A Bird, came down the walk
The next few days had John in good spirits.
The usual monotony of day to day life had been replaced with bubbling excitement. Maybe it was the new work shirt Harriet had sewn for him. Maybe it was the breeze that cooled the blistering heat of Desert Spring. Or maybe...
John smiled to himself as he ate the rest of the crumbly biscuit he was having for breakfast. His mom was standing in the kitchen over the water basin, washing a bowl.
"Love you, Ma," he said, giving her a kiss on the forehead, "I won't be home for dinner, I'm going down to the saloon with Stamford."
Mrs. Watson's kind eyes caught John's. She placed the bowl down and took his hand in hers. "I love you too, son. Just... just be careful." Her face was firm, yet warm.
"I won't drink," he said with a soft smile, consoling her. Although neither of them ever said it out loud, they were both afraid of John falling into the same addiction his father did.
John gently squeezed and let go of her hands and went towards the door.
"Oh, and John?" she said, turning back to the kitchen basin.
"Yes, Ma?"
"Tell Stamford to bring back my rolling pin. Why I even gave it to him in the first place is beyond me. That boy, just like his mother, always borrowing and not returning."
She continued on with her griping, but John slipped out the door and onto the porch. It was another strikingly hot day with little cloud cover.
"Morning," he said to Harriet, who was picking fruits from the garden. Mrs. Watson’s voice continued from inside as she complained to no one.
"It's the rolling pin, isn't it?" Harriet laughed as she picked the last few berries and put them in her basket.
John sighed, leaning against the house. He picked at the peeling white paint with his fingers. "She'll forget about it eventually. I'm not gonna be the one to tell her that Stamford broke it chasing that damn farm cat.”
Harriet giggled and fixed her green dress. “Want some company?” She gestured toward the road John walked everyday.
"Are you applying for the railroad?" he teased, finding it unusual that she would offer to walk with him to work.
Harriet rolled her eyes. "Mama wanted me to take some berries to Mrs. Hudson. She lives a little east of the railroad and I just figured we could catch up.”
"I suppose so," John said, pushing off from the house and joining her on the dirt road.
They walked in silence for a while and John's mind began to wander. He thought of his upcoming night with Stamford and the few dollars they had collectively set aside to bet on cards. He knew Stamford would blow all their money-his poker face was shameful-but John always had fun regardless. Then, Holmes slipped into his mind. That had been happening a lot lately.
"So," Harriet said, breaking the silence, "What's gotten you so chipper this week?"
John jolted back to reality. He cleared his throat, trying to remember what Harriet had just said.
"Mm? Oh, nothing. Just enjoying work," he said, knowing that it was a terrible attempt at a lie.
"Enjoying... work?" she replied skeptically. "Are you sure it doesn't have anything to do with the new railroader?"
John's heart skipped a beat, though he didn't know why. It was a perfectly normal conversation, nothing that warranted the sparks running through his veins.
"Don't look at me like that, John," she said, taken aback by the intense look on his face. "Sally Anderson came by yesterday to pick up a dress. We got to talking and she said Philip had told her that you were training a new worker. He said you two seemed to get along well. That’s all."
John relaxed a bit, easing into the conversation. "Yeah, I guess we do. He's a bit strange, but it keeps things interesting."
"Who is he?" she asked, "Surely he's from town."
"No, I don't think so. I’ve never seen him around," John replied, "his name's Holmes. Sherlock Holmes."
"Holmes?" Harriet gave John an incredulous look. "As in Holmes' Steel Company?"
John looked at her confused. "Uh, I'm not sure. Why?"
"They're practically the richest family in California. Why would he be working on the railroad? Surely he's inheriting a fortune."
He looked at her skeptically. "And you know this how?" he asked.
"Mama told me," she replied, shrugging her shoulders. "I guess they came to Desert Spring a few years back, looking for a place to build a new factory. Ma said that the two sons could describe your entire life story just by looking at you. They never ended up building here though. They settled about 15 miles North."
John's heart sank a bit as they came upon the diverging path that would lead them to their separate destinations. He felt oddly misled.
“Why the hell is he working for the railroad?” John repeated Harriet’s question.
“I’m not sure,” she said, readjusting the basket of fruit in her arms. “You should ask him.”
John scoffed, “I can’t just ask him!” He didn’t yell, exactly, but he came across more intense than he knew the situation warranted.
“Yeah, why not?” She replied, ignoring John’s outburst.
John stared at her, not quite sure why he was feeling so on edge.
“Okay, well I’m gonna go now,” she chuckled, sensing that John wasn’t in a favorable headspace. “I’ll see you later.” She turned and left him standing in his own confusion.
He turned on his heel, clenched his fist and began walking the rest of the way to work. The past few days of cheerfulness were starting to wear off and John could feel it in his throat. He didn’t understand why Holmes was the center of most of his thoughts lately, or why he felt equal parts excited and irritated at the mystery Holmes seemed to carry with him. Just like he’d been doing with the rest of his Holmes-centered thoughts, he pushed it all down.
…
John had a sour taste in his mouth. The day was unusually hot and his clothes were soaked through with sweat. Sholto was angrier than normal and forced them all to stay an hour later in order to compensate for the slowness of the day. He was in an especially bad mood because Holmes had not shown up to work.
At the end of the day, Sholto rattled to John about Holmes’ terrible manners and arrogance and ‘of course he wouldn’t show up, why would he?’ John stayed silent and listened, but he was dealing with his own feelings of anxiety and petty betrayal.
After being released, Stamford and John were finally able to make their way to the saloon. They walked down the road into town while Stamford bubbled on about this and that and the girl he was courting, but John’s mind was still stuck on Holmes.
“Watson? Watson!” Stamford was suddenly standing in front of him, startling him out of his trance. “You alright? You almost ran in front of that horse and carriage!”
John looked down the road as the present caught up with him. God, he wished he hadn’t promised his mom not to drink. He could really use it right now.
“Come on,” Stamford said, pulling John into the saloon. “You need to relax, I’ve not seen you so uptight since your sister fell in that river.”
John tried his best to shake off his daze and greet the other men in the saloon.
“Watson! Glad you could join us this week,” a thin, tall man with a bushy mustache said as he dealt cards around a table.
John nodded to the man. “Good to see you Murray.” Murray was the doctor in town, trained by his late father, who had treated John when he had typhoid fever as a boy. He sat down at the cards table with Stamford, Murray, and three other guys.
The evening went about as John expected, with Stamford blowing all their funds within an hour and most of the guys getting drunk by 8:00.
John excused himself after a few more games and slipped outside to sit in one of the rocking chairs on the saloon porch. He sighed and relaxed his muscles, only now realizing how tense he had been. He closed his eyes, tipped his head back, and decided he would wait there until Stamford stumbled out.
John started to drift off, lulled by the hum of voices and glasses clinking. Just before he gave in to the sluggish pull of sleep, a noise across the road startled him awake. He sat up straight, straining his eyes in the dark. What was that?
He heard the noise again. It sounded like someone was shoveling the earth. Chick, Chick, Chick.
He stood up slowly and followed the sounds, which were coming from behind the schoolhouse. He crossed the road in a jog and slowed to a walk as he approached the schoolyard.
Why would someone be shoveling? Were they digging a garden? No, not at this hour. Were they burying something? Or someone? The thought of the mystery excited John, his heart speeding up as he rounded the corner. He stepped softly, so the digger wouldn’t hear him but he secretly hoped they would. John wasn’t particularly built for fighting, he was shorter than most men and wasn’t the most muscular of people, but he could defend himself when he needed to.
The digging stopped and John froze. Had the mystery digger heard him?
“Dammit!” John heard the shovel hit the Earth as if it had been thrown.
John knew that voice. He wouldn’t even have recognized it last week, but now it felt like he had always known it.
“Holmes?”