Eyes Like Sky

By Badgergater

Season: Set after Season 4

Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Can the residents of the Sherman Ranch find a way to cope with a grievous loss?

Author's Notes: Thanks to Hired Hand, my excellent beta who always keeps me on track.

Laramie xx Laramie xx Laramie xx Laramie

This fic was inspired by one of the saddest songs I know:

"I know your life on earth was troubled,

Only you could know the pain.

Weren't afraid to face the devil,

Were no stranger to the rain."

Oh how we cried the day you left us,

Gathered 'round your grave to grieve….

(Go Rest High on That Mountain by Vince Gill)

Laramie xx Laramie xx Laramie xx Laramie

They laid Jess Harper to rest in the tiny cemetery on the hillside above the ranch house, next to Slim Sherman's parents, on a perfect summer day of bright sunshine, cloudless blue skies, and heavy hearts.

How could a day so beautiful be filled with so much sadness?

Ranch owner Slim Sherman stood ramrod straight, face solemn, one arm protectively encircling the shoulders of the ranch's grief-stricken housekeeper, Daisy Cooper. Devastated, the elderly woman stood trembling beside the tall young man, fighting a losing battle to retain her composure. Both of them were dressed entirely in black, and nine-year old Mike Williams too was clad in that somber color, the boy huddled between the two grieving adults, looking hurt and confused.

While they waited for the preacher to begin his duties, Slim gazed out over the crowd that had gathered. The ranch yard was filled to overflowing with buggies, wagons and saddle horses. Half of Laramie must have been there, maybe more, or so it seemed. Jess would be impressed, Slim thought with a sad half-smile. If only he was here to see how many people truly cared about him, how many lives he'd touched. Sure, there were a few gawkers, maybe even a couple of folks who were there just to be sure that Jess really was gone, and glad of it. But the rest were his friends, people he'd helped and protected in the years since he'd arrived in Laramie.

There was Sheriff Mort Cory of course, Jess' most unlikely friend, the lawman who had come to trust and respect the one-time drifter. Mose was there and all of the Overland drivers who weren't working that day, more than half of the line's relay station owners and every one of the Overland partners plus the line superintendent who'd come over that morning from the main office in Cheyenne.

His gaze lifting to survey the crowd, Slim spotted Jess' friends Kett and Lottie Darby; Ezra Watkins, who owned the general store and with him, his nephew Bill, the young man with whom Jess had tangled before they became friends. Marshal Branch McGary and his deputies Reb and Patches had arrived a few hours earlier, the tumbleweed wagon parked for this one day behind the barn, next to two wagons that had arrived full of homesteaders from down the valley. Wheelchair bound Roy Halloran who ran the Laramie stage office and his wife Martha waited next to the bartender from Windy's. A bunch of Jess' poker buddies from ranches scattered all the way from Cheyenne to Medicine Bow and on down toward Denver were among the quiet crowd. Army Major Stanton and Sergeant Billy Jacobs had traveled the farthest, riding all the way from Fort Laramie.

Ma Tolliver, who called Jess a real man of the west and that was mighty high praise indeed considering the folks she'd known in her lifetime, was there with her granddaughter Sue and Sue's new husband, a young lawman named Bud. Charlie Frost, who'd quit drinking after whatever it was that had happened on that posse Jess had ended up leading a few months back, stood next to the young rancher Sam Moore and his wife, Alma, who held their toddler who had been born at the Sherman Ranch during that same manhunt. Mr. Elbee who since the news had arrived had kept shaking his head and talking about how last year Jess had faced down those no good troublemaking men chasing Ben McKittrick, had offered the use of his gleaming black hearse, free of charge, and had even driven it himself. The saloon girls from Windy's were all there, too, dressed in their gaudy finery and shedding what looked like real tears.

There were even some folks Slim didn't know, but each of them had stopped him and said a few words about something Jess had once done for them.

Who would have thought so many folks would come to call a one-time gunslick drifter friend? A man who, not that long ago, had arrived in Laramie alone and friendless and who left now entwined into so many lives.

His pride in his friend's accomplishments made Slim's heart even heavier, if that was possible.

The rancher was amazed at the turnout, but not surprised, not really. Jess had always been one to jump in and help folks, no matter who they were, no matter what the risk to himself. It was something Slim had always admired about his friend, admired and at the same time worried about, because so often that willingness to take on someone else's troubles had landed Jess in the thick of that very same trouble.

Probably had this time, this last time, too, though fact was they'd never know for sure just what had happened.

There was no one left alive to tell.

Slim listened with only half an ear as the preacher began reading from the good book, the familiar soothing words of the Twenty-third Psalm rising above the wind and carrying across the hushed crowd. Jess had never been a church-going man, he'd generally avoided it in fact, but Slim had asked the reverend to speak for Daisy's sake, hoping his words would give her some comfort. He was deeply concerned for her — she and Jess had forged such a strong bond over the past two years. Though they were such opposites, Daisy, ever the consummate and genteel lady, and Jess, the rough, hard living ex-drifter, shared something unique between them.

And though he knew she was doing her best to be strong for Mike's sake as well as her own, Slim was well aware of what a terrible blow this loss was to the housekeeper. He'd heard her last night, late in the night, the soft sounds of weeping coming from her room tearing at his own already battered heart. She was a strong woman but no longer young, and she seemed to have aged ten years in these last few days.

Today, despite all the care she always took in her appearance, her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, her face grey and, to Slim's experienced eye, she looked more than a bit shaky on her feet. He was genuinely worried about her.

In the midst of Slim's reverie, the preacher's words droned to a halt and the young rancher looked up to see the parson nodding at him. It was his turn to speak.

He'd rehearsed the words over and over, but saying them was as difficult a thing to do as he'd ever done in his whole life. Slim lifted his shoulders and stood up straight, clearing his throat and starting shakily in a voice raw with loss.

"Jess Harper w-was a good man." Slim's voice wavered and broke, but he had things to say so he forced himself to go on. "He was a good man. Sure, sometimes he slipped up, but he tried," his voice trembling and he had to stop but he took a deep breath and once again made himself continue. His speech gained strength as he spoke because he owed Jess this, and so much more. "He always tried his best to do right, to help people, not because he thought he'd gain something by it, but because it was the right thing to do.

"Jess made a lot of friends, friends he was always loyal to, no matter how high the cost of that loyalty." He heard Daisy sob as she clung to him and had to stop again, patting her back as he fought to hold himself together.

"Four years ago Jess rode into Laramie, and that day he made this town a better place to live, for all of us. He was my best friend, the best partner a rancher could ever have, as close to me as any brother could ever be, and I owe him my life a dozen times over." He raised his eyes to look out over the crowd. "A lot of you owe him, too." A comforting hand fell on his shoulder and Slim looked over to see Mort Cory, the sheriff's face looking as haggard as Slim knew his own must.

Voice shaking, he went on, "Jess wouldn't want us to mourn him. He loved life and he'd want us to remember the good times. That's not something that's easy to do just now, but I will. I'll remember the horseplay and the laughter, the fishing and the storytelling and how he took pride in this ranch, and this town, and in all of you callin' him friend."

His eyes were burning and his throat was trying to close up on him but Slim fought through it. "I'm- I'm gonna remember how he changed his life for the better, and all the good that he did for folks." His voice choked with emotion. "I'm gonna miss him." He hugged Daisy and Mike. "We're gonna miss him but we won't ever forget him and what he's done for us and for this town." He looked out at the crowd, at the many familiar faces. "Someday, this is gonna be a civilized country, and that will be because of the sacrifices of good men, men like Jess Harper." That was all he could say.

"Thank you, thank you all for coming," he managed to mumble and then he turned away to embrace Daisy who buried her face against his chest and sobbed, all but collapsing against him. He wrapped one arm around her and the other around a crying Mike and somehow managed to hold back his own tears, though he didn't know how.

The three of them stood together, clinging to each other, silent except for the muffled sounds of weeping as the mourners slowly dispersed with muttered words of condolence. Slim could only nod at each of them, his voice having deserted him completely. In his stead, it was Mort who shook hands with them and quietly thanked them for coming, until finally it was just the sheriff and the three residents of the Sherman Ranch, alone with their grief.

Long moments passed in heavy silence as the last hoof beats faded away.

"I still can't believe he's gone," Mort said, twisting the brim of the hat he held in his hands. "Jess always seemed indestructible." He looked over at the others, forcing a smile. "He sure was a difficult son of a buck sometimes."

That brought a sad smile to Slim's haggard expression. "Sometimes?"

"Yeah," Mort put his hat on and slapped the tall man's back. "This town won't be the same without him and I mean that in a good way."

The rancher nodded.

"Are you gonna be all right?" the Mort asked kindly, worried about his friends.

Slim nodded again, holding tight to Daisy and Mike. "We will be," he said, and didn't utter aloud the rest of the thought, that though they'd go on, they would never be the same.

Laramie xx Laramie xx Laramie xx Laramie

With the last of the mourners departed, the undertaker's crew went to work with their shovels.

Daisy tried to close her ears to the dull thud of dirt hitting the pine box, but she couldn't, not even covering her ears and burying her head against Slim's chest could shut out the noise and the finality it represented.

It was, she thought, the most dreadful sound in the world, an ending, a final tolling for a life lost far too young.

Daisy Cooper was no stranger to grief and death. She'd been bereft when she buried her husband just two years before, but his had been a long life, a life well lived, and she could accept death taking a man of his years. And her son, he'd been younger than Jess when the war claimed him, but she'd gotten no body to bury, no funeral rituals to comfort her, no grave to mourn at, only a letter from his commanding officer, telling her he'd died bravely, as if that was some consolation.

And now Jess had joined them in death, another loved one laid in the ground, and she had learned all too well that having a body and a funeral and a marker, no matter how solid, didn't matter either. The grief was just as intense, like a fist clenched tight around her heart.

Finally, the workers finished, departing wordlessly, and then Mort rode away as well, and there was nothing for the three of them to do but walk slowly back to the house.

None of them uttered a word as they went inside. Daisy worked mechanically setting out food for their supper, needing something to do so she wouldn't have to think. Despite her efforts, none of them ate a thing, all of their attention focused on their plates, trying not to see the empty place at the table. The silence was stifling, and deafening.

After they gave up on eating, Mike went disconsolately off to his room while Slim stood beside the hearth, leaning against it as he stared morosely into the fire. Daisy tucked Mike into bed, the boy refusing her offer of a bedtime story, so she doused the light and re-joined the rancher in the main room. Crossing the room she paused briefly to lovingly caress the arm of the rocking chair that Jess had always favored, remembering how he'd enjoyed so many nights sitting in it, in front of the fire.

She took a seat in the room's other chair, picking up her basket of mending and setting it on her lap but leaving the needle and thread untouched. "You should get some sleep," she suggested softly to the tall rancher.

"Can't." Slim pointed at a blank sheet of paper that lay on his desk. "I still haven't written the letters." He hadn't been able to find the words to explain Jess' death to Andy, in St. Louis at school, or, worse, Francie McKittrick, Jess' sister, far away in California. He'd sent them both telegrams with the bare bones details, but each was too far away to return in time for the funeral, especially Francie who was carrying a child who would now never have the chance to get to know his or her uncle.

Daisy's answer was gentle, knowing how deeply Slim was hurting, as if he'd lost a part of himself. "Leave it for now, Slim. Maybe tomorrow the words will come."

He shook his head in disagreement. "I told myself that yesterday, and the day before." He looked over at her with anguish darkening his blue eyes. "How do I tell them the unthinkable? How do I explain what I can't comprehend myself?" He waved a hand at the front door. "I keep expecting him to come chargin' through that door and tell us this is all some monstrous mistake. I know it isn't, I know we buried him up there on the hillside today, but I can't shake the feeling."

"It is hard to let go. Mike told me he dreamed about Jess last night," she stumbled over the name, as if saying it pained her, and Slim was sure it did. Daisy's eyes were red-rimmed, her voice hoarse and she looked more exhausted than he'd ever seen her, even when she'd gone sleepless for days tending one or the other of them when they were sick or hurt.

His eyes strayed to look over at the door to Mike's room. "Poor kid, he's lost so much already and now this." The rancher's gaze swung back to meet that of the housekeeper, his hand reaching out to take hold of hers to give her comfort, a comfort he needed as well. "And so have you."

She clutched his hand, her eyes brimming. "All of us have."

"We'll get through this somehow, Daisy. I don't know how but we will, because Jess would want us to," he promised her with more determination than he felt, because there was nothing they could do but go on.

No matter how much it hurt.

Laramie xx Laramie xx Laramie xx Laramie

Hurt was his world, pulsing, throbbing pain that blocked out all sense of the here and the now, of where he was or who he was or what had happened to him.

Laramie xx Laramie xx Laramie xx Laramie

Coming soon…. Chapter Two