blue. He got his horse to the stable and entered his house, not very hungry, but deciding he should still probably fix himself something to eat. There were no intentions of returning to town until the next day at the earliest. That would mean spending a second night away from the men he called his friends which would then lead to questions about his whereabouts and status, but Carwood figured Luz would at least tell those who asked that he had actually stopped in earlier and was still among the living and breathing.
After leaving the 506th he'd made a quick stop at Toye's store to pick up a few things and then the post office to see if his mama or brother had sent him any letters or a telegraph. Vest informed him that, unfortunately, no there wasn't anything, but that he'd keep a look out just in case. Once finished with that, he'd run into Liebgott outside of the barbershop who'd then gone on to complain about Webster, that new greenhorn from New York who was apparently traipsing around the place acting holier than thou. Carwood listened with a patient ear, even if it was far from the first time he'd listened to the same gripes, but once Liebgott had finished he offered Carwood a free haircut whenever he needed it.
The normalcy of all of that helped draw his attention away from...
Carwood thought back to the drifter. He couldn't recall the last time there'd been a true stranger in Easy, especially one with a gun, but that hardly seemed like it mattered. A few of the guys had some iron of their own—Shifty being one, though that association felt obvious when coupled with the fact that he worked on them when he wasn't at Currahee. Hoobler carried one around, but again, it was a part of his profession and wasn't too much of a surprise. Speirs was a complete mystery to Carwood and he wondered if he'd actually take a job at the ranch or if he would, as the epithet suggested, drift through Easy and be gone the next day without a trace, never to be seen again.
—
The answer to that came much sooner than expected.
The following evening actually.
Carwood had resigned himself to spending the entire day on the farm deciding he should get some more work in. It seemed to be an endless cycle of preparation for the growing of crops, but since Margaret's passing he'd yet to actually plant anything. It was foolish, completely and utterly, but there was something holding him back from doing so.
In a way, it was shameful. Carwood left what he knew best to pursue a new kind of living, yet he could hardly even begin the living part. It was new, sure, but he was at a stalemate with himself in regards to the latter half. An intangible block stopping him from progressing.
As he sat at the table situated in the middle of the room, reading through the previous week's newspaper, he heard a knock on the front door.
There wasn't anyone Carwood would anticipate stopping by at the late hour. Most people were at home, eating dinner, or in the case of many of the Currahee men, already at the 506th drinking and talking the night away. Carwood would have probably been there himself after several nights in a row of not, but he still wasn't quite feeling up to the one thing he actually indulged in at the saloon.
The weight of the world felt particular heavy—Atlas may very well having competition with the way Carwood felt—crushing down on him. He stood to answer the door, his eye catching the framed photo of he and Margaret taken shortly after their wedding, propped up against the wall and edge of the countertop. Her lively face looked so much different then than it did in her last few days. As glad as he was he was able to see her, frozen in time, looking as joyous as the two of them were on that special day, nothing would be able to erase the image of just how sick she looked in her final moments from his mind.
Regardless, he opened the front door, ripping his gaze away from the photo before the tear in his heart became a gaping hole and prepared as much of a smile as he could muster up to his unexpected, uninvited guest. No one needed to see him when he was down and out, that hardly mattered when someone might be needing him.
Out of all the people he might have expected, Luz skipping work or possibly even Winters there simply because he was a damn good boss (even if he was no longer Carwood's boss), the one that stood in front of him was not any of them. Instead stood the drifter, Speirs, from the day prior.
His hat was pulled low again, concealing his eyes and casting a dark shadow over his face, especially in the evening's dying light. Carwood could make out the way his hand was positioned, edging towards the holster at his hip that Carwood had noticed at the 506th. Many ideas ran through his head at what exactly Speirs needed a gun for, but none of them slotted into place. He couldn't presume such a thing based off one, now two, encounters.
Now if Carwood were a naïve man, he'd have thought that Speirs was prepared to draw and fire, maybe hold him at gunpoint and rob him for any of the meager valuables that lay inside his home. But Carwood was far from naïve and not so easily frightened. It was obvious by the tense body language Speirs had, straightened spine and completely rigid, that he was simply wary—cautious. He probably imagined being greeted with a shotgun barrel pointed right at his face. That wasn't to say that Carwood didn't have a shotgun squirreled away, in fact it was propped up right beside the front door, mere inches from his left hand. He, however, was rather lax in the way that he saw the best in any unexpected guests. Years of working at his mama's boarding house instilled that mindset for anyone could be in need of a room and warm meal at any time.
And yet, Speirs' disposition interested him more than it should have.
A man only reacted like that on first instinct if he had a past, and while everyone had a past in the broad sense of the word, a drifter like Speirs had to be harboring a dark one, likely filled with a lot more action than Carwood had ever experienced in his time living in Easy.
“Everything alright?” Carwood eventually asked, putting both his hands in clear view. He'd done enough staring and he wasn't sure if Speirs would say the first word or not.
Speirs nodded, a small thing that barely registered at first. “Yes.” The action shifted his hat backwards, making his eyes visible. They were intensely clear, boring straight into Carwood in a way that could have very well chilled him to the bone. Though they didn't, and instead he took the sight in, wanting to read into what those eyes could reveal. They were the window to the soul after all. Something about Speirs was captivating and he couldn't help but want to know more.
In the back, behind Speirs, Carwood could see that he'd tied his horse to one of the fence posts. It was grazing on an overgrown patch of grass he hadn't gotten around to cutting yet. Another thing on the list of many he had to take care of. An arduous process that never seemed to get any shorter. Verily, the list grew longer by the day as he chipped through each item slowly. Another two added for every one finished. It made for good distraction though. A never-ending list that provided infinite possibilities to keep his mind off that which he wanted both to forget and forever remember.
“You have a place to stay?” It was an overt question, about as overt as Harry was when he got to talking about Kitty, but Carwood knew they'd been standing in silence for far too long. He rather say something than continue without saying another word. Instinct chimed in. Sometimes a man was just in need of a bed and didn't have the means to pay for one.
“Mind if I smoke?”
A question for a question, hardly an an answer to it, but with the way Speirs was already reaching into his pocket Carwood answered with a hasty, “Fine with me.”
Speirs pulled out a cigarette, offering it to Carwood silently. He shook his head and Speirs stuck it between his own lips, striking a match and lighting it.
There was another long stretch of silence that only served to confuse Carwood further. He still didn't know why Speirs was there, at his house, on his farm at that time. “I heard you were hiring.”
That gave him pause. “Pardon?”
Gesturing off to the side with a jerk of his head, Speirs repeated. “Heard you were hiring.”
“I'm...” The words took a second to register. “I'm sorry, you must be mistaken.”
“Lipton, right?”
“Yes.”
“And you own this farm.”
“Yes.”
“And it's just you here?”
“Is there a point to asking me all of this?” Carwood was sufficiently lost now.
“Well, Lipton. It's just that I heard you were looking for a farmhand and now that I'm here, I can see that there's plenty of land here. Too much for one man to handle, I'd say. Now are you hiring?”
For a moment, Carwood was speechless. Someone...wanted to work on his farm. Before he could give it a second thought, Carwood opened his mouth. “I've got a...shed you can stay in and there's a cot I can put in it, if that's alright. I've only got one room in the house...or else I'd offer to let you sleep there. I can pay you some too, but it wouldn't be much.” Carwood felt mortified that he hadn't actually thought this far ahead before offering Speirs the job. Then again, the house was small and only had two rooms total, the main room and then his and...his bedroom. He also didn't have a great deal of money to spare, his family was hardly rich and he was lucky to have even gotten the farm. Margaret didn't have any family left and she was even worse off than him.
Speirs stared at him and Carwood instantly feared that this was how he'd lose the one person he'd ever actually considered hiring to work on his farm. It would be understandable, the man came looking for a job and all he'd get in return was a room in the shed and a few dollars a week.
And then, “It'll do.”
“That's good...I...how long do you expect to be in Easy, Speirs?” If he were to stay long enough for the crops to be ready for harvest, Carwood could certainly give him a better payout then. Hopefully, he would want to stay that long.
“Not sure just yet.” Speirs turned around, but paused, faced Carwood again and held his hand out. “Ronald Speirs.” It was as he shook Speirs' hand that Carwood realized he hadn't actually known his first name. He watched, a bit dazed, as Speirs continued back towards his horse and removed a pack from the saddle. It seemed to be big enough to contain the possessions of a drifter by trade.
“You can put your horse in the stable, there's an open stall,” Carwood called out. Speirs glanced his way and nodded.
As he assisted Speirs in settling his things in the shed later that evening, sun almost completely swallowed by the sky, Carwood felt...good. Not only was he helping out a man in need of shelter and a job, he was helping himself in a way. And finally, the guys could get off his back about hiring some help.
—
Two days later found Carwood back in the heart of Easy—the 506th Saloon.
He'd popped into town a few times in between Speirs' hiring and then the current night, but right then was his first real time seeing any of his friends since the last time he'd really done so. It was a Friday night which meant the 506th was truly bustling. Once stepping in, Carwood could immediately tell that most of Currahee's employees were in alongside all the rest of those who didn't but were still close with them.
Carwood had tried to invite Speirs out to get better acquainted with some of the other residents of Easy, but the man declined and said he had other matters to attend to. While Carwood was curious about what exactly he might have to do, he didn't push the matter and set out by himself.
Over by the darts he could already see Buck and a stranger having it out, Alley, Cobb, and Hoobler watching the match. At a table nearby sat Spina, Roe, and Renee, casually talking despite the loud volume of the room. Up at the bar, Carwood had clear sight of Luz wiping down the counter, chatting with Penkala.
From there, Carwood took a seat and greeted Luz, feeling almost giddy to tell him that yes, he had actually hired someone for the farm.
“He lives!”
Carwood smiled. “Yeah, boy.” He'd missed them, honestly, but between his dour mood and getting things worked out with Speirs, Carwood felt like his absence was justified.
Luz rolled his eyes, “You think you're too good for us now?” His voice was full of mirth as he pushed a glass across the counter towards him. A coffee, surprisingly enough.
“I've been busy, can't hang around all day Luz. Some of us have property to take care of and can't just live above their place of employment.”
“Oh yeah? And what have you been doing? Pretty sure some of the guys are convinced you died.” Luz glanced over and he followed his eye line, seeing that he was looking at Perconte. Figured, Perconte always had a flair to exaggerate.
Carwood's face split into a grin, already knowing that what he was going to say would surprise him. “I got a farmhand.”
“No shit?” Luz's eyes, predictably, went wide.
“Honest to God, Luz.” Carwood raised his right hand and used his left to take a sip from the glass in front of him. He expected the reaction, could see it in his mind, but it was even better actually seeing it in front of him. Not much could catch Luz off guard like that and he was pleased to have been able to get that kind of reaction himself.
“Who?” His expression further illustrated that thought, desperately wanting to know just who managed to break Carwood down enough to actually get him to hire someone. Luz, and many others, had been at it for nearly four months with no success. Whoever had done it had to be someone special, certainly.
“That drifter who came in the other day—Speirs? He came by, apparently found out about the situation. Looks like he'll be in Easy for a while. I tried to get him to come out tonight, but—” Luz stuck a hand in his face, quieting him with a hush and intense look.
He then leaned over the countertop conspiratorially, like he expected the guys sitting on either side of Carwood weren't going to listen in anyways. But the action confused him, why did it look like Luz was about to say something meant to be a secret?
“Lip, you can't seriously say you hired him,” Luz whispered. Though whispered was an overstatement considering just how loud the rest of the saloon was.
“Yes, I did.” Carwood looked to Martin who was standing a few feet away, only he was caught up in talking to Bull which meant the one level-headed person in the near vicinity was out of the question in terms of having someone be on his side. What was so wrong with Speirs anyways? He showed up, wanted the job, and for once Carwood hadn't felt inclined to reject the offer, especially if it meant being able to help out someone new to Easy who needed work and a place to live. Carwood couldn't exactly say no to that kind of thing, it would go against all the values his mama instilled in him. Did Speirs do something in the saloon after Carwood had left? Said something?
“But...Speirs, really?”
“Now you have a problem with me hiring help? You were down with the idea a few days ago.” He didn't know what the deal was with the sudden switch up. There had to have been something he was missing.
“Yeah, but...not him! Haven't you heard?” And the way Luz said it sounded like the answer was obvious, like Carwood should have already heard whatever the hell it was that he was skirting around.
Carwood went to answer that, no, he didn't know, but Luz had to move further down the counter to serve a patron who'd come up to the bar. They were on Martin's side of the bar which meant it should have been Martin's drink to pour, but...obviously he was preoccupied.
In the meantime, Christenson, who was seated at the stool to Carwood's right spoke up, beer in hand and a haunted look in his eyes.
“He's killed people.”
“Hoobler has too,” Carwood was quick to refute. Death wasn't something he took lightly per se, but it was also a fact of living life out in the relatively lawless west. Plenty of the guys had killed people before, some purposeful and some not, but no one was ever faulted for what past they had before they settled in Easy. And—more importantly, where did they even hear about that kind of thing in the first place?
Muck, sitting to his left chimed in. “Okay, that's different—Hoob's gotta reason, killing criminals and all that.”
“How do you figure? You know nothing about him.” Sure, maybe Carwood was getting a tad too defensive when he'd really only known Speirs for a grand total of four days, but what gave the guys any right to speak against him when they probably knew less than he did?
“Hey, hey Malark, tell him,” Muck elbowed Malarkey who was in the midst of a drinking contest with Penkala. The motion startled Malarkey and caused him to spit out the mouthful of beer onto the counter in front of him. That didn't deter Muck who simply urged, “Quick! Before our Lip gets murdered in the middle of the night.”
“Fuck, Jesus, give me a second!”
“Jesus—where's he? I'm the one talking to you.”
“Shut up, Skip,” Malarkey crowed, knocking the glass of beer from Penkala's hand onto his lap when he continued to laugh beside him. “You too, Penky.” At last, his two friends quieted down and he turned to face Carwood, intensely serious. “After you left, Lip, Speirs just sat there for a while. He eventually left, but later he came back and spent the whole night at the bar—didn't say anything, didn't talk to anyone. Seriously creepy. It got me thinking...I've heard his name before somewhere, but I couldn't think of where. And then, I remembered. A month ago we got sent to another town,” Malarkey gestured to himself, Muck, and Penkala, “Winters wanted us to ask around about cattle, you know how it works, and some of the ranchers there told us this story.”
And then Penkala jumped in. “Yeah, shit, I thought they were trying to scare us, but apparently a year before a whole ranch got wiped out, some baron got a guy to kill 'em. All of them. Told us his name was Speirs and that he's a hired gun. Doesn't care who, he'll do it.“
Malarkey nodded. “I remember we told More about it when we got back, remember?“ Muck and Penkala assented. “And he said that when he was driving through Laramie, he swore he saw a poster of him. Speirs!“
“So what we're saying, Lip,” Muck finished off, “is that you've just hired a cold-blooded killer to help you. Now I'm not the guy to give advice, but I say you better watch out, maybe reconsider.”
Carwood let out a deep, deep sigh as he closed his eyes with mild frustration. Maybe another night in would have been the better alternative. “You boys can't possibly be serious.”
“Bad time to come back?” When he opened his eyes, Luz was back standing behind the bar, looking between the lot of them. Luz then apparently saw the mess of beer spilled on the countertop, Penkala's pants, and the stool. “You have got to be shitting me, I just cleaned this! God, Martin's gonna kill you guys.” He started to wipe off the counter before glaring at the three. “You guys better leave before I make you pay your tab, I'm cutting you off for the night.” Malarkey, Muck, and Penkala all yelped with surprise and left with startling efficiency, practically running through the 506th's batwing doors.
“You believe all that?” Carwood asked once they were alone, Christenson having scooted off to another seat much further down the bar. He knew Luz could get out there sometimes...but something like this?
Luz stayed quiet for a moment, more focused on sopping up the wasted beer. Carwood held out a hand for the rag, willing to help clean off the beer-soaked stool so Luz didn't have to walk all the way around to do it.
“Eh, maybe. But that wasn't what I heard.”
“How many rumors are there?” He shook his head, thinking of a better question. “Just who all believes that Speirs is a ruthless killer?”
“Well...maybe it's better if I tell you who doesn't.” And it really took everything in that moment for Carwood to not slam his head against in the counter in defeat. “You know what, Lip?” Luz eventually sighed.
“What?” He wasn't sure if Luz was about to give in or simply continue to rehash the argument. Speirs was there to stay regardless of any of the rumors and especially regardless of what the other men believed to be true. After all, the rumors were rumors and Carwood wasn't going to judge Speirs for a past he didn't know if it was actually true or not.
Luz's face twisted up, looking almost as if he were going to change his mind and not say what it was he planned. Then, his eyebrows pinched together and he made eye contact with Carwood. “Margaret would be proud of you.”
And hell if that wasn't a way to get him going.
Not many people made outright references to Margaret. A lot of them tiptoed around the subject, omitting her from stories or pretending she didn't exist for Carwood's sake. So soon after her passing it was...nice in a way, the constant reminder of her would have surely made him break down. But now, six months out, it felt like he was trying to erase her impact from his life. The guys didn't realize, assuming they were doing what was best and helping him resolve the loss, but it also wasn't like Carwood would ever tell them that he didn't want her to go unnamed, forgotten. It wasn't their responsibility to help him through that grief and he could bach just fine. Luz never really mentioned her, much like the rest, but when he did it was purposeful.
Hearing her name right then...Carwood didn't know how to feel. Luz was probably right, she would have loved that Carwood was getting help for the farm. That didn't change the fact that it still felt like, in a way, he was replacing her.
“Yeah. Maybe.”
—
Despite the apparent town-wide rumor mill centering around Speirs, Carwood remained steadfast in his belief that he made the right decision.
That didn't exactly squash all of his curiosity.
He found himself stealing occasional, small glances at Speirs, trying to picture him in the scenarios he was told about. And there were plenty of scenarios for after he conversed with Luz, somehow almost everyone else had heard about his new farmhand and had their own two cents to throw in regarding Speirs.
Carwood thought it difficult to see the man in such a light, no matter how creative he tried to get, even if Speirs kept the gun on him while working. Of course Speirs was still fraught with mystery, he still hardly knew much about the man or whatever events preceded his arrival in Easy, but it wasn't like Carwood asked either. Speirs hadn't pried in regards to the photograph of Margaret in the house or the silver ring that still glinted on Carwood's finger. It was a mutual respect, he decided. Neither needed to ask and neither needed to tell. A balance, tenuous maybe, but a balance nonetheless.
That was until they were out working midday, once again taking a stab at preparing the field. This time, however, it seemed like something would actually be planted soon. Carwood was still conflicted on the matter, but it had to happen otherwise his living on the farm was a pointless endeavor.
One of his askew looks towards Speirs caught the man's attention.
“You wanna ask me, don't you,” Speirs said flatly, tugging the brim of his hat downwards as Carwood tried to avert his gaze and pretend that he wasn't staring, trying to envision him as a gun-slinging murderer. Carwood couldn't tell if the motion was meant to shield his eyes from the sun beating down on them or to conceal his expression.
“Ask you what?” He tried to be coy, but it appeared to have hardly worked when Speirs gave him a slightly miffed look. Carwood should have expected him to be perceptive.
“If the stories you've heard about me are true.” Carwood felt his face heat, ashamed that Speirs had caught on to the fact that he still was curious, in a way. He didn't want it to ruin their relationship so early on, especially when he was already getting used to the idea that a blossoming farm was soon to be in his future.
Carwood decided that honesty would go a lot further than feigned obliviousness. They were beyond first impressions at this point, but he didn't want his reputation to be sullied by something as insignificant as a lie about his current thoughts. “I can't say I don't want to know, but it's your decision on what you want to share.”
“Have you ever noticed, Lipton, that with stories like that someone always says that they heard it from someone else?”
“Perhaps.” Plenty of people in Easy were gossips and he'd personally learned long ago to take many things with a grain of salt. Very few times had he actually heeded the rumors and remained wary about certain others. Sobel and his reputation came to mind first, but that was neither here nor there in this particular conversation.
Speirs leaned against the shovel in his hands, tipping back the brim of his hat to maintain a steady stare towards Carwood. “I'd bet if you went back in time a couple thousand years you'd hear a couple of centurions standing around and jawing about how about how Tercius lopped off the heads of some Carthaginian prisoners.”
Well when Tercius was enigmatic, had a well-used gun on hand, and a few too many stories about him that ended in death... “Maybe it's because they never heard Tercius deny it,” Carwood said finally with a small shrug. He didn't exactly believe them, but Speirs had also yet to really introduce himself to anyone in Easy, letting all the rumors fester and build with every day that passed. It was nearing on a week since Speirs first rode in and Carwood was confident that he hadn't held an actual conversation with anyone else.
“Maybe,” Speirs riposted, the barest hint of a smirk on his features, “Tercius knew there was some value to the men thinking he was the meanest, toughest son of a bitch in the whole Roman Legion.”
He huffed out a laugh. Speirs didn't seem to actually care about the rumors then—encouraging them to continue permeating among Easy regardless of what it did to his reputation. Carwood had an inkling that that mindset had something to do with his still evasive past. Maybe he just wanted to protect himself if anything bad were to come his way, needing a quick out before he had to absquatulate. Speirs wouldn't be the first nor last man to do so and Carwood felt no desire to postulate.
“I don't think anyone's really concerned about the stories, Speirs,” Carwood said. He didn't, honestly. Most of the guys simply sought entertainment out when things got boring. They'd been in a bit of a slump in terms of interesting matters occurring in Easy and a potential gunslinger was just what some of them needed. “I'm just glad I have a good farmhand for now. Thanks for taking the job...for as long as you're here.“ He hoped that could act as a bit of an olive branch, a way to say the rumors meant nothing to him and he just appreciated his presence.
Speirs just nodded, short and sharp, before he lifted his shovel again and continued to clear out the dirt.
When Carwood resumed at last, mind half on what work needed to come next once the field was properly finished, he glanced once more over at Speirs—not with curiosity or judgment—and saw the precise and motivated way he was focused on his own work. In only a few hours they'd made more progress on the field than Carwood had in a week. The thought of that made a smile pull at his lips, a slight warmth in his chest. The guys might have been against the idea of hiring Speirs, but Carwood had no problems and still didn't have any.
And honestly, maybe having a bit of help on the farm wasn't such a bad idea after all.