Chapter 4 - New Wounds on Old Scars

May 1865

Appomattox, VA

Marshall

Marshall left his hotel room and put his newly bought duster on. With good timing too, for it was pouring rain outside. It would rain all day, like the heavens were gutted above the earth. He took a stagecoach to the Union Army Graveyard. He walked along the rows of crosses until he made it to one specific grave. He knelt down in the puddling rain and had a look for himself for the first time and possibly the last time.

The tombstone read, Pvt. Wyatt Kaleb Troy IV. Here marked the death of Marshall's older brother, Ivy. He had found out by mail some time ago, while he was still in the city, sitting hopelessly in that hollow office. Marshall’s face was wet. Confusion over whether that was from the rain, or his own tears crossed over him. All he could do was recall memories of his brother growing up, when he knew him best.

After their mother had died, Ivy took a controlling interest in Marshall’s well-being, whereas their father was removed from them entirely. Always away on business, they were raised by au pairs and servants. The only real influence he had on his sons was one of fear. He was an important man, they knew that by the amount of business and travel he was constantly conducting. He had no time to spare on things like hugs and tucking in before bed.

To them, as kids, his unseen presence made him that much more intimidating. He was the master of their world, an unexplainable and distant force of nature. As the years moved on from Marshall's birth and their mother's death, Wyatt became increasingly irate.

When Wyatt was home in New York he would frequent the saloons and his own liquor cabinet. Ivy was old enough to register his father's rage. He protected Marshall from Wyatt’s wrath as much as he could. Many times, he got in between Marshall and Wyatt's fist.

Wyatt blamed Marshall for his wife's death. Although he would never say so, it was clear, that he wanted Marshall to be responsible for losing his beloved. Blame needed to placed for this ultimate travesty. Wyatt pointed it at the only thing to come out of the whole ordeal. But their stood Ivy, his brother’s protector, constantly in the way, which infuriated Wyatt even further.

Ivy took a great deal of their father's fury and never once placed any resentment on his younger brother. Over time it still managed to change Ivy. His fire gradually diminished. Once Marshall got old enough and (smart enough) to see what was really happening he could tell. The abuse was breaking Ivy. The schism would come naturally.

Marshall, now aware that Ivy took the trauma meant for him, was sent on a course he could not escape from, one of permanent apology. If Marshall didn’t exist Ivy wouldn’t have been beaten down. It was all his fault. Realization exploded in Marshall’s mind at the masterstroke of it all. No matter what Wyatt succeeded because the blame always came back to Marshall.

After their childhood ended, Marshall's relationship with his father and brother strained beyond repair. Although they remained in each other’s lives superficially, mostly for the railroad; in reality, they drifted apart and became distant to one another behind the public eye.

Marshall was once filled with regret, back in New York. Now it didn’t feel so bad with his new duster on and his brother before him. Albeit just a tombstone, there was still a sense of closure.

“I’m sorry, Ivy… for everything.”

However bleak things may seem, at least Marshall found his freedom, and his balls, and got away from that insufferable old bastard. He finally did what Ivy wanted him to do all those years ago. The regret resurfaced, but again it felt different. Probably because Marshall was finally doing something about it.

“I hope I can make you proud, brother. Even if I’ll never see you again.”

That was the most Marshall could muster for a good-bye.

July 1865

Mount Hope, WV

Marshall, Ira & Kid Colt

The clouds made the night last a little longer before dawn. With enough time, Ira, Marshall, and Kid Colt slipped into place. Kid Colt ran behind the shops and through the alleyways. The noose was set at the head of town, right before the chapel, hung around a tall oak tree. Ira got into the chapel unnoticed and made his way up the bell tower.

Kid Colt came up from an alleyway onto Main Street and got a good look at the chapel and oak tree. The doors opened and his mother was escorted out, bound, and gagged, by two men with shotguns. It was a parade. Kid Colt took a step out from the shadows and retroactively realized it was a trap. Before he could raise his guns, he felt a barrel on his back and heard the cocking of rifles all around him. Kid Colt closed his eyes and dropped his guns, keeping his hands raised. The sun broke through the clouds. It was dawn.

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They escorted Kid Colt to the drop-deck built beneath the noose, where he was reunited with his mother. They hugged and she kissed his cheek as she cried. Kid Colt was forced up the deck to be fitted for the noose.

"Don't do this!" screamed Lady MacPherson for her boy.

The townsfolk came out to see what all the ruckus was about. They bounded Kid Colt’s hands and fitted his neck with the noose.

Lady MacPherson cried and hollered, "He gets a trial!" with all her might, to no avail.

"Mom!" called Colt. "Mom!" she stopped yelping to heed his last words. "Save your strength," he said to her with a wink, "It'll be okay."

Just out of town Marshall mounted his horse. Lady MacPherson dropped to her knees before the drop-deck with the entire community now gathered behind her.

The Minister joined the Sheriff and the Mayor already on stage with their shotguns. The minister smiled as only a man of god could.

“Today is a glorious day. A sinner will soon be brought to justice before the lord and his faithful flock.”

Kid Colt was prepared for execution, the rope tight. Deputies dispersed all around the deck and throughout the crowd.

Marshall kicked his horse to full speed as he raced into town. Lady MacPherson cried into her handkerchief, hopeless tears. The Mayor made a sanctimonious speech about being virtuous now, after the war, more than ever. The crowd cheered for him.

The Mayor’s hand reached for the lever.

A deputy in the crowd noticed a glimmer from the bell tower.

A shot rang out and the Mayor's hand was blown off. Shredded.

Blood splattered the lever.

Everyone screamed and ran for cover. A deputy lifted up his rifle as the Mayor dropped to his knees. Now with people scattering everywhere and the deputies focused on the belltower, Marshall galloped right up to the oak tree. Before a deputy could pull the trigger, Marshall ran him over.

The Sheriff and the deputies opened fire on Marshall. His horse took a couple hits and crashed to the ground. In the kicked up dirt-cloud Marshall escaped. Up in the tower, Ira used the time spent on their fight with Marshall to pinpoint the noose in his crosshairs. Lady MacPherson got up and went for her boy. Kid Colt looked to run but the sheriff still had his shotgun on him. "Don't make a god damn move, boy."

"If you put your gun down, guy," Kid Colt permitted, "we'll let you walk outta here alive."

"Ha!" scoffed the sheriff. "’We’, you say? No time to delay then!"

The sheriff blew the shotgun into the floor below Kid Colt's feet, and he fell through.

The rope tightened just as Ira took his shot and it missed. Ira reloaded under the window, as he heard pings and cracks bouncing off the windowsill. They were onto him. His location had been compromised. This was when the regiment would move out, but Ace had to take one more shot in. The kid was dying down there.

Marshall blended right in with fleeing crowd, maneuvering back around. Marshall got over to the drop-deck as Lady MacPherson climbed the four stairs. The Minister aimed his shotgun at her and mumbled, "To hell with you harlot!" His finger slid limp down the trigger.

Marshall stabbe the Minister in the back with his buck knife, not knowing what else to do. He didn’t want to kill the clergyman but also couldn’t let an innocent woman die. The Sheriff put his revolver on Marshall, who then let the Minister drop with his knife still sticking out of him.

Ira raised himself up and aimed the rifle out of the window. He swept the deck from the adjacent angle. Through his scope he saw: the closest was Marshall fending off the deputies, after him, the Minister on the floor, barely alive, and Lady MacPherson going for the Minister's shotgun. The Sheriff set his sights on Lady MacPherson as her son choked to death behind him.

Ira made his decision and pulled the trigger. The bullet blew through the sheriff's thumb and broke the gun's chamber from its handle. Marshall jumped off the deck and picked up Colt's legs, releasing his throat for the time being. Thankfully, his neck did not snap on the initial drop.

"The knife! Get the knife!" Marshall yelled for Lady MacPherson.

Meanwhile, Ira was already making his way downstairs as the rest of the deputies closed in on the deck. Marshall tried to reach for his revolver, but he was on his toes as it was, trying to keep Kid Colt from choking. "Hold on, kid" Marshall encouraged, "Hold on for just a little longer."

Lady MacPherson got the knife out of the minister's back with little hesitation. The Sheriff got back up from the impact of his wounded hand and grabbed her neck with his unharmed hand. She threw the knife into the shotgun hole on the deck, narrowly missing Marshall's feet. It stuck the dirt beside him.

Ira finished running down the bell tower staircase and out the chapel door. He bursted forth and shot one more time from his rifle, pinning a deputy in the shoulder, bringing him down, before switching to his revolver. Their backs were turned to him as the rest of the deputies approached the deck.

Marshall let go of Colt and the noose re-tightening around his neck. He reached for his buck knife, knowing he would only have a could tries before the kid suffocated and died above him. He had to grab. On his first try, Marshall picked it up, cleaned the knife off, put it in his mouth. He jumped up, grabbing the splintered deck floor, and climbing back up. Ira fired his shots with a generous amount of time in between, never fatally wounding a deputy. He was actually enjoying breaking wrists, what him and his buddies used to call shooting guns out of the enemy’s hand.

Marshall hustled up the deck and onto the oak tree. He wrapped his legs around the branch and started shimmying his upside-down way over to the hanging rope. Colt squirmed below him with a look a both horror and disgust. What the hell was Marshall doing acting like a monkey on a branch while he choked to death?

The kid was out of time. He ran out of what little air he had left from standing on Marshall. He could only hold his breath for so long. This was the end for him. Ira was too distracted dealing with the deputies to do something. His sight was failing. His world crumpled to black around the edges as he struggled.

It sucked the life out of him. Drained Colt of his energy, his will to live. Every part of him wanted to do something to stop what he was witnessing, not just to prevent his own death. But his life was being drained and no one was going to help him. He fell limp on the hanging rope and let the darkness take him. The black that was just infringing upon the edges of his sight now took over, washing away his front-row-seat view of the Sheriff shooting his mother.

Their plan had failed.