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Christy Tunstall leaned back in her rocker. She patted the tears from her cheek, now wrinkled slightly from the sun despite the fact she was only thirty-seven years of age. It seemed like a lifetime ago that Jimmy had whispered those words to her, but she could still hear his voice as plainly as if it were yesterday. Jimmy had meant his words, he had proven that to her later on; but Christy knew he hadn’t counted on a war coming that would pit brother against brother; a war that would eventually tear the little express family apart straight down the middle. How unfair, she thought, for a man to die at the age of thirty-nine. How cruel to be shot down in cold blood. Christy could only hope that Jimmy had found some happiness before his untimely death. She knew he had eventually married and she wondered if his wife had made up for some of the demons in his past. As for herself, Christy admitted that life hadn’t been unkind to her. She had married five years ago, although she chose to keep her last name in remembrance to the man who had believed in her so long ago. Just last year she had given birth to her first child, a boy she named Charles Ike: Charles for the man she considered her father, and Ike in memory of another wonderful human being who had died before his time. She loved her husband and he had provided well for the little family, but no one would ever take Jimmy’s place in her heart. James Butler Hickok had been many things; a gunfighter, a hero, and a legend; but to Christy he would always be only the man-loyal and brave and kind, the man who ducked his head when he revealed his tender side that he tried so hard to hide. To Christy, he would always be simply Jimmy.
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