Hungry Jess, part 11 and epilogue (original) (raw)

new_kate deserves indescribable amounts of credit for this fic. She's been there pushing and pulling and betaing and nagging and squeeing with me the whole time, and I couldn't possibly have got it done by myself. Thank you, Kate ♥ She didn't have time to get me a full beta for this part, so any gaffs are entirely my own.

Here's the last chapter, and. Well, all comedies end with a wedding right? XD

Worksafe still, by virtue of teasy cutting.

The Legend of Hungry Jess Thimbleton

~and Other Tall Tales~

Personages:

Goku ~as~ Hungry Jess Thimbleton, a fearless pioneer whose luck, strength and appetite are known throughout the territories.

Sanzo ~as~ Deadeye Sally MacGruder, sharpest shot west of the Mississip’. The only thing quicker than her revolvers is her foul temper.

Gojyo ~as~ Chief Iron Rod aka Clarence DuFay. A lecherous mulatto bandit from Louisianne, infamous for his dashing good looks, trademark war bonnet and fancy riding. Known kidnapper, drunkard and ravisher of women everywhere.

Hakkai ~as~ William P. Quincy, a demure school teacher from Duxberry, Massachusetts, who moved West with his sister and her new husband.

and

Nataku ~as~ Jenner Birch, Jess’s Rival.

Hakuryuu ~as~ White Lightning, a Faithful Steed.

Kougaiji ~as~ Wyatt the Red, Gentleman Bandit.

Dokugakuji, Yaone and Lirin ~as~ Dolly, Nancy and Lacy Varley, Wyatt’s Gang

Homura ~as~ Mr. Grover Teasdale, Son of a Railroad Tycoon.

Zenon and Shien ~as~ Cormac Finn and Yu Yun, Teasdale’s Henchmen.

Rinrei ~as~ Miss Catalina Barnes of the Savannah Barnes, a Lady.

also featuring

Hazel ~as~ Sheriff Eustace Brewer, an agent of Love and/or Justice.

Gato ~as~ A Giant.

Koumyou ~as~ Eveline MacGruder, Matron of the Crystal Peak Sanitarium.

and

Nii ~as~ Dr. Vernon Borowitz (alias), a Quack.

~Part the Eleventh~
Arabian Nights in White Satin

Thomas Jefferson Wyatt had been named for his great-great-grandfather, from whom he'd also received his startling red hair, expansive civic-mindedness and rugged individualism. Yes, he thought, placing the plate of perfectly square finger sandwiches next to the soup tureen, a gentleman must take pride in whatever task he undertakes, and complete it to the best of his abilities. He grinned fiercely at lunch, which was now perfectly and elegantly laid out on the grand dining table in spite of the severe difficulty of operating a dumb waiter one-handed.

Dolly and Nancy had been called away to help the ladies dress, and Lacy was no where to be found; intermittent thumping and banging from upstairs was far too common in this house to be a reliable way to locate his hyperactive young ward. Wyatt suppressed a sigh, adjusting his half-healed arm in its sling, and began methodically searching the sideboard for the lucifer matches. He'd just determined them missing and made a mental note to speak with Ms. Eveline again about hiding them from the young and irresponsible, when he heard a truly terrific series of thumps, accompanied by a very familiar cry of rage and exasperation. It couldn't be- How ironic if, after months of hard work finding her and unsuccessfully attempting to herd her westward, his employers' wayward daughter had found her way home on her own. He firmly squelched his urge to hide in the kitchen until she (if, indeed it was her, which the stream of audible cursing from the upstairs hallways strongly supported) ran off again. Sally was by far the most trying assignment he’d gotten from Borowitz, but Mother couldn’t possibly be expected to pay for her own treatment while recovering from illness and divorce at Crystal Peak’s special facility in the Greek Isles, and the Doctor’s assignments were generally less perilous to his honor than a return to his former life of crime. Wyatt sighed, and started for the stairs. A gentleman knew his duty and attended to it with poise and efficiency, after all, and Wyatt was nothing if not a gentleman.

Sally MacGruder stomped viciously down the hallway of the west wing, the window panes and elaborate wall sconces rattling with the impacts of her boot heels. At least - and really, it was a stretch to call this a good thing, but Sally was trying her hand at optimism - at least, her mother hadn't hidden Lucille this time. Well, she had, but she'd let Sally watch where she hid her through a chink in the oriental screen, and later had distracted that twittering Southern hellion while Sally retrieved her precious firearm and took off. Sally MacGruder did not enjoy wasting her time on gossip or overly elaborate beauty rituals - and she would have been far more sparing with the attar of rose, no matter how nicely it complemented sandalwood.

Nothing, she decided, could possibly make this day any worse. She'd shoot anything that tried.

The nightmare of ruffles she'd been changed into succumbed to a much-needed catharsis of tearing without so much as a whimper. Yes, those thirty pounds of skirts looked much better of the floor, where they wouldn't impede her footwork or make her gunbelt ride up. Sally nodded in grim satisfaction, wheeled toward the stairs and found that silver-haired pervert leering wide-eyed at her, frozen at the top of them. Which was actually, she realized, in a sudden, blinding epiphany, a golden opportunity. She drew Lucille, cocked her hammer back, and smiled. The sun sank past the top of the window frame, bathing her white-clad form in molten honey.

"Won't you join me, Sheriff?" she purred, yanking open the nearest door and gesturing stiffly with her chin.

Eustace Brewer swallowed hard and pried his suddenly sweaty fingers from the banister.

"I'd be honored, ma'am."

"After you," Sally murmured, jamming the barrel of her revolver between the man's shoulder blades as he passed, and pushing him into the empty guest room.

The gilt-framed hall mirror which had briefly reflected her smile waited a full minute before sprouting a spider web of fine cracks across its surface.

Grover Teasdale was dismayed to find he was not the first to the dining room for luncheon, but only because those who had gotten there first were, well, questionable. But his wounded leg was aching, and the porch a long, plushly carpeted hobble behind him. He had to lean heavily on the sideboard while pouring himself a drink. He sighed and seated himself at the head of the table, stretching his leg gingerly. Ms. MacGruder really did need to look into getting better help, he thought, eyeing the scattered plates and the three children mounting a highly determined campaign of ingestion against them. At the very least, someone to keep this kind of riffraff out.
Though, he admitted to himself, the Giant had been sufferable company while they were sitting on the porch, despite his scruffiness, and hadn’t once interrupted Grover’s harrowing account of a train robbery he’d personally prevented. The man in question was seated in a therapeutic vibrating chair which had inexplicably migrated into the dining room, wires trailing out the door and down the hallway. He was smiling softly into the middle distance. In front of him was a full plate, to which the girl on his left was constantly adding, and from which the boy on his right continually stole things, determinedly cramming the slices of cold roast beef into his already full mouth. The last boy was seated across from him, lounging back in his chair, and somehow managing to match the other bite for bite while looking thoroughly unaffected. All three of them were chattering incessantly, the girl to the unresponsive Giant, the boys smirking and taunting one another inanely. Grover felt a headache coming on, and took a large gulp of his cognac.

Frankly, he was surprised to see children left unsupervised in the Sanitarium – who knew what kinds of expensive, delicate equipment they could get into. But, he reminded himself, children were simple creatures really, easily distracted and impressionable.

He cleared his throat, loudly, waited a few seconds, and began:

“So there we were, just three men all alone, deep in Indian territory. Our victuals were running low, and we were nearly out of ammunition. Every bullet would have to count, were we attacked, or we would certainly be overwhelmed. (Luckily my companions and I were all expert marksmen. Yu Yun can hit a rabbit in the eye at a hundred paces, Cormac at a hundred and fifty.) Why, Mr. Teasdale, you might say, any sane man would have fled in such a circumstance! But honor forbade such action: the savages had taken a virtuous lady hostage, and we were her only hope of rescue and redemption. We managed to sneak all the way up to their very doorstep, when we were surprised from behind. They managed to wound me-“

“He screamed like a girl,” the dark-haired boy put in, and popped a deviled egg into his mouth.

“Did he rescue the lady?” the other boy asked, smirking.

“Nah, Sally hates his guts. You gonna finish that pudding?”

“Why, you think I can’t?”

Grover snapped his mouth closed, then ground his teeth in irritation. He would never understand why a woman of quality like Salome MacGruder would voluntarily lower herself so far as to associate with these ruffians. He would never have dreamed the refined and tasteful Ms. Eveline might be her mother, until the poor, deluded girl had shown up here, where she stood out like a rough diamond in a velvet jewel case. Teasdale knocked back the last of his cognac and thanked God briefly for his dear, gentle, ladylike Catalina. Where was she, come to think of it? If luncheon were put off much longer it would become dinner. What was left of it.

Sally MacGruder stomped viciously down the servants’ corridor toward the kitchen, buttoning the sheriff’s shirt over her bustier with savage yanks. Wyatt trailed after her, trying desperately to compose himself for the necessity of confrontation. It was natural, he reminded himself, for the gentleman, upon finding a pile of torn women’s garments lying strewn across the hall, to investigate. And perhaps it hasn’t been gentlemanly of him to leave the sheriff in such a… condition… but, chivalry and propriety demanded that Miss MacGruder not be allowed to walk through this house in such an indecent state of dress unchaperoned. Yes, the things honor sometimes demanded of him were trying indeed.

Sally slammed into the deserted kitchen, banging the swinging door in his face. She was waiting for him when he pushed through it with his shoulder, face contorted with an unusual amount of rage, even for her.

"I didn't need your help," she snarled, drawing two pistols at him, one of which was much larger than usual and covered in ornate scrollwork.

"Uh," Wyatt began, staring at it, "Miss Sally, that’s not your pistol, is it?"

Her eyes widened as they lit on the mismatched guns and she swore. The second-best salt cellar shattered, spraying fine white crystals across the wide kitchen table.

With a growl she holstered both pistols at her hips, whipped around and practically sprinted for the door.

"Miss Sally, you can't mean to go outside like that-"

She stopped short, looked down at her torn petticoat, the Sheriff's vest and rumpled shirt hanging from her shoulders.

"You're right," she said, slowly, half-turning and leveling Lucille at his face again. "Pants and boots. Now."

She cocked the hammer back, and he hurried to comply, sliding his boots across the floor to her and, fumbling with his fly buttons one-handed.

"Sally, think of your poor mother-" he tried.

"Shut up," she snarled, gesturing with the gun, "Just toss those over here nice and easy."

He did so. She eyed him menacingly as he stood there in his skivvies, then carefully lowered Lucille's hammer and turned away.

"I don't like you," she told him, over her shoulder, "So give it up. Moron." And then she slammed through the swinging doors and was gone.

Catalina Teasdale, nee Barnes, loved a wedding, and was honored, just honored, when Ms. Eveline allowed her to plan Salome’s. Oh, it would be just as divine as she could make it, perhaps with a Persian theme – yes, yes, Arabian Nights, with silks and satins draped everywhere, and perhaps an exotic dancing girl for the reception… Oh! It would be divine, simply divine! Salome and her Sheriff were so obviously in love! Perhaps it would even rival the splendor of her own union with dear Grovie last week. Catalina tittered to herself, nearly skipping up the stairs to the attic, in search of the costumes Ms. Eveline had told her about. Ah, glorious, glorious! The trunk was packed full of stiffly embroidered coats, savage prints from the orient, exotic wraps and glorious silken robes which fluttered beautifully when twirled about. The scent of patchouli filled the dusty attic, mingling with her sighs of delight.

Dolly and Nan were still closeted with Ms. Eveline when Catalina went looking for help with the heavy trunk. When questioned about the bride’s whereabouts Ms. Eveline smiled mysteriously and said something about the wedding likely needing to be sooner than she’d thought. Catalina, who was a consummate hostess and equal to any challenge, clapped delightedly. Yes, yes! A sunset ceremony overlooking the majestic hills, with a banquet of spiced cakes and ices afterwards! She knew just the perfect spot for it, too – the little knoll where Grovie had proposed to her during a twilight stroll. Oh, there was so much to do! The dress was chosen - a glittering white sari, beaded all over with purple waterlilies - but there must be flowers, and suitable attire for the wedding party, and ah, yes, a suitable wedding party as well…

A groomsman, flower girl and ring bearer were easily located in the dining room, under the expert supervision of her Grovie. She kissed him thoroughly as a reward, and told them all to stay put. The minister was busy in his study, though he turned up quickly after an extended bout of knocking at the suite next door produced two disheveled ushers – maids of honor, really, since they were to be in the bridal party. She did hope Dolly would have something wide-shouldered for them, if there weren't enough saris to go around.

It took Grovie over an hour to comfort her when she was utterly unable to find the groom anywhere on the grounds. They finished just in time for her to arrange the flowers for the surprise double wedding which took place later that evening in a hastily arranged arcade of candles under the fiery desert stars. She always cried at weddings; unfortunately, the brides and their lucky groom occupied the hydrotherapy room far into the night, forcing Grovie to comfort her further in the privacy of their own suite. Eventually, she remembered that she still had Salome's wedding to plan, and a whole day or more to assemble the necessary harem pants. She slipped into sleep glowing with contentment.

Lightning didn't mind so much, he supposed. Sally was much lighter than the wagon had been, though she was a bit rough with the reins. It was cooling off rapidly now that the sun had set, and there was decent browse at their little campsite. He had at least had time to get groomed and drink his fill at the stable of that strange-smelling house. And anyway, the big black stallion had been eyeing him in a way he didn’t particularly like, and eyeing the sweet little bay who’d ridden up after them in a way he liked even less.

Okay, so maybe he was a bit miffed at having to leave her back there alone with that stud-horse.

But Sally needed his help, and he couldn’t deny her that, wouldn’t dream of denying her. She was staring into a smoky little fire, absently caressing the large, fancy pistol sitting in her lap, biting her lip. He nuzzled her shoulder, lipping her collar and she pushed his face away with a murmured protest.

He wuffled contentedly, and surveyed the horizon, scenting the air for coyotes, wolves or other pursuers. Will or his master would come looking for them sooner or later, he hoped. If they could pry themselves away from rutting for that long. And if they didn’t, life with Sally might not be so bad. They could find quiet little cabin somewhere by a mountain stream, with a lush glade of grass and a nearby town full of pretty fillies to impress with his rugged good looks. Maybe, if he was really lucky, Sally would take up horse-rustling.

The wind picked up a bit, wheeling around and blowing from the east, carrying new scents for him to sample. He sniffed suspiciously, taking a few steps out into the dusky desert, away from the smoke of the fire. Yes, he was quite certain! It was her, his little bay mare, and she was all by herself but for a lone rider who smelled of cologne and suede, and something effervescent, like sun glittering on water. Lightning tossed his head happily, and trotted out into the night to meet them.

Epilogue

Like ships in the night, two letters crossed paths in the post office of Jefferson county, Nebraska. One was a card depicting swans floating on the reflecting pool in the Schönbrunn Palace gardens. It read:

Darlings,
Having delightful time in Vienna! Met fascinating
young man, Sigmund, at the opera - long walks,
discussions of human consciousness and sexual
deviance over brunch in the Innere Stadt - Vernon
and I are quite taken with him!
My love to the children,
Eveline.

The other was written in an elegant, elaborately flourished hand on creamy, expensive paper ornamented with white lilies. It read:

Dearest Mother,

We are settling in to yet another new home, this time in Patience, Arizona. The house is adobe, in the Spanish style, quite cool and functional, with a charming terrace overlooking a little box canyon. It rained the second morning we were here and the hills just erupted with enchanting purple flowers - you really must come visit next spring, if not before. The children have been much excited, and get into endless trouble - Faith got into a fistfight with a little boy from town within two hours of getting here, and last week, they left a live rattlesnake under a basket by the back door. Scared the living daylights out of me when I went out to peg up the laundry! Little Tobias is just starting to toddle, and gets into everything; this morning I found him asleep in the pantry cupboard when I went looking for my bundt pan. Eustace Jr. is doing very well at his lessons, but I suspect Clarence has been teaching him how to play cards - Oh, that's right, he and Will showed up exactly three weeks after we moved here, just as we'd predicted. William has set himself up as a doctor for the mines, the previous doctor having left town rather abruptly soon after they arrived. William is also kind enough to help with the children, continuing their tutoring, and even opening the lessons to the few other children in town. They did attract some unsavory attention when they first arrived, until the loudest of their detractors came down with a protracted, unusually severe case of dysentery. The man will most likely pull through, and things seem to have quieted down for the moment. I only hope there won't be any official complaints - I can't imagine all this sand would be good for a bullet wound.
In response to your last letter, Salome seems to be quite a bit happier here than in Oregon; there's at least one good barfight for her to break up each week, and claim jumpers and vagrants to haul in constantly. Keeping busy seems to make her more receptive to therapy as well - have tried several of the techniques you recommended with very good success.
Jess Thimbleton and Jenner Birch - you remember, the flower girl and the ring bearer? - are also in town, and boarding with us a while on their way from Mexico to Alaska. They were apparently in California last year when that awful earthquake hit. When I asked about it, Jen just smiled and Jess turned red as a beet. The Wyatts also wrote us a lovely letter, and are considering a visit once their youngest is out of diapers, though perhaps we'll stop with them instead, should Sally insist on relocating yet again.
Hope you are having a smashing time on the Continent! The children and all of us send our love to you and Vernon. We think of you constantly!
Your Son,
Eustace

Below this, in tense, harried handwriting, was a brief note:

Mother,
Constantly surrounded by morons; your advice to go abroad sounding better by the day. Perhaps the children would enjoy South America?
Lose that pervert at Versailles or somewhere and come home.
-Sally

And that, dear Readers, concludes the Legend of Hungry Jess Thimbleton. I may not get to answer comments for a long time, so thank you all for your support during this long and trying project!