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perpetual_motionTitle: A Vine in Thy Blood
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Mag 7 (TV)
Pairing: None (Ezra & Josiah friendship)
Rating: G
Summary: Josiah tries to understand Ezra and his mother. Ezra replies in parable.
Dis: Lies and bullshit, of course.
Author's Notes: There's some Bible quotes floating around this piece. Josiah and Ezra both quote the book of Ruth. Josiah also quotes from Ephesians. The title is from Ezekiel. This was self-betaed; do let me know if I've missed something.
A Vine in They Blood
By Perpetual Motion
Maude had come and gone once again, fluttering into town with her usual panache; keeping court in the saloon, charming the birds from the trees (and Josiah from his church), and leaving in a flurry of smiles and delicate waving. But not before making a few pointed remarks to the decorations, clientele, and questionable skills of the bartender--Ezra, of course--at the saloon.
"Oh, don't look so sour, darling," she'd murmured to Ezra as Josiah stood nearby in his usual haze at her mere presence. "I'm merely looking after my investment."
"Your investment." Ezra had replied, his gaze sliding over her head and flashing something unreadable before settling on her again.
"And you, of course," she'd added, and Josiah had noticed the way Ezra's face had fallen (Maude hadn't, too busy carrying on). It had reminded Josiah of a little boy desperately wanting approval and realizing, once again, that it wasn't possible to receive. In another moment, Ezra's face had smoothed out, and he'd been back to his usual self, tucking his mother's hand into the bend of his elbow and leading her away while muttering to her in an undertone.
But the look on his face had stuck with Josiah the rest of the week. He'd seen Ezra walk Maude to the afternoon stagecoach, then waited for the saloon to close before walking in. Ezra sat at a table, a glass of something deeply purple in his hand. Ezra toasted Josiah's entrance with his glass, then stood up and walked over to the bar.
"I am having port," Ezra said, turning from the counter with an empty glass. "Would you care to partake, or would you rather have a beer?"
"Port's fine," Josiah said and sat in the other chair. He watched Ezra pull the cork from the bottle on the table and pour him a measure.
"Mother brought it," he said as he handed Josiah his glass. "It is plum port. An excellent blend from a gentleman she knows in Mississippi."
Josiah took a sip. It was warm and tart, sliding down his throat better than whiskey. "It's very good."
"Only the best," Ezra said in an undertone as he sat down again. He turned his glass slowly, the light from the wall lamp playing across his face as he stared at his drink.
"I understand it some," Josiah said when he realized Ezra wasn't going to say anything. "Your loyalty," he added when Ezra glanced at him. "She is, as I know I've mentioned, a remarkable woman."
Ezra snorted at that and quirked an eyebrow. "If you said it any more frequently, Sir, I may force you into the church with a gun at your back."
"If she remembered my name, you wouldn't need the gun." Josiah chuckled and smiled widely when Ezra chuckled with him. It was a sound Josiah liked, a sound that reminded him that he and Ezra were friends, that they could be comfortable around one another, even with Maude standing between them without even being in town.
"But your wish to make an honest woman of my mother--an impossible task for which I am certain you could create a lovely parable--is not why you're here." Ezra said, bringing Josiah from his thoughts.
"No." Josiah looked into his own glass for a few seconds. "You are a devoted son," Josiah said, pausing to consider his phrasing.
"And you wonder why," Ezra said, breathing out slowly when Josiah nodded. "She is my mother, Josiah."
Josiah had expected the answer, but the tone surprised him. It was a combination of kindness, love, and exasperation. Ezra looked no different having said it, but Josiah felt something shift in the room, some layer rolling back. "How?" he asked.
Ezra smirked. "What a fascinating question from you. I would think you would know the fifth commandment and a few other passages as well. The story of Ruth comes to mind."
Josiah sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. "And Ruth said, Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me, and more also, if ought but death part thee and me." He opened his eyes and looked at Ezra.
Ezra sipped his drink. "Yes."
Josiah considered the answer. It was a single word, but the weight of it seemed like a physical thing Josiah could hold in his hands like he cupped nails when he was repairing the roof of the church. "Ruth's loyalty to Naomi stems from a love based on kindness and respect."
"And my mother and I are held together through mutual aggravation and a shared pile of blackmail."
"Yes," Josiah said, but he couldn't put the finality to the word like Ezra could. It sounded almost like a question to his own ears.
"You speak of love often, Josiah. I've heard you discuss its variations with at least a dozen people in town."
"There's love and there's love, son."
"A distinction Buck could discuss at length, I am certain." Ezra half-smiled at Josiah. He reached for the bottle of port and poured himself another measure. He pointed the bottle towards Josiah's glass, but Josiah waved him away.
Ezra put down the bottle and took a sip from his glass, staring into the middle distance for a long moment. He looked at Josiah again and rolled his shoulders. "My mother had numerous occasions to leave me with friends and acquaintances when I was a boy. She is very talented at her chosen profession, and I was seen, at times, to be in the way of her great success." Ezra paused, but Josiah didn't interrupt. He'd sat through plenty of confessions, and the way Ezra was looking at him told him he was about to hear another.
"When I was seven, she left me with some distant relatives; a man and wife with no children of their own and a farm tend. She frequently left me with childless people. They were not--of course--universally interested in me as a person, but I was rarely in danger of starvation or neglect.
"They were named Hazel and Michael. Their last names have escaped me over the years, though I am certain Mother could pull them from her memory."
No doubt, Josiah agreed silently. Maude had a mind like a bear trap when she wanted to.
"Their farm was small," Ezra continued. "They raised wheat and corn and had a garden. For the plowing, they had an older horse named Whicket. He was named for the way he would greet you when you walked into the barn to feed him. It was a sound between a whinny and a nicker and quite charming." Ezra paused to smile. "He was an excellent horse. Sturdy and hard working. He seemed to relish plowing. He could also be trusted to pull a buggy or carry a rider."
"An excellent horse," Josiah agreed. "He must have been calm."
"Certainly," Ezra agreed with a nod. "It helped tremendously that Hazel and Michael were positively doting on him. They taught me how to handle him and even allowed me to try my hand at plowing." Ezra chuckled lightly. "I was a sturdy boy, but I was hardly a match for a full-grown horse."
"Give you trouble?" Josiah asked with a smile.
"No more than any well-trained horse gives any small boy. I plowed a full furrow because of Whicket's patience and was sent to clean his stall immediately after."
Ezra paused, and Josiah wondered if that was the end of the story, if it had been a diversionary tactic on Ezra's part to distract him from the matter at hand. To distract him from getting any answers about Maude.
"I was with them for a bit longer than a year," Ezra said, his voice slightly quieter. "They had family nearby--from whatever side was not related to my mother--and the family had a run of excellent crops and luck and were able to improve their farm dramatically. As is the custom in such situations, they gifted one of their horses to Hazel and Michael when they bought a new pair for their own farm.
"He was a large horse, nearly eighteen hands, and he was considerably younger than Whicket. Hazel and Michael decided it best to let Whicket pull the buggy and carry the riders and for the new horse to take on the plowing."
Ezra went quiet, looking away from Josiah again. Josiah waited him out. "Hazel and Michael felt they were doing Whicket a service, allowing him to be useful without straining him as he got older. He was as gentle and hard working as before. He..." Ezra trailed off and looked down at the table. Josiah caught the bare hint of a smile in the flickering light of the lamp. "I was tasked to go into town on Saturdays," he continued, "And when I would go into the barn to saddle Whicket, he would open his mouth for the bit."
"Did he?" Josiah asked, charmed at the picture Ezra painted.
"I have never known another horse to do such a thing." Ezra took a sip of his drink. "And perhaps I have invented the action in the years since, but that is how I recall it. I would approach with the bit, and Whicket would open his mouth. He would take me into town as regally as any king's horse and wait patiently as I performed my assigned tasks."
Ezra paused again. He stared over Josiah's shoulder and flattened his hands on the tabletop. "When the plowing season started, Hazel and Michael put the new horse to work. He was a brisk worker; a bit temperamental and prone to throwing his head, but he wasn't going to be used to transport anyone, so he did well. Whicket..." Ezra pulled his hands from the tabletop and placed them in his lap.
"Whicket watched from the paddock. Every day the new horse worked the plow, Whicket watched from the paddock. He was still a good-natured horse, but something went out of him when they put him out to pasture. He seemed to know what had happened to him, that he had been replaced, that it had been decided he wasn't a workhorse any longer. It seemed to...make him sad."
Ezra cleared his throat and took a drink from his glass. He gave Josiah a sardonic half-smile. "Perhaps I am remembering it wrong. It has been many years, and one's memory does like to invent details on occasion."
Josiah stayed quiet for a few moments. We he spoke, his voice was quiet. "I would certainly never accuse Maude of being prepared for pasture."
"Nor would I," Ezra agreed. "Nor did I think Whicket needed to be placed to the side, but I was a boy and had no power over the decisions of the adults."
It was, Josiah thought, an apt description of Ezra's relationship with his mother. "Do you know what happened to Whicket?"
Ezra shook his head. "My mother, in her known fashion, swept into town, bundled me to her bosom, and had me away shortly after that year's planting." He shrugged and gave Josiah a genuine smile. "I have always assumed he died of old age, a bit bored but no worse for it, truly."
"But a man is not a horse," Josiah said.
"Nor is my mother," Ezra replied. "A horse might be capable of sadness and boredom, but humans surely can be, and their feelings are more intricate than any other animal." He smirked. "No matter how I sometimes consider my mother a particularly difficult pup to shake from my cuff."
"So you play along."
"I make her happy," Ezra corrected. "In the way I know works."
"In a way that strains you," Josiah argued gently. "You are a good son, Ezra. Perhaps better than you should be."
Ezra was quiet, watching Josiah for long moments. "And Ruth the Moabitess said unto Naomi, Let me now go into the field, and glean ears of corn after him in whose sight I shall find grace," he finally said.
Josiah felt certain Maude would never grant grace to anyone, and he felt doubly certain she would scoff at Ezra needing any such thing. He was too well-bred for such nonsense, Josiah could imagine her saying, and it was--in its strange way--a proud, motherly love. "A remarkable woman," he said. "And a remarkable son."
Ezra didn't answer, just nodded at Josiah and sipped his drink. They sat in silence, finishing their drinks. When Josiah rose to leave, he paused by the doors, turning his hat in his hands. "Honor your father and mother, which is the first commandment with promise," He said, and he saw Ezra smile as he gathered the glasses and bottle. "That it may be well with you and you may live long on the earth."
"And may you as well," Ezra replied. "Goodnight, Josiah."
"Goodnight, Ezra." Josiah walked out of the saloon and into the street, pausing to look up at the stars.
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Mag 7 (TV)
Pairing: None (Ezra & Josiah friendship)
Rating: G
Summary: Josiah tries to understand Ezra and his mother. Ezra replies in parable.
Dis: Lies and bullshit, of course.
Author's Notes: There's some Bible quotes floating around this piece. Josiah and Ezra both quote the book of Ruth. Josiah also quotes from Ephesians. The title is from Ezekiel. This was self-betaed; do let me know if I've missed something.
A Vine in They Blood
By Perpetual Motion
Maude had come and gone once again, fluttering into town with her usual panache; keeping court in the saloon, charming the birds from the trees (and Josiah from his church), and leaving in a flurry of smiles and delicate waving. But not before making a few pointed remarks to the decorations, clientele, and questionable skills of the bartender--Ezra, of course--at the saloon.
"Oh, don't look so sour, darling," she'd murmured to Ezra as Josiah stood nearby in his usual haze at her mere presence. "I'm merely looking after my investment."
"Your investment." Ezra had replied, his gaze sliding over her head and flashing something unreadable before settling on her again.
"And you, of course," she'd added, and Josiah had noticed the way Ezra's face had fallen (Maude hadn't, too busy carrying on). It had reminded Josiah of a little boy desperately wanting approval and realizing, once again, that it wasn't possible to receive. In another moment, Ezra's face had smoothed out, and he'd been back to his usual self, tucking his mother's hand into the bend of his elbow and leading her away while muttering to her in an undertone.
But the look on his face had stuck with Josiah the rest of the week. He'd seen Ezra walk Maude to the afternoon stagecoach, then waited for the saloon to close before walking in. Ezra sat at a table, a glass of something deeply purple in his hand. Ezra toasted Josiah's entrance with his glass, then stood up and walked over to the bar.
"I am having port," Ezra said, turning from the counter with an empty glass. "Would you care to partake, or would you rather have a beer?"
"Port's fine," Josiah said and sat in the other chair. He watched Ezra pull the cork from the bottle on the table and pour him a measure.
"Mother brought it," he said as he handed Josiah his glass. "It is plum port. An excellent blend from a gentleman she knows in Mississippi."
Josiah took a sip. It was warm and tart, sliding down his throat better than whiskey. "It's very good."
"Only the best," Ezra said in an undertone as he sat down again. He turned his glass slowly, the light from the wall lamp playing across his face as he stared at his drink.
"I understand it some," Josiah said when he realized Ezra wasn't going to say anything. "Your loyalty," he added when Ezra glanced at him. "She is, as I know I've mentioned, a remarkable woman."
Ezra snorted at that and quirked an eyebrow. "If you said it any more frequently, Sir, I may force you into the church with a gun at your back."
"If she remembered my name, you wouldn't need the gun." Josiah chuckled and smiled widely when Ezra chuckled with him. It was a sound Josiah liked, a sound that reminded him that he and Ezra were friends, that they could be comfortable around one another, even with Maude standing between them without even being in town.
"But your wish to make an honest woman of my mother--an impossible task for which I am certain you could create a lovely parable--is not why you're here." Ezra said, bringing Josiah from his thoughts.
"No." Josiah looked into his own glass for a few seconds. "You are a devoted son," Josiah said, pausing to consider his phrasing.
"And you wonder why," Ezra said, breathing out slowly when Josiah nodded. "She is my mother, Josiah."
Josiah had expected the answer, but the tone surprised him. It was a combination of kindness, love, and exasperation. Ezra looked no different having said it, but Josiah felt something shift in the room, some layer rolling back. "How?" he asked.
Ezra smirked. "What a fascinating question from you. I would think you would know the fifth commandment and a few other passages as well. The story of Ruth comes to mind."
Josiah sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. "And Ruth said, Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me, and more also, if ought but death part thee and me." He opened his eyes and looked at Ezra.
Ezra sipped his drink. "Yes."
Josiah considered the answer. It was a single word, but the weight of it seemed like a physical thing Josiah could hold in his hands like he cupped nails when he was repairing the roof of the church. "Ruth's loyalty to Naomi stems from a love based on kindness and respect."
"And my mother and I are held together through mutual aggravation and a shared pile of blackmail."
"Yes," Josiah said, but he couldn't put the finality to the word like Ezra could. It sounded almost like a question to his own ears.
"You speak of love often, Josiah. I've heard you discuss its variations with at least a dozen people in town."
"There's love and there's love, son."
"A distinction Buck could discuss at length, I am certain." Ezra half-smiled at Josiah. He reached for the bottle of port and poured himself another measure. He pointed the bottle towards Josiah's glass, but Josiah waved him away.
Ezra put down the bottle and took a sip from his glass, staring into the middle distance for a long moment. He looked at Josiah again and rolled his shoulders. "My mother had numerous occasions to leave me with friends and acquaintances when I was a boy. She is very talented at her chosen profession, and I was seen, at times, to be in the way of her great success." Ezra paused, but Josiah didn't interrupt. He'd sat through plenty of confessions, and the way Ezra was looking at him told him he was about to hear another.
"When I was seven, she left me with some distant relatives; a man and wife with no children of their own and a farm tend. She frequently left me with childless people. They were not--of course--universally interested in me as a person, but I was rarely in danger of starvation or neglect.
"They were named Hazel and Michael. Their last names have escaped me over the years, though I am certain Mother could pull them from her memory."
No doubt, Josiah agreed silently. Maude had a mind like a bear trap when she wanted to.
"Their farm was small," Ezra continued. "They raised wheat and corn and had a garden. For the plowing, they had an older horse named Whicket. He was named for the way he would greet you when you walked into the barn to feed him. It was a sound between a whinny and a nicker and quite charming." Ezra paused to smile. "He was an excellent horse. Sturdy and hard working. He seemed to relish plowing. He could also be trusted to pull a buggy or carry a rider."
"An excellent horse," Josiah agreed. "He must have been calm."
"Certainly," Ezra agreed with a nod. "It helped tremendously that Hazel and Michael were positively doting on him. They taught me how to handle him and even allowed me to try my hand at plowing." Ezra chuckled lightly. "I was a sturdy boy, but I was hardly a match for a full-grown horse."
"Give you trouble?" Josiah asked with a smile.
"No more than any well-trained horse gives any small boy. I plowed a full furrow because of Whicket's patience and was sent to clean his stall immediately after."
Ezra paused, and Josiah wondered if that was the end of the story, if it had been a diversionary tactic on Ezra's part to distract him from the matter at hand. To distract him from getting any answers about Maude.
"I was with them for a bit longer than a year," Ezra said, his voice slightly quieter. "They had family nearby--from whatever side was not related to my mother--and the family had a run of excellent crops and luck and were able to improve their farm dramatically. As is the custom in such situations, they gifted one of their horses to Hazel and Michael when they bought a new pair for their own farm.
"He was a large horse, nearly eighteen hands, and he was considerably younger than Whicket. Hazel and Michael decided it best to let Whicket pull the buggy and carry the riders and for the new horse to take on the plowing."
Ezra went quiet, looking away from Josiah again. Josiah waited him out. "Hazel and Michael felt they were doing Whicket a service, allowing him to be useful without straining him as he got older. He was as gentle and hard working as before. He..." Ezra trailed off and looked down at the table. Josiah caught the bare hint of a smile in the flickering light of the lamp. "I was tasked to go into town on Saturdays," he continued, "And when I would go into the barn to saddle Whicket, he would open his mouth for the bit."
"Did he?" Josiah asked, charmed at the picture Ezra painted.
"I have never known another horse to do such a thing." Ezra took a sip of his drink. "And perhaps I have invented the action in the years since, but that is how I recall it. I would approach with the bit, and Whicket would open his mouth. He would take me into town as regally as any king's horse and wait patiently as I performed my assigned tasks."
Ezra paused again. He stared over Josiah's shoulder and flattened his hands on the tabletop. "When the plowing season started, Hazel and Michael put the new horse to work. He was a brisk worker; a bit temperamental and prone to throwing his head, but he wasn't going to be used to transport anyone, so he did well. Whicket..." Ezra pulled his hands from the tabletop and placed them in his lap.
"Whicket watched from the paddock. Every day the new horse worked the plow, Whicket watched from the paddock. He was still a good-natured horse, but something went out of him when they put him out to pasture. He seemed to know what had happened to him, that he had been replaced, that it had been decided he wasn't a workhorse any longer. It seemed to...make him sad."
Ezra cleared his throat and took a drink from his glass. He gave Josiah a sardonic half-smile. "Perhaps I am remembering it wrong. It has been many years, and one's memory does like to invent details on occasion."
Josiah stayed quiet for a few moments. We he spoke, his voice was quiet. "I would certainly never accuse Maude of being prepared for pasture."
"Nor would I," Ezra agreed. "Nor did I think Whicket needed to be placed to the side, but I was a boy and had no power over the decisions of the adults."
It was, Josiah thought, an apt description of Ezra's relationship with his mother. "Do you know what happened to Whicket?"
Ezra shook his head. "My mother, in her known fashion, swept into town, bundled me to her bosom, and had me away shortly after that year's planting." He shrugged and gave Josiah a genuine smile. "I have always assumed he died of old age, a bit bored but no worse for it, truly."
"But a man is not a horse," Josiah said.
"Nor is my mother," Ezra replied. "A horse might be capable of sadness and boredom, but humans surely can be, and their feelings are more intricate than any other animal." He smirked. "No matter how I sometimes consider my mother a particularly difficult pup to shake from my cuff."
"So you play along."
"I make her happy," Ezra corrected. "In the way I know works."
"In a way that strains you," Josiah argued gently. "You are a good son, Ezra. Perhaps better than you should be."
Ezra was quiet, watching Josiah for long moments. "And Ruth the Moabitess said unto Naomi, Let me now go into the field, and glean ears of corn after him in whose sight I shall find grace," he finally said.
Josiah felt certain Maude would never grant grace to anyone, and he felt doubly certain she would scoff at Ezra needing any such thing. He was too well-bred for such nonsense, Josiah could imagine her saying, and it was--in its strange way--a proud, motherly love. "A remarkable woman," he said. "And a remarkable son."
Ezra didn't answer, just nodded at Josiah and sipped his drink. They sat in silence, finishing their drinks. When Josiah rose to leave, he paused by the doors, turning his hat in his hands. "Honor your father and mother, which is the first commandment with promise," He said, and he saw Ezra smile as he gathered the glasses and bottle. "That it may be well with you and you may live long on the earth."
"And may you as well," Ezra replied. "Goodnight, Josiah."
"Goodnight, Ezra." Josiah walked out of the saloon and into the street, pausing to look up at the stars.
