by Lori Anne
Author's Notes: I am all alone in Florida and my mood
is a little down. This is just a fragment, an attempt to put sound to
words. Comments are welcome.
He sat at the old piano that was in the saloon and stared at the old
and yellow keys. His mother always warned him to be careful.
"Mr. Dunne, shouldn't you be in bed at this late hour."
"Your not." JD answered, but it didn't have the sting he'd intended.
Ezra didn't say that he was just a child and needed to get some sleep,
and continued undeterred.
"I always wanted to play a piano, but, I am sorry to say, have no
"You mean like this," JD ran through an arpeggio and then filled the
room with the most beautiful music Ezra had ever heard. The piano was
old and a little out of tune, the occasional miss note only added to
the sweet sadness of the song.
Chris Larabee, sitting in the dark corner heard the melody swirl around
him and was drawn to the old piano that was finally singing in infinite
sadness. He went over to see who was playing, because old Joe was pretty
bad. JD and Ezra were surrounded in the light from an oil lamp. JD had
his eyes closed as his hands wove the spell.
"The last time was at my mother's funeral." Answering Ezra's question,
his hands never stopping, his eyes stayed closed.
Chris heard the saloon door squeak as it let another patron in. The
gunman looked up to see Buck and Vin come in, and motioned them to be
quiet. Ezra could hear the orchestra behind the piano, as if JD carried
it with him, and all he had to do was play.
"I thought this one up for Chris." and the music changed. Sadness
still lead, but around were bright string of hope and warmth.
Buck and Vin stood at the door, afraid to move or break the spell,
that the man/child from Boston had woven late on night.
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