Dust Epilogue (PG-13)

[librarian_7]

Disclaimer: Josef...I may be his, but he's not mine. Everything else is.

A/N: Yes, this is the end of Dust...the very end. Thanks again for coming on this wonderful journey with me.


Dust

Epilogue

Denver, 1930

Late afternoon, and the sun was almost behind the mountains west of Denver, when the black Rolls Royce pulled up in the gate of the cemetery, gliding to a smooth stop near a towering cottonwood. A young woman stood waiting, her hair concealed by a gray cloche hat, a small handbag clutched in her hands.

The two men who emerged from the rear door, deferentially held by a silent, uniformed chauffeur, seemed to be both alike and oddly different at once. One was impeccably groomed, with his dark gray pinstriped suit and subtly patterned navy blue tie over an immaculate white shirt. The last daylight threw flame into his short auburn hair as he gracefully alighted. Everything about him radiated wealth and power, and the woman was inexplicably reminded of the great tiger she once seen in the Denver zoo.

The other, clad entirely in black, had a more deadly air, like a rattlesnake coiled to strike. There was a flat, speculative look in his dark blue eyes that sent a shiver down the woman’s spine, made the fading warmth of the afternoon settle more quickly into the evening chill. The lightweight cotton print dress she wore, its hem fluttering about her knees in the wind, was not sufficient to protect her from the approaching night. A little nervous, she fingered the heavy, old-fashioned cameo that hung at her throat. The one her Gran had insisted she wear.

She hesitated in greeting them. They both looked young, the man in pinstripes less than thirty, his companion no more than thirty-five. Not at all what she’d expected. Although what she was expecting, she had no idea. She looked again at the Rolls, noting the silver gleam of the wire wheels, the headlamps, and the flying woman figure on the radiator cap. As she watched, the chauffeur pulled out a soft cloth and began to polish away the dust of the journey from the radiator.

“Quite a beauty, isn’t she?” the voice came at her elbow, surprising her. It was the younger-looking of the two visitors, smiling down at her, his broad shoulders slouched a bit as his hands found his pockets. The warmth of his brown eyes was worlds away from the cold gaze of his companion, and she felt an answering warmth rise, staining her cheeks. She wished the cloche she wore were newer, her dress more stylish.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. You must be Mr. Constantine? And Mr. Weston?” She extended her hand.

Josef nodded, with a quick flip of his mobile eyebrows. He hadn’t used “Contantine” for decades. Still, it was what Sally Watkins knew.

“I’m Constantine,” he said, bowing over her gloved hand.

“Gran said you’d come.” She smiled back, content to leave her hand in the cool grasp of this stranger. She started. “Oh. My name is Sally Young.”

“You must be Constance’s girl. I’d know you anywhere for Sally Watkins’ kin—you have your grandmother’s face.” He paused, his face growing more serious. “She was a beautiful and courageous lady.”

Sally blinked. No one had ever described her as beautiful before. And this man knew her mother’s name, without knowing her mother?

The other man, Weston, said nothing, hanging back a step or two with a sardonic half-smile on his darkly handsome face. He seemed to be focusing his attention on the cameo at her throat, and she ran a finger over it again. Gran had worn it often, and when Sally was a small child, she’d asked about it more than once.

Gran had smiled mysteriously, eyes twinkling, and said, “It’s a souvenir of a great adventure I once had, Sally girl. Maybe someday I’ll tell you all about it.” But she never had, she’d only pressed the cameo into Sally’s hand on her death bed, and told her to be sure and wear it when Mr. Constantine and Mr. Weston came to see her grave.

With some reluctance, Sally tore her attention from Mr. Constantine. “Oh—but you wanted to see Gran’s resting place, and I’m keeping you standing here while it gets dark.”

Weston smiled, and Sally felt that slight chill again. “It’s all right, ma’am,” he said. “Happens we have excellent night vision.”

“Slade,” Josef growled, “quit trying to intimidate our hostess.” His expression changed completely as he looked back at Sally. “Please forgive my associate, Miss Young. His manners leave much to be desired.”

Sally blushed and looked down. “It’s quite all right,” she said, “but please, if you’d follow me.” She spun on her heel and began to thread her way among the grave markers, not waiting to see if the two men came along.

The walk was brief, twenty yards or so. “Sarah Watkins, 1856-1930,” the tombstone read, “Mother Sally, beloved wife and mother. At rest in the arms of the Lord.”

As Slade stood by the grave, hands clasped before him, Josef laid a hand on the stone. He seemed about to speak when Sally put a hand on his arm.

“Wait,” she said, fumbling a little in her small handbag. “Gran wanted me to give you this.”

Josef took the unmarked envelope from her hand and lifted it briefly to his face. Even after all these years, and the changes wrought by time and age, he caught a whiff of that girl he had known, all those years ago. Breaking the seal, he drew out and unfolded a sheet of blue notepaper, covered in wavering writing from a hand that time had robbed of strength and precision.

Dear Mr. Constantine, Mr. Weston,

It seems foolish to address you so formally, when I always think of you as Josef and Slade. And I have thought of you, many times across the years. As my body has weakened and my strength has failed, I’ve found myself returning in thought to that first time when death seemed certain for all of us. Then, the scant years I had seen were too few, and it was difficult to contemplate dying. It is still hard, but I have come to peace with it. I have never felt so alive as I did then, I think, and somehow it comforts me now to know that the two of you continue, and that if I saw you today, you would be the same as those images etched in my memory, the same as you have in other times since then.

There are those who might not agree, but I know you are not evil, unless you choose it. And I wanted to tell you that whether you knew it or not, these 57 years past, there has always been one who knew you for men of honor and integrity. Of gallantry and courage.

I do not know much about how you have lived your lives in all these years, and I will not presume to tell you how to go forward from here. I only wanted to remind you that more than once each of you chose the path of good. Josef, I can see you now, smiling and claiming your actions were only expedient. And Slade, I expect, will shrug and say nothing. But for whatever reason, boys, you did what you did. My memory of those days will not live much longer, and all I will say to you now is—remember. Not for my sake, but for your own.

Sally Watkins

As Josef finished reading, he blinked twice, and handed the letter to Slade, standing silent as the other man read.

Sally Young thought absently that she didn’t know how they could make out Gran’s spidery hand in the fading light, and wondered how it was that young Mr. Constantine managed to look as though he had the weight of so many years in his eyes. She was also tempted to break the promise she’d made to Gran, and ask these men how they happened to know her grandmother well enough to warrant this.

When Mr. Weston finished reading, he refolded the letter and returned it to Mr. Constantine, who slid it into its envelope, and then into his breast pocket. Josef cast a questioning glance at Slade, who nodded, and then laid his hand gently on the tombstone again.

“Sally,” he said so softly the young woman strained to hear him, “as long as we go on, we remember. Until we are dust, we remember.”

Slade Weston spoke then, in agreement, his voice deeper, more resonant than Josef’s. “No, Sally,” he said, “we will never forget. Until we are dust.”

They stood over the grave for a minute or two, the time stretching endlessly for the young woman watching. When they turned away, it was as though Mr. Constantine suddenly remembered she was there.

“Miss Young,” he said, “I didn’t notice another vehicle as we came in. Perhaps you would give us the pleasure of dropping you somewhere?” He extended a hand to her, to lead her away from her grandmother’s grave. “And if you’re agreeable, I thought we might stop by my hotel. For a drink.”

Sally looked from one of them to the other, and nodded. “Yes,” she said, “I think that would please Gran, very much.”

[Lilly]

I just wanted to be the first to comment here, because I have a unique perspective on this story.

This epilogue – almost exactly as it appears here – was the first thing Lucky ever showed me of this story. She told me she was going to write a story about Josef set in the late 1800s – and it was going to be a western. Now I love all historical Josef, but add Slade to the mix and I knew she had a winner. When I read the epilogue back then, I was very moved, and more than eager to take the journey that brought Josef and Slade to that quiet gravesite.

Even knowing, from the very first step, exactly where we were going to end up, this has been an incredible adventure. And reading the epilogue again after taking that journey, I thought I knew what to expect. I was wrong. This time, I was moved to tears by Sally’s letter. The impact was so much greater after having walked in her shoes. Even in death, she remains one of the most remarkably “real” OCs I’ve read.

I love this story.

[allegrita]

Lucky, this story has truly inspired and moved me, and I'm very grateful to you for writing it and sharing it with us. I honestly don't think I've ever met an OC as real as Sally. I swear, I could turn around and she'd be there, big as life. You've done an amazing job of bringing this time, these people, to vivid life. I hate to say goodbye to them, and I can tell you with confidence that I'll be back many times to revisit them and this wonderful story.

...And on a slightly more frivolous note: perhaps there is something terribly wrong with me, but I can't help but wonder what kind of drink Josef is inviting Sally to share at the hotel...

[cassysj]

What a beautiful ending. Sally is definitely one of the strongest characters I've read and I love that she reminds Josef and Slade that right and wrong is always a choice whether you are vampire or human and they chose well.

I've loved taking this journey.

[redwinter101]

I've loved this story too, Lucky. Sally is a marvellous creation and this is a fitting and beautiful conclusion.

Red

[francis]

Lucky, thank you for the gift of Sally and Weston and Sally's granddaughter. Thank you for giving Josef another story to bring him to life. It seems that I got to know Sally so well that now I mourn her like Josef and Weston do. Silently, but heartfelt.
The granddaughter is a bit more frivolous than Sally was, times have changed. Sally would have protested to go with two strangers and let herself be invited for a drink. She would have at least protested, and would have found another way if at all possible. I like that you show how times changed.

Until we are dust, we remember.

You found a unique way of bringing the title into the story every chapter, without making it too obvious, but this one was the most fitting of all. I love Josef for remembering Sally. That's all an immortal creature can do, after all, because all things end.
And that brings it full circle for me, because you do the same. You keep Moonlight alive with your stories and expand it like the universe expands, so we remember. Thank you.

[coco]

What a wonderful ending to a fabulous story, Lucky.

I have truly loved getting to know Sally through your story. She has become a firm favourite with me - a truly special OC character.

[moonlight_vixen]

What an amazing and beautiful ending for this story! Sally was such a strong OC; so easy to relate to and I'm glad to have had the opportunity to get to know her.

I've enjoyed this journey, Lucky!

[tucutecats]

Oh Lucky , Sallys letter also brought me to tears. What wonderful characters you have brought to life. Love this story and hope to read many more. P.S. I also wonder what kind of drink Joseph was suggesting L(Naughty me)

[one.zebra]

Oh!!! /wipes eyes with handkerchief/

Poignantly sweet ending...Sally's wise words to the men who saved her....

until we are Dust...perfect ending....sigh...

Thank you.

[Penina Spinka]

Sweet ending. Sally even has good memories of Slade when I think they might be mixed considering that although he helped save her, he might have killed her had not Josef intervened. I loved your description of the two. Sally's note was precious. I don't know how to take them inviting the granddaughter for drinks. With vampires, that has a double meaning and we don't know which one Josef had in mind. I love historical fantasy dramas (as you know), and this was one of the best. Penina

[jenstc2003]

Absolutely wonderful ending to a terrific story Lucky!

[lunalux]

Lucky, An appropriate end to a wonderful story...perhaps Josef never forgetting Sally is the most appropriate testament to who she was...after all 300+ years, you meet alot of people and are bound to remember only those who are special and she certainly was.

and I loved that you wrote the epilogue first...isn't that just how it sometimes happens? Just goes to show that sometimes this process isn't orderly...and neat...we "see" things jumbled, vignettes flash into our minds and we have to "look" for the rest of the story.

Love this story and will come back to re-read it often. Thanks so much.

[LadyAilith]

What a fitting end for this story... It was amazingly sweet and poignant Lucky. You are a stellar wordsmith! I look forward to many more stories from you.

Brava!


LadyAilith

[NightAir]

A touching ending to a moving story.
Sally was such a strong and wise woman for one so young. She made a lasting impression on both an old soul and a new one.
Thank you for this glance into Josef's past.
I do hope we'll see more of Slade. I've grown rather fond of him.