Fic: Seven Steps to the Left
Title: Seven Steps to the Left
Fandom: Magnificent Seven
Summary: If, before the Magnificent Seven ever had a chance to meet, Fate took seven steps to the left, it might have looked like this.
Notes: Written for the m7land Rewriting History Challenge.
Mary scowled at Christopher Larabee and his mustached friend sharing a drink outside the saloon. She had just finished making arrangements with the stage to take her back east. Her in-laws would take her in and she could be with Billy again, even if her heart ached at the thought of leaving the home she and Stephen had built together. No, Four Corners would dry up, like so many other towns in the West, or else become a haven for thieves and worse, like Purgatorio to the south. In any case, it was no place for a widow and no place for her son.
The big, silent man who lived alone at the mission outside of town was still in the graveyard and Mary was too scared to see what he was doing with Nathan's body. She assumed from the cross he wore and that he rebuilt the old Spanish mission that he was a man of the cloth, but no one really knew these days. Nathan had told her once that he liked riding out to the mission; it cleared his head. She pretended that the big man was just saying his good-byes and mourning a friend. Anything else was unthinkable.
Larabee passed the liquor to his friend and they nodded at each other as they drank. The silence between the two men was cold and unnerving. It gave Mary a chill, even though it was high summer and she had known Minnesota winters before meeting Stephen. It was colder than that, like the two men had lost something dearer than the sun when the sheriff and his deputy came back into town yesterday.
A shot rang out from the saloon, making Mary startle. It reminded her of the shotgun from yesterday, when that man in buckskin tried to save Nathan. He’d been a good man, for all that the sheriff had him locked up, waiting to take him to Texas for reward money. Wanted dead or alive, sheriff said.
There was an outcry from the saloon and the mustached man stood slowly, like he was thinking about maybe taking a long afternoon walk, and turned to go back inside. Larabee watched him, whiskey bottle tucked under his arm like a lost child. A few more shots rang out.
Mary’s heart was in her mouth for a moment when the mustached man stepped onto the boardwalk, clutching a bloody shoulder. Larabee swore to make his own ears bleed and grabbed at the man, forgetting completely about the bottle. The bottle tumbled down from the crook of his arm to smash in the street.
She hurried away from the saloon, where it stood like a gaping maw across from Gloria’s store, and to her own shop. She spent the afternoon carefully packing up the store and taking apart the printing press. Mary did not miss it when the undertaker’s boy carried a man in a red jacket down the street, nor when he went back for the man with the mustache.
Mary knew to leave well enough alone. Soon enough she would be back with Orrin and Evie and when Billy was done with school, they could be something like a family again. She couldn’t bring Billy back here, not to where his father was killed, not to where men died daily in the street.
*
Three days later, Mary went to visit Gloria, to try to convince her to come with her. Billy had loved Jack and Tabitha and two widows could show a braver face against the world. Gloria had wavered back and forth.
“Oh, Mary, I couldn’t leave here,” she said, folding a bolt of cloth and arranging it just so. “This is where we wanted to settle down, to raise our children.”
“I know, but can’t you see what it’s become?” Mary asked again, almost wringing her hands. “It’s taken both of our husbands. If we aren’t careful, it will take us or our children, too.”
Gloria shook her head, but Mr. Bartram stepped in before she could say anything. He puttered around and peered at them over his glasses, as if wondering what the two widows might gossip about, but, in the end, he only purchased a pair of scissors and cotton darning thread.
“Really, I just can’t,” Gloria said. “It’s not even about the children. There’s no place else for us to go. You have Orrin and Evie; I’m just a woman with two young children. I can’t just set up shop anywhere.”
There was a roar and crash from outside the shop that had both women darting behind the protective counter. From relative safety, they watched as the giant man who had come from the mission stumble from the saloon into the street. Even from a distance, it was obvious he was drunk and in a righteous fury.
Mary could not make out what he said, except she thought she heard Nathan’s name. She knew a drunken rage when she saw one, though, and she knew what it meant when three men followed him from the saloon. It was just another shoot out in Four Corners. The man was too drunk to aim well and his opponents, cowboys in off the trail, knew enough to keep back from the giant.
What she didn’t expect and Gloria started at was another shot. It rang out after the big man went down, face forward into the mud and dust of the street. Larabee stalked up the street after his bullet, shooting the men who took down Nathan’s friend. It was only a moment or two before the sheriff and his deputy stepped out from the jail. He aimed at them, but maybe he was drunk, too, or maybe he just didn’t care, but the sheriff’s gun got to him first.
“That’s why we need to leave, Gloria,” Mary said, her hands curled into fists. “We can’t raise children where men are gunned down in the street.”
*
Mary packed the final case onto the top of the stage, five days later. Gloria was already inside, with Jack and Tabitha. Mary knew it was Jack breaking his leg and having no one but his own mother to set it that drove Gloria to move with her. It broke her heart to see the little boy in pain, but she knew, too, that it would be better for them all away from this dusty, nameless town.
She gave one last look around before the long ride east. The graveyard was a little more full than it had been only a week ago and the town that much emptier. She remembered stepping off this self-same stagecoach, with Stephen holding her hand, seeing it all for the first time. It had looked like the land of golden opportunity; now it was only a land of sorrow.
By the jail, the sheriff’s boy was putting a prisoner, the long haired young man who had worked at Watson’s, on the back of a horse. Mary had heard that he was being taken to Tacosa for a trial - Tanner was wanted for murder and would be hanged. He had near as killed another man in town, Mary knew, a young boy from back east. The boy had then run into the same wild cowboys who had killed Nathan. He hadn’t made it.
Mary stepped into the stagecoach and closed her eyes as they began to move. It was better this way; it had to be.
Fandom: Magnificent Seven
Summary: If, before the Magnificent Seven ever had a chance to meet, Fate took seven steps to the left, it might have looked like this.
Notes: Written for the m7land Rewriting History Challenge.
Mary scowled at Christopher Larabee and his mustached friend sharing a drink outside the saloon. She had just finished making arrangements with the stage to take her back east. Her in-laws would take her in and she could be with Billy again, even if her heart ached at the thought of leaving the home she and Stephen had built together. No, Four Corners would dry up, like so many other towns in the West, or else become a haven for thieves and worse, like Purgatorio to the south. In any case, it was no place for a widow and no place for her son.
The big, silent man who lived alone at the mission outside of town was still in the graveyard and Mary was too scared to see what he was doing with Nathan's body. She assumed from the cross he wore and that he rebuilt the old Spanish mission that he was a man of the cloth, but no one really knew these days. Nathan had told her once that he liked riding out to the mission; it cleared his head. She pretended that the big man was just saying his good-byes and mourning a friend. Anything else was unthinkable.
Larabee passed the liquor to his friend and they nodded at each other as they drank. The silence between the two men was cold and unnerving. It gave Mary a chill, even though it was high summer and she had known Minnesota winters before meeting Stephen. It was colder than that, like the two men had lost something dearer than the sun when the sheriff and his deputy came back into town yesterday.
A shot rang out from the saloon, making Mary startle. It reminded her of the shotgun from yesterday, when that man in buckskin tried to save Nathan. He’d been a good man, for all that the sheriff had him locked up, waiting to take him to Texas for reward money. Wanted dead or alive, sheriff said.
There was an outcry from the saloon and the mustached man stood slowly, like he was thinking about maybe taking a long afternoon walk, and turned to go back inside. Larabee watched him, whiskey bottle tucked under his arm like a lost child. A few more shots rang out.
Mary’s heart was in her mouth for a moment when the mustached man stepped onto the boardwalk, clutching a bloody shoulder. Larabee swore to make his own ears bleed and grabbed at the man, forgetting completely about the bottle. The bottle tumbled down from the crook of his arm to smash in the street.
She hurried away from the saloon, where it stood like a gaping maw across from Gloria’s store, and to her own shop. She spent the afternoon carefully packing up the store and taking apart the printing press. Mary did not miss it when the undertaker’s boy carried a man in a red jacket down the street, nor when he went back for the man with the mustache.
Mary knew to leave well enough alone. Soon enough she would be back with Orrin and Evie and when Billy was done with school, they could be something like a family again. She couldn’t bring Billy back here, not to where his father was killed, not to where men died daily in the street.
*
Three days later, Mary went to visit Gloria, to try to convince her to come with her. Billy had loved Jack and Tabitha and two widows could show a braver face against the world. Gloria had wavered back and forth.
“Oh, Mary, I couldn’t leave here,” she said, folding a bolt of cloth and arranging it just so. “This is where we wanted to settle down, to raise our children.”
“I know, but can’t you see what it’s become?” Mary asked again, almost wringing her hands. “It’s taken both of our husbands. If we aren’t careful, it will take us or our children, too.”
Gloria shook her head, but Mr. Bartram stepped in before she could say anything. He puttered around and peered at them over his glasses, as if wondering what the two widows might gossip about, but, in the end, he only purchased a pair of scissors and cotton darning thread.
“Really, I just can’t,” Gloria said. “It’s not even about the children. There’s no place else for us to go. You have Orrin and Evie; I’m just a woman with two young children. I can’t just set up shop anywhere.”
There was a roar and crash from outside the shop that had both women darting behind the protective counter. From relative safety, they watched as the giant man who had come from the mission stumble from the saloon into the street. Even from a distance, it was obvious he was drunk and in a righteous fury.
Mary could not make out what he said, except she thought she heard Nathan’s name. She knew a drunken rage when she saw one, though, and she knew what it meant when three men followed him from the saloon. It was just another shoot out in Four Corners. The man was too drunk to aim well and his opponents, cowboys in off the trail, knew enough to keep back from the giant.
What she didn’t expect and Gloria started at was another shot. It rang out after the big man went down, face forward into the mud and dust of the street. Larabee stalked up the street after his bullet, shooting the men who took down Nathan’s friend. It was only a moment or two before the sheriff and his deputy stepped out from the jail. He aimed at them, but maybe he was drunk, too, or maybe he just didn’t care, but the sheriff’s gun got to him first.
“That’s why we need to leave, Gloria,” Mary said, her hands curled into fists. “We can’t raise children where men are gunned down in the street.”
*
Mary packed the final case onto the top of the stage, five days later. Gloria was already inside, with Jack and Tabitha. Mary knew it was Jack breaking his leg and having no one but his own mother to set it that drove Gloria to move with her. It broke her heart to see the little boy in pain, but she knew, too, that it would be better for them all away from this dusty, nameless town.
She gave one last look around before the long ride east. The graveyard was a little more full than it had been only a week ago and the town that much emptier. She remembered stepping off this self-same stagecoach, with Stephen holding her hand, seeing it all for the first time. It had looked like the land of golden opportunity; now it was only a land of sorrow.
By the jail, the sheriff’s boy was putting a prisoner, the long haired young man who had worked at Watson’s, on the back of a horse. Mary had heard that he was being taken to Tacosa for a trial - Tanner was wanted for murder and would be hanged. He had near as killed another man in town, Mary knew, a young boy from back east. The boy had then run into the same wild cowboys who had killed Nathan. He hadn’t made it.
Mary stepped into the stagecoach and closed her eyes as they began to move. It was better this way; it had to be.