GHOST OF A CHANCE

A MAGNIFICENT SEVEN CHRISTMAS CAROL

Based on Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Carol"

There was no doubt in the mind of Ezra Standish that Henry Dodge was dead. He had been the man's gambling partner and confidant in his early years, and he had easily identified the bullet-riddled corpse in the ill-smelling El Paso mortuary on that cold December day. Ezra had been the man's sole mourner and chief beneficiary of his partner's few dollars, the sole remnants of a far vaster fortune lost to robbers. This was many years ago; Ezra had succeeded in putting Henry out of his mind, for the most part, and his drive to secure a fortune for himself had relegated his former partner to the untrod pathways of his mind. It was only at this time of year that his thoughts traveled that road once again, bitter memories returning for their yearly visit right on schedule-on Christmas Eve.

Christmas was coming fast to the small frontier town of Four Corners. On this bitingly cold, dark afternoon, the windows of the town's few stores glowed especially warm in the frosty gloom. The glass windows were decorated simply but festively, bright green strings of garland carefully arranged around their choice wares. Children were hustled by with their parents, straining to peek at the toys and candy displayed to the passersby.

The town was still struggling to overcome its violent past; the numbers traveling the boarded sidewalks could hardly be called a crowd, yet there was still an undeniable excitement in the air, all the more enervating because it was Christmas Eve. People bundled along their way, in singles and pairs, carrying packages of gifts and food; occasionally a person could be seen lugging a tied-up pine tree home to be decorated and admired. A light snow had been falling all day; small groups of laughing youngsters were scooping up handfuls of snow mixed with dirt and pelting each other merrily.

The town's enjoyment was twofold; not only was Christmas coming, but for the first time in years the citizens of Four Corners could breathe a little easier and enjoy the season. A year before the town had been prey to outlaws and troublemakers; but ever since the town had been put under their protection of seven men hired by circuit court Judge Travis, things had eased considerably. It had taken the town a while to get used to the gunslingers, but now they were familiar faces.

Their leader, Chris Larabee, had gained a reputation as a hard-drinking gunslinger; but his cool head and keen eyes had proven their worth to the town, and those who saw his black-clad form regarded him with more respect now than fear. Many of the townsfolk smiled to see the dashing ladies' man Buck Wilmington spreading Christmas cheer as he went about decorating the town, often accompanied by the town's eager young sheriff, JD Dunne.

Down the street they could see the former preacher Josiah Sanchez hard at work repairing the abandoned church, assisted by Nathan Jackson, a former slave and the town's healer. The handsome and taciturn tracker Vin Tanner was a familiar sight , riding his mount up the street as he headed out to patrol the area, his brown curls flowing in waves from beneath his low-brimmed hat. They had all done their part in helping the town prepare for its first real holiday in years, each man perhaps reflecting on their own difficult lives, and the healing promise which the season held. If nothing else, it kept them too busy for painful memories.

The only one of the group who had not been visibly active in the preparations for the holiday was Ezra Standish, the dapper Southern gambler who had spent most of his time in one of the town's lively saloons, making a small fortune off of the holiday travelers who found themselves in Four Corners with time to kill. The closer Christmas drew, the more people arrived, and the saloon was crowded and boisterous at all hours of the day with happy, inebriated strangers. Ezra was delighted to find himself finally getting some real action-most of the townspeople had become aware of his skill and his occasional propensity to cheat and thus avoided him. Thus, when his colleagues asked Ezra for assistance in readying the town for the holiday, their pleas were met with, "Perhaps later, when the game runs dry." But it showed little signs of slowing, a fact which resulted in frustration from the other men and pure happiness in Ezra.

Even in the late afternoon of Christmas Eve, as Josiah, Buck and Nathan sought refreshment from their chores, the saloon was packed with people. As they pushed their way inside, Buck took a look around and shook his head.

"Good thing the church won't be this crowded," he yelled to be heard above the din. "The floors'd collapse."

"Reckon we'd just worship in the basement then," Josiah replied, removing his hat to uncover his curled salt-and-pepper hair; the air was hot and smoky. "See anybody we know?"

"You can bet Ezra's in here somewhere," Nathan said, peering through the undulating crowd. "He ain't left the tables for days 'cept to sleep, an' I bet he don't do more'n four hours before he's back at it again."

"Too bad he ain't got that energy the rest of the year," Buck commented. "Course he don't get this chance every day. Spose if I could only court pretty gals a few days a year I'd spend that time doin' nothin' else too."

Josiah gave him a smile. "Thought you did anyway, Buck."

The younger man cocked his head, a bright devilish grin showing beneath his black mustache. "Well, Josiah, unlike Ezra, my luck don't ever seem to run out. Speakin' of which, there goes Molly-scuse me."

Buck plunged into the crowd after a petite black-haired working girl. Josiah and Nathan looked at each other, laughed, and struggled further into the room.

"Hey! Hey! Nathan! Josiah!"

The two men looked through the haze to see JD standing up and waving his derby hat at them; he was almost in the back corner. Josiah waved back, and he and Nathan strong-armed their way through the surging throng of celebrants.

"Reminds me of a revival meetin' I went to once," Josiah muttered. "Language was a lot cleaner though."

They reached the corner, and were surprised to find JD sitting at a large round felt-covered poker table. It was empty except for JD and Ezra, but it had obviously been the earlier scene of much activity; cards, cigar stubs, empty bottles, and a few coins lay scattered over its surface. Ezra nodded to the men as they sat and helped themselves to the leftover whiskey. He still looked fairly dapper even after spending hours at the tables, every neatly groomed chestnut hair was in place; but his mood was clearly dark.

"Evenin', boys," Josiah nodded, easing himself into his seat. "Been workin' hard, I see."

"You shoulda been here earlier," JD said with excitement as he waved a near-empty mug of milk, his thick black hair falling into his eyes in loose strands. "There were eight, nine businessmen here, all from Phoenix, an' a few other men as well. They were playin' for hours, it was really somethin'. Uh, until Ezra lost his pot, anyway."

Ezra brought his head up and glared at JD. "Must you remind me?"

"Cards went against you, huh?" Nathan muttered around his cigar as he leaned back. Ezra gave him a sour look with his green eyes, picked up one of the coins and began rolling it absently along the table.

"Let me phrase it this way," he drawled. "For the past three weeks I have faced scores of gentlemen, and in each case emerged victorious. Now, on the eve of the culmination of my endeavors, I had amassed nearly four hundred dollars. And this–" he held aloft the solitary coin–" is all that remains of it."

"Huh." Josiah shook his head. "Least you gave somebody a merry Christmas."

"Well, my holiday shall prove festive enough when I regain my fortune," Ezra said with determination as he began picking up the stray coins. "We are meeting here at nine tomorrow morning, and I shall not leave this table until I have recovered my earnings. With interest."

Josiah looked at him. "You're gonna play poker on Christmas?"

"And through Christmas as well, perhaps," Ezra replied solidly. "Up to the turn of the century, if I have to. These gentlemen have the time and so do I."

JD laughed a little in disbelief. "Aw, c'mon Ezra-don't you wanna come out to the Seminole village with us?"

Ezra gathered his cards and began to shuffle them, his supple hands flowing with the cards as they flew from palm to palm. "I was not aware that Christmas was one of their traditional holidays."

"Don't need a holiday to show some kindness," Josiah pointed out. "We're just takin' em some food an' clothes. It's been a tough year, what with rebuildin' an' all. The kids'd love to see you."

Ezra scowled. "They are dears, to be sure, but I am hardly in a cavorting mood."

"An' Vin said he'd take us huntin' for dinner," JD urged. "You gotta come with us on that, we're goin' up to the mountains."

"Sounds delightful," the gambler replied without enthusiasm, staring at the flying cards in his fingers. "Freezing in the hills waiting to blow some wretched creature's brains out. How can I refuse?"

"Nettie won't let you in the front door tomorrow night if you don't help with somethin'," Nathan observed, as he stubbed his cigar out. "You don't wanna go hungry on Christmas, do you?"

Ezra sighed and looked up, his hands never ceasing their motion. "If all goes as planned, Mr. Jackson, by tomorrow night I will be able to afford to dine in the finest restaurant in the territory."

"By yourself?" Josiah asked.

Ezra gazed at him evenly. "It would not be the first time, Mr. Sanchez. I believe I could bear it."

Nathan was shaking his head as he crossed his arms and leaned them on the table. "I don't believe you, Ezra! Don't Christmas mean nothin' to you?"

Ezra leaned back in his chair and cast his eyes at the ceiling. "Why, yes, sir, it does. Many years ago in St. Louis I made the acquaintance of a man in my profession, Henry Dodge. We formed a successful team for a while–Henry's skill exceeded my own, and he taught me some card-playing techniques which even my mother didn't know. His skill was matched only by his desire to make his fortune, and he labored ceaselessly at it. He was well on his way to becoming wealthy, and making myself wealthy as his partner. On Christmas Eve two years later he was gunned down outside of the Silver Arrow Saloon in El Paso following an accusation of having cheated, and his money vanished. I had been away at the time; I returned to find him about to be buried in a pauper's grave and myself impoverished once more."

He fixed them all with a steady glare and downed his whiskey.

"God," JD stammered, "that's awful!"

"You inquired as to what this holiday's meaning is for me," Ezra replied in a barely apologetic tone. "I have given you an honest answer. If Henry's death taught me anything it was the importance of amassing what you can, when you can. His sole regret, I'm sure, was his inability to enjoy his fortune, a mistake I do not intend to repeat once I have acquired it."

He flipped the coin into the air, caught it, and stuffed it into his pocket with a determined smile. The other men watched him silently; then JD shook his head.

"Hope you change your mind, Ezra. You'll sure miss a good time."

"Aw, let im be, JD," Buck sniffed, rising as he downed the last of the whiskey. "Man's got a right to spend Christmas how he wants, even if it is pretty dang selfish."

"My thanks for the halfhearted endorsement, Mr. Wilmington," Ezra said with a cocked brow as he watched the rest of them rise from their seats as well.

Josiah fixed him with a critical look. "Don't suppose you'll be at the mornin' service, then?"

"Alas, no, Mr. Sanchez," was the reply. "unless you'd care to set up a table for our party by the back door."

Josiah nodded wordlessly, and Ezra felt slightly uncomfortable beneath those piercing blue eyes.

"Well, don't forget we're always takin' donations for the poor," the preacher finally said. "An' the door's open if you change your mind."

Ezra nodded his thanks, still unsure of what he saw in those eyes. Then the rest of the men moved off, after nodding goodnight; both JD and Nathan spared Ezra a final glance, but the gambler was paying no attention to them. He was sitting back in his chair, rubbing his lip with the side of one finger, deep in thought as he plotted the next day's strategy.

The air outside was cold and bracing; Buck shivered as he wrapped his coat tighter around himself.

"If Ezra's gonna be in that kinda mood he's welcome to stay here," he muttered. JD looked at him in surprise as they began to walk down the frozen street towards the church.

"I think it's awful," he said with sincerity, jamming his hands into his pockets. "Our first Christmas here, an' he's gotta play poker. He can do that anytime."

"Don't surprise me," Nathan said as he puffed on his cigar. "That man don't care about nothin' but cards an' money. Least that's the way he acts."

"Maybe it is just an act, Nate," Josiah murmured as they trod along. "There's somethin' about tomorrow he don't want to face, an' if he wasn't hidin' behind the cards it'd probably be somethin' else."

Buck considered this and shrugged. "Long as he don't start courtin' my gals."

The slow clop of hoofbeats caught their attention; they looked up the street to see two figures riding towards them.

"Evenin', boys," Josiah called out as they approached. "Pleasant trip?"

"Bout as pleasant as you can hope for around here," one of the riders, a tall man in black with piercing green eyes, replied, reining his horse in. "Least we didn't get shot at."

Josiah cocked an eyebrow. "A thing to thank God for, certainly."

"Looks like a quiet Christmas, boys," the other rider agreed, leaning back in his saddle and drawing his well-worn leather coat around him with one hand. "Seems the bad guys done holed up for the night." He saw JD and smiled a bit. "You fellers still up for some huntin' tomorrow?"

JD's face burst into an enthusiastic grin. "You bet, Vin, I can't wait!"

Buck looked with concern at the man in black. "You comin', Chris?"

His friend pondered the reins in his hand as he thought the question over; the other men watched silently, not daring to influence his decision. They had far too much respect for his pain to attempt it.

Finally Chris lifted his head, his eyes filled with ghosts. "Don't know yet, Buck. Guess we'll all find out tomorrow."

"We'll understand if you don't come, Chris," Nathan assured him. "It ain't somethin' that goes away easy."

Chris acknowledged his friend's sympathy with a silent nod, the spirits of his dead wife and young son still fluttering at the edges of his mind. Their murders had been a constant source of anguish for the taciturn gunslinger, but the holidays brought a singular kind of agony which even the company of the other men couldn't erase. It was a hard time, and they all knew it.

Vin looked around, counted their number. "Spose Ezra's still in the saloon?"

Buck sniffed. "Yeah, probably still sulkin'. He lost all that cash he won, musta been four hundred dollars."

Vin took a pull from his canteen and shook his head. "Well, easy come, easy go, I reckon."

JD gave a short laugh. "Oh, he ain't lettin' it go easy, Vin. He's gonna try an' get it back tomorrow, can you believe it? A poker game on Christmas! He ain't even gonna come with us!" The young sheriff seemed genuinely dismayed.

Chris seemed less concerned. "It's his call, JD. He's the one who'll have to live with the decision."

"Knowin' his ma, I don't reckon they ever gave Christmas much of a thought round his house." Nathan observed.

"Well, what's past is past," Buck remarked, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "I say we live in the here an' now an' have ourselves a real good time tomorrow. Maybe Ezra'll get sick of losin' money and change his mind."

"Well, I still don't get it. Can't we do something?" JD asked, pulling his hands out to blow on them.

"It's his decision, kid, an' it sounds like he's stickin' to it," Buck insisted. "Can't change a man's whole way of thinkin' in one night."

There was a slight pause.

"Well," Josiah whispered quietly in the winter stillness as he looked up at the dim outline of the church in front of them, "WE can't , anyway."

The saloon was deserted by the time Ezra made his way up to his room on the second floor. After the others had left, he had spent most of the evening trying to justify his decision to himself and had succeeded in fighting his conscience to a draw. Still, he remained resolved: tomorrow at nine, the poker game would begin.

He mentally looked over his opponents as he fished in his pocket for his room key; not a bad mix, businessmen, a doctor, a few trail herders. The only one that really worried him was that surly Charles Brecknell, not only did he have a foul disposition but he also had a gun up his sleeve similar to the one Ezra carried. As soon as the gambler noticed the faint outline of the apparatus in the man's sleeve, he knew he'd have to keep an eye on him. Only a man with a similar device would've known to look for it, and as he unlocked the door and entered his small room Ezra reminded himself to be sure his own rig was in top order for tomorrow, just in case.

He glanced at the bureau as he closed the door and remembered what the bottom drawer contained, buried underneath his less-fine clothes: a strongbox, with four hundred dollars in it. Ezra's entire pitiful fortune, all he had left to work with. He dreaded using it tomorrow; it was the seed money for the saloon he dreamed of owning someday, the one which would secure his place in the world and end his poverty and roaming for good. The one place which he could finally call home.

Ezra pondered the notion as he began to undress, removing his finely tailored coat and gun belt. If it was the last thing he did, he would have his own place, a fine establishment which would not only announce his success but enable him to finally find a measure of security, after all these years of traveling from place to place. Sure, it had been fun most of the time, but there had also been too much going hungry, and getting shot at, and having to stay in two-bit towns playing games for pocket change. Two-bit towns like Four Corners.

A chuckle escaped from him as he removed his cufflinks; he'd never admit it, but he'd grown rather fond of the town, it had a spirit which he found hard to define but had been lacking in most of the other places he'd stopped at. It was fighting for its life, just like he was, maybe that was it. And they were both going to win.

He had to admit he was rather touched by the determination of the others to include him in the holiday plans; this was certainly a first since his arrival in the West. But, he reminded himself, they simply didn't understand his situation. He had to win that money back-it was as simple as that.

Still...he cocked his head as he pulled out his silver hip flask and laid it gently on the bedside table. He really had to admit he felt a twinge of regret that he'd miss out on the festivities tomorrow. But...

He began to empty his pockets and remove his jewelry as he smiled to himself; he could almost hear his mother's voice repeating the lessons that had echoed in his ears since he was five years old, after his father had died. Don't get attached to anyone, she said. Use emotions to your advantage; people can be such sentimental suckers, but don't fall into that trap yourself. You'll only end up weak and broke. Only associate with those who can help you; most people will just exploit your success and desert you in failure. Ezra had listened, and learned well, and it had gotten him this far without any qualms at all.

Certainly, he'd enjoyed the company of the other men, and the adventures they'd had working together. It was an interesting change of pace to work with someone on the right side of the law for once. But lately he'd been surprised to catch himself actually thinking of the men as friends, and it left him somewhat anxious-he had had business partners, but never friends, and he found his long held beliefs at war with these new circumstances. Forgoing the hunt and dinner for the poker game was one way to reaffirm to himself that his comfortable and familiar routine was unchanged, that he still knew himself perfectly, and that he still possessed the cool acumen which had carried him thus far. It was the right decision, and he was sticking to it.

He glanced at his pocket watch and groaned; one o'clock, and he hadn't even gotten to his supper yet. He hastily kindled a fire in the small corner stove, poured himself a brandy and sat down, gnawing at the cold turkey sandwich he had bought downstairs and eagerly anticipating the morning's gaming. The fact that it was Christmas completely slipped his mind.

Suddenly he stopped; were those footsteps approaching his door? Everyone in the saloon was supposed to be gone or asleep. He smoothly rose from his seat, Remington at the ready as he slipped beside the door, prepared to pounce. The footsteps drew closer-closer-then stopped right in front of his door. Ezra tensed, expecting to hear a knock, or the doorknob rattle, or maybe a crash.

Seconds passed-a minute. Nothing. Ezra's heart was racing; he knew someone was out there. He stared at the door, amazed to find himself trembling; why the hell didn't they make themselves known?

"I'm over here, you idiot!"

Ezra jumped and spun in shock; the voice came from the opposite wall near the window. He swung his gun around, eyes wide with surprise, only to nearly drop his firearm when he saw who stood there. It was Henry Dodge.

Ezra felt his heart come up to his throat as he stared at the man before him; it couldn't be, Henry was long dead. But it sure looked like Henry-tall, handsome, and dressed to kill, as usual. On closer inspection Ezra noticed that the figure was transparent; he could see the wall behind him through his ghostly form. Henry didn't look quite solid; his appearance shifted and ebbed, all the while emitting a pale blue glow. In the dim lamplight Ezra could see several bleeding bullet holes in Henry's chest; he swallowed in panic.

"You can put the gun down, Ezra," the apparition said wearily. "I've been shot to death already, remember?"

Ezra didn't move; this had to be a trick. He straightened as anger replaced fear, at least a little. "What is the meaning of this intrusion?"

Henry sighed and moved a little closer, his long face wreathed in frustration. "You disappoint me, my friend. I figured you'd at least scream."

"Stop!" Ezra's finger was on the trigger.

Henry laughed. "Go ahead and shoot. All you'll do is piss your neighbors off and ruin the landlord's very expensive wallpaper."

He folded his arms and waited with a smug smile that reminded Ezra perfectly of the annoying attitude Henry sometimes adopted. He paused, then lowered the gun and looked around.

"How did you get in here?"

Henry let out an exasperated grunt and dropped his arms. "Jesus, Ezra, you see a ghost and all you care about is how I got in here? Not even a Hello, Henry, nice to see you, how're things in Hell'? Sheesh!"

The gambler felt extremely awkward as he continued to stare. Finally he shook his head.

"This is all a nightmare, isn't it?" he said with a small laugh, trying to convince himself. "This is just a fevered vision, no doubt brought on by the restaurant's tainted cuisine." He began to inch away. "All right, fine. I'm just going to sit down and finish my meal-" He picked up the sandwich, glanced at it, had second thoughts, and tossed it into the fire. "No, the cursed thing's already poisoned me. I'm just going to sit here until you go away, whatever you are."

Henry nodded, folding his arms again. "Yeah, yeah, I know. They said you wouldn't believe in me. Heck, I could've told em that. You don't believe in anyone, Ezra, that's your problem, and why I'm here tonight. You think it was easy getting them to let me see you? Do you know how many haunted houses I'm going to have to do because of this?"

Ezra had eased himself into his chair and was no longer looking at Henry. "You have my sympathy. Next time I'll try to produce a more comfortable hallucination for you."

He reached over for his brandy and was shocked to find himself looking straight into Henry's eyes; the ghost had moved in an instant and was right in front of him. He jumped in spite of himself. The ghost leaned forward, pinning Ezra in the chair.

"Listen, Ezra, I'm not working the graveyard shift for the next 300 years for nothing, all right? I'm here because I can see, in ways you can't, that you're in danger of winding up like me, and I was sort of thinking you might like to prevent that."

Ezra swallowed; he had nowhere to go, so conversation with the spirit seemed inevitable. "I assure you I protect myself quite adequately, Henry. I do not aim to get shot."

"I'm not talking about getting shot!" Henry cried angrily, causing Ezra to shrink away a bit in surprise at the anguish in his voice. "I'm talking about wasting chances and missing opportunities. I'm talking about realizing at the end of your life that you didn't spend one minute doing anything worthwhile. And I'm talking about spending eternity knowing about all the ways you could've made a difference, and didn't. Compared to all this, getting shot is a walk in the park."

He backed away a bit, allowing Ezra to catch his breath, his mind whirling.

"How can you talk about wasted chances?" the gambler asked, sitting up. "Why, while we worked together, I never saw anyone make as much money at the tables as you, Henry. You have no notion how I envied you-"

"You're wrong there, Ezra-I DO know," Henry said emphatically. "That's why I'm here-you've got a chance to change the direction of your life, and not have to suffer as I'm suffering. It wasn't easy to get it for you, believe me, but I got it."

Ezra sat up and adjusted his waistcoat. "I suppose the fact that I must listen to all this is my payment for this chance," he muttered. Henry scowled, clearly peeved.

"Y'know, that was your problem, Ezra, you were always such a smart-ass."

Ezra looked at him archly. "My apologies. Pray continue."

"Right. Tonight you will be visited by three ghosts-and they won't all be as nice as me, believe me. Especially that last guy, you really have to watch him."

The gambler sighed. "Three ghosts?"

Henry nodded. Ezra considered this for a moment, then rose.

"Well, my thanks, Henry, but I fear I will have to decline. I have a very important poker game in the morning and simply must rest."

It shouldn't have surprised him to see Henry burst into flames with frustration, but it did. For a brief instant the spirit seemed to glow red-hot, then he slowly simmered down.

"That poker game isn't important!" Henry sputtered. "We're talking about something a hell of a lot more valuable than a wad of bills here, Ezra. If you don't take this chance, believe me, it'll haunt you the rest of your life, and for eternity thereafter. And I can tell you, it'll be worth a lousy night's sleep."

Ezra paused, still convinced it was all a dream of some kind and willing to do anything to get this mercurial ghost to leave. There was nothing wrong with the way he was living his life and he knew it; it was bad enough having the other men judge him, but to be spoken down to by a ghostly apparition produced by a rotten turkey sandwich-

"Fine, fine," he said with irritation, waving the spirit away. "I will agree to your arrangement."

Henry seemed so visibly relieved that Ezra was almost touched. "Great, Ezra, just great. You won't regret it, trust me. Look for the first spirit at one, the next at two, the third at-"

"Three?"

Henry made a face. "Uh, might be three-thirty, you never can tell with him. He makes his own schedule and let me tell you, nobody wants to keep him to a clock."

Henry began to fade away, the blue glow becoming dimmer. "Time for goodbye, I suppose, Ezra. We never did get to say goodbye before, that always bothered me. You said before that you thought my last wish was to be able to enjoy my wealth, but you were wrong. You want to know what it was?"

"What?" Ezra replied, watching in fascination as the ghost vanished by degrees.

"It was for what you've got tonight," was the almost-imperceptible response. "A chance to change it all. Take it."

The final words echoed in the empty air, and Ezra found himself alone in the cold, dim room. He stood still for a minute, looking around; all was as it had been earlier, except for the smoldering remains of his sandwich burning to ashes in the stove.

Finally he shook himself; what did that hallucination know, Ezra could take care of himself. He knew what he was doing, and he had every intention of going to the poker game in the morning. The other men could get along fine without him.

Too tired to change his clothes, he flopped into bed still dressed, and was asleep in minutes.



He woke up a short time later, and at first was very irritated to have gotten so little sleep; the turkey sandwich was no doubt to blame for his premature awakening. While he groggily rolled over to check his pocketwatch for the time he made up his mind to have a few choice words with the restaurant owner the next day. As his fingers fumbled for the timepiece he tried to guess the time; it was almost two when he went to bed, it must be at least four by now...

He picked up the watch, squinted at the face, stared at it, then shook his head and looked again. Then he shook the timepiece and held it to his ear; it was ticking perfectly. But it had to be broken, because according to the delicately fashioned hands, it was only one o' clock.

Ezra sighed in irritation; could nothing be trusted anymore? How could it be one o' clock-unless he'd slept all day and it was one the following evening. But that was impossible, even Ezra wasn't that sound of a sleeper. His mind was wide awake now and whirring in confusion; what was wrong with his watch?

"It's you that needs fixin', Ezra, not that watch."

Ezra let out a yelp and lurched back in bed so fast that he banged his head on the wall behind him. As he sat rubbing the sore spot, he saw a bright light spring up from the corner of his room. And in the middle of that light on one of his finely upholstered chairs, to his astonishment, sat Nathan, looking at him in a calm, bemused way.

"Mr. Jackson!" he cried in astonished irritation, then stopped as the figure rose from the chair and approached the bed. It certainly looked like Nathan, but this man was younger than the Nathan Ezra knew, and his clothes were ragged and dirty. It struck Ezra that he had seen slaves clothed in that manner frequently, when he was a child in the old South.

"Don't worry, Ezra, I ain't gonna hurt you," the figure assured him with a smile; he seemed amused by the gambler's bewilderment. "An' I ain't Nathan Jackson. We figured this'd be easier for you to take if you had familiar faces to deal with. I'm pretty happy with this, myself-this Nathan fella is one handsome guy!"

"We-" Ezra was still rubbing his head, although it no longer hurt; he was simply too surprised to stop. This couldn't be real, but it certainly seemed real. "Then-you must be one of those ghosts Henry was talking about."

The apparition nodded, still smiling. "I'm the Ghost of Christmas Past."

"Yes," Ezra muttered, still very much taken aback, although he had stopped rubbing his head. He vaguely motioned for the Ghost back to the chair. "Well, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can get back to my much-needed sleep. So I suppose you'd better have a seat and get on with it."

The Ghost chuckled. "You ain't gettin' off that easy." He motioned with his hand. "C'mon, get up."

Ezra scowled at him; the amazement was wearing off now and he was becoming annoyed. "'Up"? Up' to where?"

The Ghost grinned as he backed away towards the window, which upon his approach rose until it was fully open; the cold evening breeze tugged at the lace curtains, and Ezra shivered.

"I assure you, sir," he said with determination, "I have no intention of leaving this room, and certainly not through the window."

"Yeah, well, you better start havin' that intention, cause that's just what we're doin'," the Ghost replied, folding its arms. "I didn't haul myself all the way over here just to sit in this room all night."

"Indeed," Ezra noted, still eying the window with doubt. "And why did you bother yourself to come here?"

The Ghost leaned against the casement. "Cause you got somethin' goin' here that you're on the verge of throwin' away, an' some folks don't wanna see that happen."

"And what might that be?" Ezra inquired as he put on his pocketwatch.

The Ghost replied with a smile. "You'll see, if everything works out right. Now c'mon, we're on a schedule here."

Still dubious, Ezra slid off of the bed and walked over to the window; he looked out to see the dark, deserted streets of Four Corners, with the white church at the end of the street.

"How, um-how exactly does this work?"

"Well, this might be kinda tough," the Ghost admitted, as he tried to squeeze himself through the short, narrow window. "I'll tell you, them houses in England got these nice big windows you can just climb up on an' jump right out of. Can't say I'm too fond of this American architecture."

"My heartfelt sympathy," Ezra said nervously. "Am I to understand we're going to jump?"

"Naw-I'm going to jump," the Ghost replied; he was now crouched on the windowsill. He quickly reached back and grabbed Ezra's arm. "You just gotta hang on."

With that, he pushed off of the windowsill; with a gasp Ezra felt himself falling, then rising through a thick white mist which obscured everything around them. After a moment of panic, Ezra realized he was moving effortlessly. He could feel his mind boggling.

"Where are we going?" he yelled above the rush of the wind.

The mist began to clear; below them stretched a shimmering river flowing through a bustling city glowing gray in the muted sunlight of a midwinter afternoon. The Ghost gestured towards the scene.

"Recognize it?"

Ezra scanned the rooftops as they swooped over them, the streets full of carriages and bustling crowds; everything was decorated for the holidays.

"New Orleans?" he replied in great surprise as they passed the French Quarter towards a less reputable-looking neighborhood.

The Ghost nodded. "Yup, that's right."

As they flew by the jostling crowds, Ezra realized that nobody was noticing them. "We don't seem to be attracting much attention."

"Course not," the Ghost laughed. "They're only reflections of the past, they don't even know we're here."

They moved into one of the city's more run-down areas, and Ezra's eyes grew wide. The Ghost smiled.

"Guess you remember this old place, huh?"

"Of course–my parents and I lived here for six months, the longest we ever lived anywhere," Ezra replied in surprise as they passed a row of houses. "It's just-it's astonishing to see it again. This entire neighborhood was destroyed in a fire in 1869."

"Well, that's eighteen years off yet," the Ghost assured him as they neared a white and black boarding house at the end of the street. "We wanted you to remember that money wasn't always everything to you, but we had to go back pretty far to find a time when that was the case."

There was a loud rushing sound, and suddenly they were inside the black and white building, standing in a slightly seedy-looking parlor. The walls were covered with inexpensive paper just beginning to peel at the edges; the curtains at the windows were cheap and frayed, the furniture in the first stages of overuse. A few rugs were thrown about the bare wooden floor to keep out the cold. There was a half-open door on one wall, leading into a small bedroom in which two beds, one large and one small, could be seen.

Ezra recognized it all immediately, and swallowed.

After a moment the door opened, and a slim blonde woman entered carrying a young brown-haired boy no older than five. Both were dressed in rags, and the woman was talking in a quick, light voice thick with the tone of the South.

"You were just the most perfect little boy today, Ezra darlin'," she was saying as she set him down with a quick kiss. "I swear, one look at those sad eyes of yours and people's pocketbooks just open up like the gates of heaven."

With a broad smile of satisfaction she removed a tattered bag from her pocket and weighed it in her hand, her eyes gleaming.

The little boy seemed less than thrilled and picked impatiently at his tattered clothing. "This itches, mama."

She made a sour face as she crouched in front of him. "Sorry, sugar, but if we want people to think we're poor, we've got to dress the part, don't we? But don't you worry now, we're done for the day. Now let's change quick before your papa gets home."

She picked him up again and took him into the bedroom; in an instant Ezra and the Ghost were there as well. Some time had evidently passed; the woman was now dressed in an impeccable silk walking gown, her hair neatly combed and arranged. The young Ezra sat on the bed, now clad in a neatly pressed and expensive-looking suit,waiting patiently for his mother to finish buttoning his shirt. As she reached the top button the door to the apartment opened, and a drawling voice called, "I'm back, Maude!"

Ezra felt his throat tighten as he watched the little boy leap off of the bed with an excited expression and run into the other room, shouting "Papa!" Maude followed with a smile as well.

They were back in the parlor, watching as a tall, slender man removed his expensive coat and hat and greeted his family with a grin. Ezra stared; he had forgotten what his father looked like, but there he was again, alive, young and handsome, with chestnut hair like Ezra's and bright green eyes. But the face was longer and more angular, the eyes a little older, even though at this time he was younger than Ezra was. He was dressed in high fashion, as Maude and the boy Ezra were, and as the child ran eagerly into the room the father swept him up into his arms.

"Hello, son. Hello, dear," he said, giving the boy a hug and the wife a peck on the lips. "How did it go today at the church?"

"Quite well, I'm pleased to say, "Maude replied with a happy smile, jingling the heavy purse. "When they saw Ezra's sad little face those pious pigeons just couldn't give enough. Did you have any luck finding a game?"

"As a matter of fact, there was quite a crowd at the Black Fox," her husband replied as he emptied his pockets and handed her a small wad of bills. "None of them knew me, so I was able to clean up pretty well. I think we'll be able to move back to the hotel by New Year's."

"Thank God," Maude said with feeling as she took the money to a small strongbox on a table nearby and locked it up along with the coins. "I swear, Daniel, this place is driving me insane."

"Well, we didn't have to stay here for the holidays," Daniel replied, seating himself on the battered sofa and loosening his tie. Ezra came and crawled up on the seat next to his father, who watched him with an affectionate smile and put his arm around the boy once he got settled. "We could've gone to stay with my sister or one of your brothers, you know what a shame it is that Ezra never gets to see his cousins."

Maude made a face as she poured a couple of drinks from a chipped bottle. "I'd rather stay here, thank you. Some of those children are so ill-bred, and I won't have Ezra picking up their bad manners." She finished pouring, handed him one of the glasses and smiled. "I'm sure I'll be fine as soon as we're back in more proper surroundings."

"We all will be, I'm sure," Daniel replied as he downed his drink, then he smiled at his son and patted his arm. "You'd rather be at the hotel, wouldn't you, son?"

The boy shrugged and began to fiddle with his father's watch chain. "I don't care."

The father looked at him in surprise. "You don't? He's been awfully quiet, Maude, is he catching a cold?" He felt the boy's forehead.

"Oh, he's fine, Daniel," the wife insisted, sitting with her drink on a chair nearby. "Still got that church talk in his head, I suppose. The sermon was on how wonderful it is to be poor or some such and of course now he'd rather be penniless."

"Is that so?" Daniel muttered, giving his son a look of amused shock.

Ezra saw the look and took a deep breath. "Well, the man in church was sayin' how it didn't matter if you were rich or poor. Is that true?"

Maude laughed aloud, truly amused. "Gracious, son, of course not."

Ezra looked at her in childish confusion. "But he said God didn't care how much money you had. If it doesn't matter to God why does it matter at all?"

Daniel gave a proud chuckle and tousled the boy's hair. "Listen to him, Maude, the boy's a philosopher. There's nothing wrong with money, son, just what some people might do to get it, or what they do with it-use it to hurt others, for example. But I'm afraid that while it might not matter to God whether we have money, it matters to Mr. Heller who owns this house, and Mrs. Clark who makes your mother's clothes, and-well, just about everybody, really."

Maude rose and took Daniel's glass. "Well, if it's all the same to God, I'll be rich, thank you. Let someone else have the honor of being poor."

Daniel grinned at his wife's sarcastic tone, and looked at his son. "Just remember, Ezra, a man can be a gentleman whether he's rich or not."

He didn't see Maude roll her eyes.

He gave the boy a quick one-armed hug, then rose. "You and Ezra go to Harold's without me, I'll be along soon."

Maude sighed. "Don't tell me you're going to see that awful Mr. Chesterson again. We don't need his money anymore."

"On the contrary, my dear," Daniel corrected her, retying his tie. "The way my luck is running, with Chesterson's money I can easily win enough to keep us at the hotel all year, or even leave New Orleans for good. I can't risk losing the chance to finally get us on a stable footing."

The boy was eyeing his father in growing concern; as the man began putting his coat on the boy slid quickly off the couch and ran to him, tugging at his coattails.

"Don't go again, papa!" his small voice pleaded; but the father could only give him a reassuring smile.

"Don't worry, son, I'll be right back. I only have to go out for a while."

"Why?" the small hands remained firmly attached to the father's coat.

The father seemed taken aback a bit, then he knelt and placed his slender hands on the boy's shoulders, gazing into his large green eyes with loving seriousness.

"Well, son, it's so we can have a better life. So we can move somewhere for good, and you can go to school and make friends. So the next time Christmas comes around we can spend it in our own house, and have a tree and presents."

The boy seemed to consider this. "And you won't go away again?"

Daniel smiled and glanced at his wife. "Not unless your mother changes her mind and decides to cast me off."

Maude laughed archly. "Only if you turn preacher on me."

The father chuckled, and gave Ezra a reassuring pat on the arm. "Don't worry, son, you can't get rid of me that easily. But if we want to have all of those wonderful things, I've got to work for them in the only way I know how, and that means you have to take care of your mother until I get back."

He squeezed the boy's arm with a gentle smile, then straightened and put on the coat and hat Maude handed to him. "I'll meet you at Harold's."

Maude smiled. "Fine."

A quick kiss for Maude, and a quick pat on the head for Ezra, and Daniel Standish was gone. While Maude busied herself bundling the boy up to leave, the Ghost turned to Ezra, who had been watching the proceedings with an expression of quiet melancholy. As his father headed out the door, Ezra took a half-step as if to follow him, then stopped when he realized the foolishness of his action.

"Sorry, Ezra," the Ghost said with sincerity. "You couldn't stop 'im then an' you can't now."

Ezra said nothing for a moment, merely stood staring after his father, trying to control the churning emotions which threatened to overwhelm his composure. He would, at that moment, have given anything to be able to follow his father, to talk to him, just a few words, to prove to him that Ezra had tried to be the gentleman his father would have wanted him to be. But he knew he could not honestly say that he believed his father's words, that you didn't need money to be a gentleman. He suddenly felt ashamed of himself, and envious of his father for sounding so sure of something that Ezra wanted to believe. Ezra was suddenly surprised- he found himself desperately missing a man he barely knew.

He stood silent, then drew a deep breath and looked around. "Well, that was certainly a cheerful interlude. If your purpose was to depress me, I must say you have succeeded beyond my expectations."

The Ghost shook its head. "This ain't been a walk in the park, for sure, but your dad had at least one thing right-it ain't money that hurts people, but what they do for it, an' what it does to them. If your ma had taken you to a few more church sermons that mighta sunk in. But we both know what happened instead."

Suddenly they were in a small, loud, smoky saloon, crowded with inebriated celebrants; a few token strings of ivy around the bar indicated the fact that it was the holidays. As Ezra strained to see through the haze he recognized himself, now a young man, playing poker at a table surrounded by several well-heeled men of the same age, all smoking, drinking and having an uproarious time.

Ezra looked around. "St. Louis?"

The Ghost nodded. "You got it. There you are, 17 years old an' rarin' to go. Looks like a pretty hot game."

As they watched, the younger Ezra threw down his cards in disgust and angrily downed a nearby drink. His elder counterpart sighed. "Yes, it was. Unfortunately, I was absorbing the heat rather than generating it."

"God, George, how the hell do you do it?" a smartly clad black-haired youth seated next to Ezra cried as one of the young men raked in the winnings with a broad smile. A skinny red-haired player checked his watch and stood. "Sorry, Pete, I gotta go take my ma and sisters to Christmas dinner at Uncle Frank's."

The other young men made similar noises, and the game gave every appearance of breaking up. Soon the table was cleared except for Ezra, who sat contemplating the turn of the night's events.

"Your father's been dead for years now," the Ghost remarked as he and Ezra stood watching the young man who sat alone amidst the swirling crowd. "You an' your ma came to St. Louis when the War broke out, an' she's been teachin' you all about the gamblin' life an' how it was the best way to get on in the world. But you ain't lookin' too convinced just yet."

"God damn you, Dodge, you cheatin' son of a bitch!"

The words were close enough to cause the younger Ezra to lurch out of his melancholy and start with surprise. At a nearby table a burly gentleman was on his feet, confronting a well-dressed young blonde man not much older than Ezra, who sat lazily in a chair regarding his opponent with casual unconcern. Between them was a table littered with cards and a small pile of money.

"Are you impugning my honor, sir?" was the calm reply.

"Give it up, Francis, he won fair and square," a third gentleman remarked. The burly man remained unconvinced.

"Fair and square my eye!" he yelled; the crowd was watching now.

"He's right," a third, scruffier-looking man chimed in. "I could swear them cards was shaved."

Francis faced Dodge squarely. "You, Henry Dodge, are a cheating rascal, and I'll shout it from the rooftops."

Henry Dodge leapt smoothly to his feet. "In that case, sir, as much as I detest the idea of dueling on Christmas Day, I must ask you to step outside."

"And let you try to get away? Not a chance!" was the angry reply, and as Ezra watched in fascination the burly man charged his adversary and grabbed him by the collar. The two men twisted around violently and crashed onto Ezra's table.

"My apologies," Henry muttered as he grappled with the dissatisfied man.

"Will you give me hand here!" the burly man bellowed to his companions as he throttled Dodge. The first man hesitated, but his scruffier partner leapt up instantly and Ezra could see he had slipped on a pair of brass knuckles. His eyes grew wide; this was turning from a disagreement to an assault.

"Let's see how ya like this, pretty boy!" the scruffy man crowed, and grabbing Dodge from the burly man struck him sharply across the jaw. Dodge reeled, his mouth bleeding; the scruffy man was about to deliver another blow when a fourth party entered the fray. Dodge was truly shocked to see Ezra leap behind his assailant and clock him squarely across the back of the head with a half-empty bottle. The vessel shattered with a loud crash as the man tumbled to the ground covered with whiskey and broken glass.

As the scruffy man collapsed onto the floor, Dodge scampered to his feet and pulled his own weapon form his vest, a short, broad-bladed knife with a vertical handle which he swiftly gripped in his fist. The burly man backed away a bit at the sight of the knife; his assistant was still trying to collect himself.

"I see you accepted my apology," Henry said, as he began to inch his way towards the door. Ezra accompanied him, still brandishing the broken bottle.

"Indeed," Ezra replied, keeping a keen eye on the crowd and licking his lips. "Consider it a blow for good manners."

Their two opponents were glaring at them; the scruffy man began to show signs of recovery.

"I suggest we escape before they decide to become rude again," Dodge offered. "Unless you'd rather stay."

Ezra eyed the bar and shrugged. "I can think of better places to spend my Christmas."

With that they dashed out the door, leaving the crowd to resume its drinking and recover. The bartender shook his head and muttered, "Boy, do I hate these holiday crowds."

Outside, the two young men ran until it became apparent they were not being pursued. As soon as they slowed to a walk and caught their breath, Henry Dodge extended his hand.

"Thank you, my friend, that was excellent work. I'm Henry Dodge."

"Ezra Standish," Ezra said as he shook his companion's hand. "And you're most welcome. After a bad run I felt like hitting somebody anyway. Did you know that fellow back there?"

His companion shook his head. "Just another man looking for a card game. I can't imagine how he could have accused me of cheating."

Ezra shrugged. "Losing can make a man say some rather indelicate-"

"No," Henry cut him off, "I mean I don't know how he figured it out. I never would have guessed he was that bright."

Ezra glanced at him, then grinned. "What was it, a marked deck?"

"Shaved. I trimmed the edges of the cards so I'd know what they were when I dealt them." He smiled at Ezra. "I hope you're not too shocked to find out you've defended a rogue, Mr. Standish."

Ezra shook his head. "On the contrary, sir, I've learned that one must make one's own luck to get ahead in this world."

"Ah, such a true philosophy," Henry agreed. "Your father certainly taught you the right things."

Ezra chuckled. "Actually, I owe my training to my mother-who, come to think of it, will probably disown me when she learns how poorly I fared."

"Oh, cheer up," Henry urged, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Say-are you doing anything tonight? Some of us are having a dance over at the empty warehouse by the river. Probably be some fast gaming there, you might be able to win your money back. Unless you have to go be with your mother or something."

They paused across the street from a brightly lit church. Ezra looked up into the early evening sky and sighed.

"My mother is deep in the pursuit of a mark and does not wish to be disturbed, so my calender is remarkably free at the moment. Lead on, Mr. Dodge."

"Capital!" Henry exclaimed; at that moment the doors of the church across the street opened, flooding them with the golden glow from within. The two young men watched in idle interest as its occupants streamed out from evening services, laughing and talking with animation as they spilled down the stairs and into the street in a happy, colorful throng. The church was located in one of the poorer parishes; many of the congregants were in clothes well past their prime. But as they wished each other Merry Christmas, they certainly seemed not to mind their less affluent condition.

Henry threw an arm around Ezra's shoulder and observed the crowd with a critical eye.

"Look at em, Ezra," he said, cocking his head back, a sardonic smile on his face. "The poor, misguided fools. Praying to a God who doesn't care and thinking that's going to make their poor lives all better. But we know better, don't we? The only things a man can count on in this life are his brains and his skill, and if he doesn't have the guts to use em then he deserves what he gets. Now c'mon," he gave Ezra's shoulder a punch, "let's get to that dance and win you back your money."

He walked away, too busy lighting a cigar to notice Ezra gazing for a moment at the happy throng before turning to follow his companion. None of them could see the Ghost and Ezra watching them as they strode down the darkening street.

"Poor Henry," Ezra was shaking his head. "Not exactly the thoughtful type. But his talent was exceptional."

The Ghost grunted. "Yeah, a talent for selfishness. If he coulda seen past his own desires he would've noticed that them church people looked a lot happier than any of the cardplayers you two ran with, an' maybe he woulda realized they had somethin' goin'. But you noticed it, didn't you?"

Caught, Ezra hrumphed and shrugged a bit. "Now, sir, I do admit they seemed to be...enjoying themselves, but..."

"But you figured you already had life figured out," the Ghost finished, folding his arms. "You didn't need nobody, unless they was like Henry and could help you make money. An' it wasn't too long before you decided you wasn't gonna let nobody get in your way-or your heart."

The scene swirled, shifted and changed; they were standing by the river on a clear winter night, a cool wind blowing through the trees. Confused, Ezra looked around; they were in one of the middle-class sections of town, outside a large, well-lit saloon. Music and laughter was pouring out of the door as customers streamed in and out.

Suddenly someone came pushing brusquely out of the establishment, and Ezra instantly recognized it as himself, a little older than before, with an angry expression on his face. He was instantly followed by a young girl of seventeen, petite and black-haired, clad in the garments of the working poor, a frayed shawl grasped around her shoulders; her face was wreathed in sorrowful determination.

The older Ezra gasped aloud. "Oh my God. Amelia."

"Yup. The only person ever to come near that wall you got built up around yourself."

Ezra didn't really seem to be listening; he was staring at the girl, who was hurrying to stand beside his younger self. Something hot was grabbing at his throat; he swallowed and turned burning eyes to the Ghost.

"I've seen enough," he growled.

"That's what you think," was the casual reply. "Unless, of course, you want to make this same mistake again."

"Ezra!"

It was the girl's voice; the older Ezra's head shot around, straight at her, even though he knew she wasn't really talking to him. She was talking to the shade of what he used to be, the young well-dressed gambler who stood puffing angrily on a cigar, staring out at the river. And not looking at her.

She was approaching him, her eyes and voice calm and gentle in the brisk winds. "Ezra, please, I'm sorry to do that, but I have to talk to you. It's been two weeks..."

The young Ezra turned to face her, and it was already plain to see that the mask was in his eyes, the carefully tailored veil which looked out at the world but let no one in. "Well, my dear, you have committed the impropriety of entering a saloon and also forced me away from the most lucrative game of the evening. I believe an explanation is required."

She sighed, looked at him in a strange, loving way. "Ezra, please. You don't need those words with me, I know you too well. Please don't use them to shut me out the way you have everyone else, I couldn't bear it."

Ezra flinched; his younger self merely glowered, a flicker of hurt dancing in his eyes before it was quickly concealed. "My apologies, Amelia. Why are you here?"

The girl wrapped her shawl tighter around her thin shoulders, came closer. "I've...I've come to a hard decision, Ezra. I think...I've decided it would be best to end our engagement."

The young Ezra hardly seemed surprised, looking first at her, then out at the river. Finally he sighed and returned his gaze to her face. "Was it your father?"

"No," she said firmly. "It's-things have changed since we met, Ezra. These past few months I've hardly seen you, you're always at the saloon with Henry, gambling."

Ezra sighed. "I am merely trying to secure our future, my dear. Surely you don't want to be a seamstress your whole life."

"Of course not," she replied. "But I can tell...you're not letting me in anymore the way you used to. You've been giving all of yourself to the tables. I feel as if there's a curtain between us now that wasn't there before."

He gave her an appraising look, then tossed his cigar stub into the river. "That's nonsense, Amelia. I still love you."

She paused, then turned her head towards him, the wind blowing wayward strands of hair into her sparkling eyes. "I believe you, Ezra, but I'm not a dreamer. You've given your heart to your profession, and I can see there's no longer any room in there for me. You're far happier in that saloon than you could ever be with me, and we both know it."

They stood for a moment in silence, the din from the saloon the only noise to stir the cold air. It was clear from the young man's face that every word Amelia had said was true; they still stung, but there was relief as well as pain in his eyes.

Finally he drew a long breath. "Well, you seem to have made up your mind. God knows I can't stop you if you want to leave."

She pursed her lips and looked away. "I don't want to leave, but I think it would be best. Just-promise me something."

He raised his eyebrows in expectation and waited, hands in his pockets.

She licked her lips in hesitation. "I know what's behind that curtain, Ezra, and it shouldn't be hidden forever. Someday someone else may have a chance to look behind there, too, and I hope you don't turn them away. I'd hate to think of you as being alone forever."

He considered her words, appeased to be touched. "That's quite noble of you, Amelia. I assure you, though, that in the future I shall seldom want for company."

"I hope that's true," she breathed, then stood awkwardly for a moment. "Well, I should go, papa's waiting for me. Goodbye, Ezra."

"Goodbye, Miss Wilkinson."

She gave him one last look before hurrying away into the darkness. The young man looked after her, seemed to be thinking about something; then he turned and walked slowly back into the brilliant light of the saloon.

But Ezra remained, his face wreathed in sorrow as he watched Amelia retreat into the shadows. He was barely aware that the Ghost had come up beside him.

"You could have stopped her," he remarked softly, "but by now you'd pretty much had it with lettin' people into your heart."

Ezra remained silent for a moment, marveling at the ache in his heart that had lain dormant for many years. It was true, at one time he had loved her more than he had ever loved any woman, but the need to survive and succeed had driven a golden wedge between them. How could he have forgotten her? The pain in his soul provided an answer-it was easier to blot out the past than dwell on deep regrets. But he had loved her...

He turned angry eyes to the Ghost. "I must say, you're remarkably cruel for a spirit of Christmas."

The Ghost shrugged. "Not my fault your past was like this. We're just trying to make sure your future ain't the same way."

"Yes, well, I've had enough of your vicious sense of charity," Ezra hissed, his face flushing. "I demand to be escorted home at once."

The Ghost smiled slightly. "Well, least you're riled up. Shows you still got some heart left. That's good."

"Good?" Ezra cried, enraged that the Ghost actually seemed to be enjoying this. "You're the one who, as you so colloquially put it, got me riled up'! Have you no compassion in that translucent breast of yours? What good can seeing all this possibly do me?"

The Ghost simply stood and smiled at him, apparently highly pleased. Furious, Ezra lunged back and threw a punch at him, knowing abstractly that it was useless to fight a ghost but eager to derive satisfaction from the attempt. As he expected, the swing only connected with air, but he was unprepared for the tumble he took towards the ground as his swing threw him off-balance. He braced himself for impact with the hard dirt road-

-only to land with a solid oof on the polished floor of his room. He lay dazed for a second, then sat up quickly and looked around; it was dark, with only the soft moonlight filtering in through the curtains. Slowly Ezra climbed to his feet, wiping the tears from his eyes and glancing around in confusion as he tried to piece together what had just happened. A dream, that must have been it, obviously. Still recovering from that tainted sandwich.

Amelia...

He climbed onto the bed and lay down, exhausted and headachey from the recent surge of emotions; he only had a few moments to wonder if anything else strange was going to happen to him tonight before he fell again into a deep, weary sleep.



When Ezra awoke again, he was amazed to see that it was still night; he felt as if he'd been out for several hours. Memories of the current events returned with a rush, and he rubbed his head as he wondered if it really all had been a dream. Certainly the emotions had felt real...

He clawed for his pocketwatch and checked it; almost two o'clock. Recalling that Henry-if that truly was Henry-had said something about the second spirit coming at two, Ezra lay back and waited nervously for the hour to come. Finally the minute hand of his expensive watch hit the finely etched 12 on the watch face and began to creep past it; 2 o'clock had come, and nothing happened. Ezra remained still, unsure of what to make of it; here was positive proof that it had all been a nightmare, but he somehow felt less than reassured. Something was definitely wrong.

As he lay thinking he gradually became aware of a soft thumping noise coming from the floor at the foot of his bed. Lifting his head, he could see nothing over the high footboard, but could still hear an odd commotion going on, thuds and soft, muffled groans. Suspicious and not in the mood for pranks, Ezra silently picked up the Remington he kept by his bedside and slowly sat up, trying not to make any noise as he leaned forward to catch whoever was disturbing his repose. As he neared the point at which he could almost see over the footboard, he cocked the gun, took a quick, deep breath, and lunged forward, grabbing the footboard with one hand while thrusting his weapon forward with the other.

"Halt!" he began to say, before amazement froze the words in his throat.

There on the floor of his room, gazing up at him in bemused surprise, was Buck Wilmington-or, Ezra guessed, a Ghost who looked like Buck Wilmington, clad in Buck's traditional dusty gear with a bright green shirt and red bandanna. In his tan hat, which now hung loosely on his back, was a bright sprig of holly. The cause of the commotion was clear, as this Ghost had in his arms a beautiful young blonde woman clad in a pink and white gown; the pair was in the beginning stages of dishevelment, and seemed slightly embarrassed at the situation.

"Hey there, pard," the Ghost winked with a smile, "just hang on, I'll be right with ya, k?"

Ezra paused for a moment, stunned, then nodded and sat back as the noises resumed.

Ten minutes later, Ezra was still sitting up in bed in an attitude of boredom, his chin propped up in one hand as he waited for the Ghost to conclude his activities. Finally his guide appeared, wearing an extremely wide smile and wiping lipstick from his face with the red bandanna.

"Sorry bout that," he said cheerfully, putting on his hat, "just gettin' acquainted with the Ghost of Valentine's Day. Hey, how ya doin', I'm the Ghost of Christmas Present."

Ezra didn't move. "Charmed. I presume you're here to torture me with remorse as well?"

The Ghost put his hands on his hips and frowned at Ezra, shaking his head. "Y'know, they warned me about that bad attitude of yours. Don't you see, we're here to help you out! Let you see what you might be blowin' before you blow it! An' see how your life touches others in ways you can't begin to suspect."

Ezra snorted as he swung his legs off of the bed. "I assure you, my luminous friend, that my presence here is hardly that crucial. I'm merely offering my services as a hired gun."

The Ghost laughed. "It mighta started out that way, Ezra, but it ain't stayed that way, an' it's got you runnin' scared, don't it? Hidin' behind them cards like nothin's changed. But you got folks countin' on you now, an' if you don't believe that, well, reckon that's what I'm here for."

"I suppose so," Ezra groaned as he stood up; for some reason he was really dreading this. He glanced at the window. "I presume we're going out the window?"

"Naw," the Ghost chuckled as he tightened the cinch on his hat. "That's the sissy way. C'mon."

He took Ezra's arm, and with alarming swiftness the pair rose straight towards the ceiling. Certain they were going to crash through the roof of the saloon, Ezra began to let out a yelp of terror, but before the noise escaped his throat the scene changed completely.

He looked around in surprise; they were in a clearing in one of the wooded areas outside of town. it was beautiful winter day, bright and crisp; the ground was covered with a thick dazzling layer of pure white snow.

"Boy, I just love these nice winter days, don't you?" the Ghost exulted, taking a deep whiff of the bracing air. "Really clears the sinuses."

"Enchanting," Ezra replied, wondering why he didn't feel cold. "But I fail to see how this attractive setting could have any bearing on my welfare."

"Oh, this day's more than just attractive," the Ghost promised. "It's Christmas Day, and trust me, friend, it's got everything to do with not just your welfare, but a whole lotta other people's to boot."

As the Ghost finished this Ezra became aware of a soft rumbling that quickly became louder; a herd of animals was rushing towards their location. Looking over he saw a slight slope; after a few monets a small herd of sleek deer came galloping over it through the snow, their hooves sending crystalline sprays into the air. They dashed by; a moment later, more thundering came from behind the rise, and Vin suddenly burst into view, hat off, rifle in one hand, his golden brown curls whipping behind him as he pounded after the herd, a wide smile lighting up his face as he swept by in a cloud of swirling snow.

JD was right behind him, leaning so far forward in his saddle with eagerness that he seemed in imminent danger of plunging off of it.

"We got im now, Vin!" he whooped as he urged Hero onward.

"Hang on there, JD!" Buck yelled as he galloped behind him.

"You're just mad cause I'm beatin' ya, Buck!" was the joyous reply as the two rode out of sight. Nathan was next, smiling broadly at the brotherish quarreling, and looking behind him at Josiah and Chris who were maintaining a more leisurely pace.

"Y'all better hurry, JD's already bagged Buck's pride," Nathan called before riding ahead. The other two men smiled quietly, then Josiah turned to Chris.

"Sure glad you decided to come today, Chris, I know it meant a lot to the boys."

The black-clad gunslinger shrugged and toyed with his reins as the pair made their way across the churned-up meadow. "Just as easy to be miserable here as anywhere, I guess."

"Well, now, miserable' is what JD's gonna be if Buck gives him any more hunting tips," Josiah offered with a grin. "I'm hopin' you're not quite that low."

Chris smiled a bit, squinted into the sun. "That's hard to beat, but-I just don't figure Sarah'd want me spendin' today at the saloon like I been doin' every year. Guess this is the first time in a while I've had somethin' else to do."

He sighed, ducked his head as they passed by. Josiah nodded as he urged Prophet on with a gentle touch of the spur.

"Same thing for me, Chris," the former preacher agreed. "Bright day like this makes me think the Lord's workin' a new beginnin' for all of us."

Chris looked at him in mock surprise. "Why, Josiah, you sound downright sentimental. Didn't know you had it in you."

Josiah chuckled thoughtfully. "Oh, I had it in me, once. Maybe it's comin' back."

A muffled crack split the clean air, followed by an enthusiastic whoop. Both men perked up and grinned a bit.

"Guess we oughta make sure that wasn't JD gettin' revenge for Buck's teasin'," Josiah commented, and the pair rode away.

In an instant Ezra and the spirit were in a clearing; Vin and JD were on the ground beside a fallen deer, a bullet hole neatly placed through its head. Vin was kneeling and trussing the animal up with rope while Nathan and Buck were still on horseback. JD was beside himself with amazement.

"Boy, that was really somethin', Vin!" he gasped, panting heavily, his breath disappearing into tiny puffs. "Right through the head!"

"Best way to do it, JD," Vin was saying as he worked. "That way the animal don't suffer none. When we get it to Nettie's you can help me clean it."

The young sheriff's face paled a bit. "Uh, clean it?"

"Yup. It's a big one, gonna need a lot of help with it."

JD gulped.

"Aw, c'mon JD," Buck laughed from his saddle. "Bet Casey'd be impressed out of her boots."

JD scratched his head, this new thought dancing through his head. He was clearly considering it.

His task completed, Vin straightened and nodded to Nathan.

"Nathan, you an' whoever wants to go can ride on out to the village while the rest of us take this on to Nettie's. We'll meet you there."

Nathan nodded, trying to hide his anticipatory grin as he thought of Rain, the pretty Seminole Village girl he'd been courting. "Okay."

Vin shot JD a look. "You don't got to come, JD, me an' Buck or Josiah can handle it."

JD waffled for a moment, then he set his chin. "No. No, I'll come. Who knows, learnin' to clean a deer might come in handy."

Buck smiled. "Yeah, if any lawbreakin' deer come to town you'll sure know what to do. See ya at the village, kid."

With an affectionate grin Buck rode off, ignoring the handful of snow JD tossed in his direction. Chris and Josiah rode up, still smiling.

"Looks like a fat one," Josiah observed. Vin nodded.

"We'll be sure to bring some of the meat to the village," the tracker said. "Reckon they'd appreciate it."

JD wiped the snow from his hands and grinned at the two older men. "Sure glad you came, Chris. Ain't this something? I've never been huntin' in the mornin' before."

Chris smiled a little. "It's a little different when you're starvin', trust me."

"Or on the run," Vin added quietly.

JD scowled impatiently. "Aw, now, don't go worryin' about that today, Vin. If anyone was to try that sort of thing on Christmas, or anytime, we'd take care of em."

"Amen," Josiah muttered as he took a drink from his canteen.

Vin's head was down as he adjusted his saddle straps, but there was a quiet smile on his face, and when he looked back at his friends his blue eyes shone with gratitude. "Thanks, boys. But don't go gettin' soft on me, we still gotta cart this thing to Nettie's."

"No problem," JD promised as he prepared to mount up on Hero. "Y'know, Ezra's gonna be mighty sorry he missed this. Gotta say, it ain't the same without him."

Ezra straightened, surprised.

Josiah shrugged. "His choice, JD. but I reckon the money he's makin' will make up for his loss."

JD smiled and shook his head as he settled himself in the saddle. "Can't imagine any amount of money beatin' this, Josiah. We used to watch the rich folks celebratin' at Christmas at the mansion, givin' each other expensive gifts, but my ma always said you can't put a price on family." He looked up and frowned. "Or is that too corny?"

Vin swung himself onto Sire and smiled; the other men nodded.

"No, JD, I think that says it all," Josiah said somberly. "And who knows, maybe Ezra'll change his mind and leave the winnin' to someone else."

Chris straightened and picked up his reins. "Well," he said in a flat, dry voice, "they call this the season of miracles."

They began to ride off, the deer tied behind Vin's saddle; Chris and Josiah waved and veered off towards the village while JD and Vin headed north to the ranch of Nettie Wells. None of them could see Ezra and the Ghost still standing in the clearing, watching as the clouds of snow drifted back to earth.

"Now ya see, Ezra," the Ghost observed, "you might think it don't matter where you are, but some folks seem to think it does. When we're in people's lives, even for a short while, our not bein' there makes a difference."

Ezra cleared his throat. "Well, um, it's certainly admirable of Mr. Dunne to notice my absence, but he's got to understand the vagaries of my profession. In my line of work one must seize opportunity before it is gone."

The Ghost chuckled and scratched its chin. "That's right pretty-soundin', Ezra, but you're graspin' at the wrong opportunities. You're winnin' the gold but losin' the game, an' before you know it you'll be the richest broke man around."

Ezra eyed him with annoyance. "You're certainly aggravating enough to be Mr. Wilmington."

"Hey, now, c'mon," the Ghost insisted as they began to walk, "you gonna tell me you weren't the teeniest bit touched that they missed you? Heck, JD even thinks of you as family, now when was the last time someone besides your ma ever said that?"

The gambler considered this, and his face softened. "I admit that was...unexpected..."

"There, y'see?' the Ghost replied. "You been so busy tryin' to get rich that you done got yourself a family without even realizin' it. An' that's important, Ezra, specially at this time of year. What most people don't realize is that, even if you got no kin, you still got a family. That's the family of Man that I'm talkin' about, an' it's every man's duty to see that he does right by them. Now you're helpin' the town, an' that's a fair start, but it wouldn't hurt ya none to take a look around and see how your group is takin' care of somethin' a whole lot bigger than itself. You men are fightin' for a bigger Family than you think."

In a flash the scene changed; they were in the Seminole village, later in the day. Vin and JD had just arrived, and were dismounting to shouts of welcome from the others, who were already enjoying the hospitality of the old chief Tastanagi and his people. Buck was busily courting any available woman within spitting distance while Josiah appeared to be in a deep discussion with a few of the village elders. Nearby, Nathan and the fiery Rain, daughter of a former slave, were sharing a private moment away from the crowds, while Chris was joining Tastanagi in welcoming the latecomers. Several fires had been lit, over which meat was roasting in the dancing flames. Everything had the appearance of a festival, and the air was alive with laughter.

"Here's a little somethin' to add to your fires, my friend," Vin said with a smile as he handed several large, wrapped pieces of venison to the old chief. The man's weathered face broke into a wide smile which reflected far more than gratitude.

"Many thanks," he said warmly as he looked at the men. "We are pleased that you came to us today, even though we do not share your ways." He gestured to the riotous scene before them and laughed a little. "We have prepared a celebration in honor of your holy day, and as you can see, many of your friends are feeling quite festive already."

Vin smiled. "Well, with some of us it don't take much. An' between you folks an' Nettie Wells we'll be hard put to sit upright on our horses tomorrow."

JD came up, buttoning his coat and smiling. "Mrs. Wells was real happy with the deer."

Chris nodded, pleased. "Vin teach you how to clean it?"

The young sheriff hedged a little. "Well..."

The gunslinger smiled knowingly. "Don't be embarrassed, JD, you're just not used to huntin'-"

"Oh, it ain't that!" JD exclaimed quickly. "I mean, I did actually get to practice on it some, but-it wasn't Vin who showed me how."

Chris' eyebrows went up as he and Vin exchanged smiles. "Oh?"

Vin shifted his weight and laughed, putting out one hand to stress his point. "Chris, I ain't never seen a gal with a knife like that Casey. She was half done guttin' that deer before JD an' I even had our sleeves rolled up."

"You shoulda seen it," JD enthused, his eyes glowing. "Says she's been doin' it since she came to live with Mrs. Wells. I mean, I thought I'd have a hard time, but watchin' her do it just made it seem easy."

Chris smiled quietly. "Well, that's one way to make sure he'd pay attention." He looked at Vin, then at the horizon. "No sign of Ezra, huh?"

The tracker shook his head. "Nope." Seeing the grim expression on Chris' face, he added, "Maybe he'll be along to Nettie's later."

Chris' face came up, and JD and Vin were both surprised by the sadness there.

"Is somethin' wrong?" JD asked. "I mean, I thought it was OK to let Ezra decide for himself."

"It's OK for us, JD," Chris said quietly. "But someone here's gonna be mighty disappointed that he didn't come."

Ezra heard this, and was confused as they watched Vin, JD and Tastanagi walk away towards the huts.

The Ghost whacked him on the arm. "There, y'see? Didn't think you might be messin' up somebody else's day by stayin' behind, did you?"

The gambler scowled and rubbed his arm. "Of course not, but I can hardly be expected to bend my schedule to satisfy other people's expectations. Surely once I find out who this person is, I can explain to them the reason why I couldn't attend. If anyone understands survival, it's these people, believe me."

"Oh, they understand survival all right," the Ghost nodded. "But they also understand what that word really means, and it don't mean makin' a killin' at poker. As for explainin' yourself to this person, well, that might not be as easy as you think."

The scene shifted suddenly; for a moment it was so dark that Ezra couldn't make out where they were. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he realized that they were in one of the Seminole huts; Vin and JD were crouching on the floor, with Chris and Tastanagi behind them. They were smiling and talking softly with a small figure lying on a straw mat on the floor; as his vision cleared, Ezra saw that it was Toshi, the young gap-toothed boy he had met while in the village and bid goodbye to when they left after defeating the insane Colonel Anderson. Even in the darkness Ezra could see how pale the boy's skin was, how flushed his cheeks were, and the look of concern on his mother Anawei's face as she stroked Toshi's forehead caused his stomach to tighten painfully.

"Now you make sure you listen to your Ma an' get better," Vin was saying. "Soon as I learn JD the ways of huntin', you're gonna be my next pupil."

A weak smile lit up the boy's face as his brown eyes shone with excitement.

"An' I'm learnin' fast," JD chimed in, with a nod, "so that means you gotta get better quick, cause Vin's not one to wait around."

"I will," Toshi promised, in a low voice; he didn't see the worry in his mother's eyes, but the men did. "Did Ezra come with you?"

Vin coughed; Chris's jaw tightened. Ezra felt as if he had been shot, and turning to the Ghost said in a pleading voice, "I demand to leave."

The Ghost simply eyed him and didn't move.

"Sorry, son," Vin finally said, "fraid Ezra had to stay in town. Matter of business. But we'll tell im to come on out an' see you, an' he'll be here before ya know it."

Toshi's smile returned, a little weaker. "That'd be great. I finally learned those tricks he tried to teach me."

Anawei smiled. "He's been driving us crazy with his practicing, I even had to scold him for neglecting his chores. He seems to think the world of Mr. Standish."

Ezra tried to bolt out the door; the Ghost grabbed him in a casual grip as hard as iron and forced him back.

"Look," he said quietly, "you was so sure nobody'd care if you went about your business, right? Well, maybe you'd like to pretend you ain't touched any lives, but you have, partner, and one of em's right there on that floor."

Ezra licked his lips, wondering how the Ghost could be so strong. "But-I had no idea the poor boy would be ill-"

"Course not, Ezra," the Ghost replied. "We never know what's going to happen-that's why we gotta take the opportunity to care when it comes, cause it might not come again."

Ezra stared at him. "What do you mean?"

The Ghost released him and sighed, leaning against the wall and taking off his hat.

The gambler looked at Toshi, then back at the Ghost. "Well-the boy will recover, won't he? I mean, he's just-it's merely a-"

"It's a fever, Ezra," the Ghost replied sadly, replacing his hat. "And unless somethin' happens, he ain't gonna see another Christmas."

Ezra went numb, and stared at the child in shock as the other men said their goodbyes and filed out. His mind flashed back to the night of the celebration after they had defeated Anderson the first time, when he had told the boy's fortune and promised him he would grow up to be a great warrior. Toshi had looked up at Ezra with adoring brown eyes and called him something no one else ever had before or ever would again, probably–a brave man.

"Don't be sad, son," the mother was saying, as she smoothed his shaggy, sandy hair. "Maybe Mr. Standish will come later. You shouldn't get yourself so excited."

"I know, mother," Toshi was muttering. "I really wanted to show him my tricks, that's all."

"Yes, well," Anawei soothed, "I'm sure whatever kept him away was very important. He'll see you when it's finished."

The boy nodded a little, his small face a perfect reflection of sadness. He coughed a little and sighed.

Suddenly they were outside again, nearby the hut; Nathan and Chris were standing nearby, speaking in low tones.

"Mother says he went out a few nights ago cause he left them playing cards Ezra gave im out in the rocks someplace," Nathan was saying. "Guess that's how he got that fever, an' she says he's been gettin' worse ever since."

Chris gritted his teeth, squinted off into the distance. "Can you do anything?"

"They're already doin' everything I would," Nathan noted with a sigh. "If I could find a real doctor, I might be able to get some medicine, but with the holiday an' all they'll probably be closed til Monday. But look," he straightened up. "I'll ride out to Eagle Bend an' see if I can find Dr. Harrison."

Chris scowled. "That's a long ride from here."

"Yeah, but if someone don't do somethin'..." the sentence trailed off, and both men knew where it would end.

Finally Chris nodded. "All right. Hope you find im, Anawei shouldn't have to lose her son. An' if you happen to run into Ezra out there, tell him to get his ass over here, that boy needs him."

Nathan nodded. "Yeah, can't say I'm feelin' too kindly towards Ezra right now," the healer said as he buttoned up his coat. "He about broke that kid's heart."

Chris shook his head. "Hope he thinks that damn poker game was worth it."

Nathan shrugged. "Hard to say. Man's surprised me before-one minute I think I know just what he's gonna do, then he goes an' actually shows integrity. But I'm gonna find it mighty hard to forgive im for this, if..." He swallowed, gave Chris a whack on the shoulder. "I'll try to make it to Nettie's tonight."

"All right," Chris said quietly, and watched as Nathan hurried off towards Rain and the horses. Then he turned and walked slowly back to the rest of the group.

"There now, y'see?' the Ghost say, as Ezra stared after the two men in silence. "Even after you threw your friends over for a poker game, Nathan still stuck up for ya. Me, I'da punched your sorry face."

Ezra still seemed stunned; he directed his eyes back towards the hut where Toshi lay, as if his thoughts had never left it. A deep current of shame ran through him, unfamiliar and cold; he realized that he had not given one thought to the possibility that anyone would be waiting for him here. He was so used to it not mattering where he was, or what he did, a selfishness which had never bothered him before, because it had never hurt anyone before, not even himself. Nobody had ever cared.

But, he realized, they cared now, and it made him so uncomfortable he wanted to run as far and fast as he could to get away from it. The wall he'd so carefully built around himself was cracking; he'd often wondered idly about that, but felt he could control how and when the bricks might slowly be removed. Now they were collapsing all around him, and he didn't feel prepared for what might lie beyond the shattered walls.

He thought of Toshi, and the pain was almost overwhelming.

"Will Mr. Jackson find the doctor?" he finally asked quietly, hoping that just maybe Nathan's action would change things.

"Oh, so you do care what happens to that little feller, huh?" the Ghost said in mock surprise, folding his arms and leaning back. "Tell ya what, let's go see, OK?"