Chapter Thirty-Five

Marston stood at the cell window and stared out at the quiet early morning. Mist swirled low in the air and heavy dew clung to nearly everything in the sight. The gallows could barely be seen through the fog but Marston knew they were there—waiting for him.

Soon the crowds would begin to gather. They always gathered when there was a hanging. Whole families would come to eat, mingle and watch a man's neck break. For one terrible moment, Marston imagined Rose, Langley and Kaitlyn turning up to watch him die but he quickly shoved that thought aside.

Rose wouldn't come to this—she wouldn't do that to Langley and Kaitlyn. Rose... All he thought of was that woman. Those thoughts filled him with pain and yet they were also the only thing that gave him any strength of peace. He'd give just about anything to run his hands through that soft red hair, trace those full freckled cheeks with his fingertips and feel her full warm body pressed against his just one more time.

He would love to hear the oppressive silence filled with the ramblings of that over talkative ten year old he considered his own. Or scold Kaitlyn for raising her hand before speaking....

And he couldn't help but wonder what the child growing inside Rose would look like. The knowledge that he would never know that piece of himself and Rose was too much for Marston to bear and it had him growling and kicking the rickety table in the corner, shattering the crooked slabs of wood and sending splinters across the cell.

Pain constricted his heart, as Marston laid his fevered brow against the cool metal bars. He was shaking and weak but he'd be damned before he lay down in that bed and let the Marshall find him looking weak and broken. Marston may have handed himself over to the law willingly but he'd never let them break him. That would go against everything he'd ever lived for.

Marston heard the heavy door to the main office open and he recognized Pete's boot steps as the young deputy came down the hall. Marston's movements were stiff and every step filled him with pain as he went to the cell door.

"Good morning, Pete," Marston greeted, wearing the fake flashin smile he'd perfected over the years.

Pete's features and posture were drenched in sadness and Marston wondered if Pete truly understood the kind of man he was so sad over. "It's not such a good day, Marston. You're going to be hanging at one."

Marston gripped his bars and stretched out his aching arms. "What time is it now?"

Pete's gaze went to Marston's oozing knuckles and Marston chuckled. "The wall said some things I didn't like. Now what time is it?" he repeated.

"It's a little after nine," Pete replied. He tipped his head toward the broken table. "Did the table run its mouth too?"

"Tables tend to do that," Marston noted with a nod. He flexed his hands on the bars, causing the muscles in his biceps to bulge. "So what brings you by this morning?"

"I need to get that whiskey bottle back," Pete stated. "I'd get in an awful lot of trouble if the Marshall found it in here."

Marston clicked his tongue. "Well we wouldn't want that now, would we?"

Marston turned his back and headed toward the half empty bottle of whiskey beside his cot. Pete took a sharp intake of breath and gagged. "Marston, you need to see a doc!"

Marston laughed out loud as he carried the bottle back to the bars. "Why's that? So he can pretty my back up a bit before they kill me?"

"I guess you have a point," Pete admitted, scratching at the blond hair sticking out beneath his hat. "Still your back is in bad shape."

"There's something we can agree on, kid," Marston nodded, taking one last long swallow of whiskey before sticking the bottle through the bars to Pete.

"Is there anything else I can get for you?" Pete asked.

Marston thought for a moment. "Can I get paper and a pencil?"

"Sure."

Pete turned away but Marston reached out and caught him by the arm. When Pete glanced at him questioningly, Marston released his hold. "And give me your word that once I'm dead and buried you'll see that the letter I give you gets to where I want it go without the Marshall knowing?"

"Yeah, I'll do you that favor, Marston. You could have killed me and you didn't and not too proud to admit it. I'll see that your wife gets the letter and I won't let the Marshall know."

"How do you know it's for my wife?" Marston grumbled.

Pete shrugged. "I don't reckon you have a whole bunch of friends you'd bother writing last words to, do you?"

Marston just shook his head and five minutes later he was alone in his cell staring at a blank piece of paper. The words he had wanted to write seemed so simple to think last night and yet this morning with the whiskey wearing off and the pencil in his hand, Marston found it harder.

With a heavy sigh, Marston put the sharp point of the pencil against the thick paper.

Rose,

I hope this letter finds you well, love. My thoughts have never been far from you during this time we've been apart. I've lost track of the days since they no longer seem to matter. Today is my last morning upon this earth and I must say it's a peaceful one.

I can hear the birds singing outside my window and there's a heavy mist in the air blanketing the land and buildings. God, how I wish I could touch you one last time... I want nothing more than to hear your voice and feel your lips against mine.

Words can't express how bad I miss you, Rose. I hope you're taking care of yourself. I know you're taking care of the children because you're an amazing woman and mother, but don't forget about yourself.

Tell Langley I love him and that I'm sure he's gonna grow up to be a man that any pa would be proud of. Tell Kaitlyn I love her too and I'm glad she joined our family. Make sure the nugget knows, when it's born, that I loved it very much and I'm sorry I couldn't stick around to get to know him or her.

I want to tell you that I did something that I'd never done before last night. I prayed for God to forgive me for every wrong thing I've ever done in my life. It made me feel a little better though apparently he didn't appreciate the apology enough to figure up a way for me to get out of here without putting you all in danger.

When you see Duke and Jeremiah tell those bastards to rot in hell. I don't have any sappy words for them. If you don't mind though could you give my rifle to Jeremiah. The brain addled man doesn't realize that it's actually his rifle and I stole it from him after I lost mine in a card game. And you could tell Duke that I don't blame him for any of this—that might be something he needs to hear.

Well Rose, I can hear the Marshall moving around in the office so it's time to end this letter. There's a deputy here that seems to be an alright man and he's promised to get this letter to you.

I love you more than you'll ever know and I'll see you again someday. I'm not stepping foot inside those gates 'til you get there.

Marston

Marston folded up the letter, wiped his tears on the back of his dirty hand and walked to the bars. He tapped them three times and Pete came back to the hall.

"Thanks," Marston mumbled gruffly as he handed the paper to the young deputy.

Pete stuffed it deep in his pocket. "It's been an honor to meet you, Marston Jacobs," Pete said, holding out his hand.

Marston grinned. "Of course it has."

***

"Tick-tock. Tick-tock," Marshall Montgomery called as he made his way down the hall to Marston's cell at nearly one that afternoon.

"That's an impressive clock impersonation," Marston noted dryly without looking away from the window. "Your mother must be proud."

"And so must yours," Marshall Montgomery countered with a cold laugh.

"I guess your visit means it's getting to be that time," Marston noted. From his cell he could see the festivities already starting near the gallows and all the families gathered with blankets and picnic baskets.

"Yes it is," the Marshall replied. "You seem awfully calm for a man who's about to die."

Marston laughed at the man's pouting. "Don't be so disappointed, Marshall," he said, stepping to the bars and gripping them loosely. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm not real happy about dying."

"I'm going to let you out and cuff you, Marston, but you better not try anything. You know exactly what's at risk if you do."

Marston's temper flared. His jaw clenched. "Yes sir," he growled.

And so, Marston was led from the jail, cuffed with three deputies and the Marshall standing guard over him. Marston blinked in the harsh sunlight and nearly stumbled down the steps when his weak legs buckled.

"You alright there, Marston?" the Marshall asked in an amused voice that lacked any real concern.

"Just fine and dandy," Marston replied even as a cold sweat slicked his clammy skin. Despite his fatigue, Marston managed to keep his head high and his shoulders back as he stumbled through the crowd toward the gallows.

Things were thrown at him from among the crowd. Rocks and other items pelted his red, seeping back but Marston didn't mutter a single grunt of pain.

"Murderer!"

"Thief!"

"Sinner!"

"God hates men like you!"

Those were only a few of the words that Marston heard being screamed at him as he walked. He climbed the steps of the gallows, hating that he had to lean some of his weight on the deputies in order to make the three steps.

Such fine folks called Millerton home. It was a wonder, Marston had never settled down here with the warm, welcoming atmosphere the town possessed.

Marston stepped onto the trap door and didn't blink as the executioner placed the noose on his neck. Marston smiled at the man. "Thank you," he said with a tip of his head, deciding that there was no reason to be rude to the man, even if he was going to pull the lever that killed him.

The executioner was clearly uncomfortable with the gesture and he quickly grabbed the tiny burlap sack that was meant to cover Marston's head.

The Marshall held up his hand. "Don't cover his face. I want to see the face of my brother's murderer as he dies."

With a hesitant nod, the executioner walked over to the lever and reached out his hand. "Don't I get a preacher here to beg the Lord for my forgiveness?" Marston asked with a grin.

Marshall Montgomery shook his head. "There's no hope for a man like you."

Marston winked. "The way I got it figured you and I ain't a whole hell of a lot different so you better be praying there is hope for men like me."

"Any last words?" the executioner asked.

Marston nodded. "Yes sir." The jeering crowd fell silent. Marston cleared his throat. "First off, I want to thank you fine folks for paying the taxes that made building such a fine jailing facility possible. Second, I want to thank all of you for coming to my special day. I don't think I actually wronged any of you that are here and that just makes it all the more special that you're here to watch me die. And to know you cared enough to even bring your children means that much more. You know, I have children of my own. Three of them—well one of them isn't due for a while yet. It sure would have been nice to see them all grow up. Anyway, that's not important anymore. Thanks for being here and I'll see you al on the other side."

Marston stopped speaking and the crowd remained silent. Most of them now appeared just as uncomfortable as the executioner. Marston heard the executioner take a deep breath and time seemed to stand still.

Marston closed his eyes and drew up a picture that would combat the fear curling in his gut.

A ramshackle cabin with a skinny mare pacing the corral. A skinny red haired boy whistling tunes as he went about his long list of chores and a quiet girl dutifully scrubbing clothes on a washboard. And then there was Rose. She was soft and warm and glowing as she hung wet clothes on the line. Her blue dress, his favorite on her, was dancing around her legs in the gentle breeze and her red curls were dancing. She smiled at him.

Home.

Marston kept his eyes closed as he heard the scrape of the lever being pulled. The trapdoor beneath Marston disappeared and he dropped several feet. The rope tightened around his neck and all the breath became trapped in his lungs. Marston said a million different curses inside his head. His neck had not broken—now he got to choke to death.

Marston could hear the crowd cheering, the Marshall laughing and the executioner cursing the fact that his knot hadn't worked. Marston's lungs began to burn. The panic and pain were intense within him. Working hard to fight them off, he focused all his attention on that picture of home in his mind.

Then the vision began to falter. At first Marston wondered if he was losing consciousness but he was a man who could hold his breath underwater for nearly four minutes so he knew it couldn't be that.

He frowned when he began to recognize the new scene entering his head. He was beside a set of railroad tracks and up ahead, beneath a shade tree was Langston's body just where Marston had left it so long ago. However, the old outlaw was no longer dead. Instead he was sitting up, leaned against the rough bark and he waved Marston over.

Marston had never experienced anything so detailed or strange in his mind before but he figured the fever and lack of oxygen were probably to blame and he might as well go with it. Hell, he didn't mind being entertained for the last few moments he had alive.

Marston approached Langston and the outlaw smiled. "Hello Marston." His voice sounded younger and stronger than it had in life.

"I did what you wanted, sir," Marston assured him. "I gave them the money."

"Yes you did," Langston agreed. "And you gave them much more."

Marston frowned. "More?"

"You loved them."

"Yes I did sir," Marston replied without shame. "And it was one hell of a ride."

Langston grinned and Marston recognized the glint in his eyes. It was a glint that all outlaws knew. "Well open your eyes then, son, cuz the ride ain't over yet."