by Penny M
Comments and disclaimers
PART 1
J.D. rode silently, his mount mirroring the slow gait of the horse in front of him. He tried to take in the beauty of the afternoon as the old man lead the way through the hills and meadows of his expansive ranchland; yet his eyes always came back to rest on the defeated husk of Edmund Weaver.
J.D. knew it had only been a week since the man’s adult son had died violently after being gored and trampled by a bull he and his father had bought in Tucson. Thomas Weaver was only in his early thirties and recently widowed himself when he came back last year to help his father start a cattle ranch. Father and son had picked out the steer together, an impressive, and expensive, Longhorn stud, they’d hoped would be the start of a strong herd.
Edmund never tried to hide his enthusiasm at his son’s return. He’d helped Thomas build a small cabin near his own house; the elder Weaver often voicing his hopes that Thomas would marry again and have the house full of the grandkids Edmund always included in his visions of the future. J.D. remembered the old man constantly beaming over his only child and the quiet envy he’d felt at Edmund’s attachment to his son.
J.D. watched the figure before him; the man’s zest for life had been drained and replaced by stooped shoulders and those eerie hollow eyes J.D. couldn’t shake from his memory. He shuddered at the thought of Josiah recanting the horrid sight of Thomas’ blood soaked body and how Edmund had walked outside and put a slug into the bull’s brain seconds after his son passed. J.D. didn’t understand the elder man’s violent reaction to a dumb animal, but he understood grief and he knew it could do terrible things to people.
Everyone in Four Corners had done whatever they could to try and comfort him and his wife, but offering his help of physical labor was all J.D. could think of to do. He'd tried making small talk with Mr. Weaver as they set out after lunch, but his words came out trite and, with hardly any reaction from the farmer, J.D. finally hung back and kept his mouth shut.
The pair stopped in a large meadow, and J.D. quickly dismounted and tied his horse to a small grove of trees.
"So, uh, what's out here?" The place was nice, the smell of fresh grass and a pleasant shade would make a great courtin' spot J.D. thought and couldn’t control the small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"My well's startin' to go dry, gotta check this here old 'un, see if it's still good." Mr. Weaver didn’t even look in the young man’s direction, but J.D. was glad. He didn’t want to see those eyes anymore than he had to.
J.D. wondered if he should tell Mr. Weaver that he didn’t know the first thing about wells, then made up his mind to keep that to himself. He could figure it out and he was eager to help if he could; anything to ease the thick tension he felt between himself and the mourning man. J.D. walked to the edge and peered into the darkness. It looked bone dry, the wooden bucket nearly rotten and the crumbling wall all but hidden by tall weeds.
"See if you can reach that pulley." Weaver still didn’t look at him as he spoke and walked up behind him.
J.D. hesitated. The structure didn't seem very sturdy and he cautiously reached for the frayed rope. He felt the older man place his hands on his back, the grip on his shirt giving J.D. enough confidence to lean in farther and grab the rusted pulley. He stretched, grimacing at the effort and finally his hands met twine.
"Got it!" His brief yell of triumph stopped abruptly as he felt himself pitch forward again. For a split second he thought the wall would hold - then he heard the sickening crack of mortar and felt the stone give way. J.D. yelped in panic, turning slightly and reaching out for help, but his flailing arm never reached Edmund.
J.D. heard the sickening thud in his ears before he actually felt the pain as his head grazed the edge of the well; almost standing him upright before he landed heavily on one hip. A loud grunt exploded from his lungs as the impact jolted through his upper torso and out the top of his head. He collapsed forward, scraping his forehead against rock-hard soil as his body was enveloped in a suffocating cloud of dust.
"Hey, boy, you all right?" J.D. heard the old man’s voice registering the unconcern.
J.D. tried to call out, but he couldn't focus his thoughts enough to make his vocal cords work. He blinked hard, trying to adjust his sight to the dim light and figure out how bad he was hurt.
"Mr. Weaver." The words came out barely a whisper. "I've got a rope on my saddle." J.D. tried again, raising his voice as much as he could, but the pain in his head prevented him from yelling.
J.D. looked up and saw the silhouette of the old man’s head peering over the top and a cold chill settled in his bones. He quickly looked away, unsure as to why the sight made him uneasy.
"Get the rope off my saddle." J.D. called out again, hoping the raspy echo of his voice sounded as loud to Edmund as it did to him.
The shadow disappeared and J.D. let out a relieved sigh. At least he wasn’t alone. Soon he’d be out of this hole and defending his ability to walk upright without hurting himself to Buck. He’d be teased unmercifully, but he didn’t care. Right now all he wanted was to breathe clean air and feel flat ground and grass beneath his feet.
Why hasn’t he thrown me the rope? J.D. wondered as he leaned wearily against the rocky interior and allowed himself to close his eyes. Just for a second. He didn’t want to fall asleep or pass out and miss his opportunity to get out but his head felt like it was trying to split in half.
*******
Edmund glanced nervously around the open meadow, making sure no one had been witness to what had just happened. He peered into the well and realized it was definitely deep enough to hide the kid on the remote chance someone happened to come by.
He pulled back from the opening and smiled.
Weaver heard J.D. calling out for him and from the faintness in his voice he knew the boy wouldn't last too long. The man walked back to the grove of trees unhitching the reins of J.D.’s horse and tying them to the saddle horn before slapping the gelding hard on the flank.
The horse whinnied and trotted off as Mr. Weaver mounted his mare and chased him a short way, driving the animal farther into the expanses of the meadow and away from town. He stopped and watched as the riderless bay disappeared into the rocks of the canyon.
PART 2
J.D. awoke with a start. Pain shot through his left side as he tried to move; his shoulders scraped against the confines of his prison. Realization flooded his senses as he remembered exactly where he was.
J.D. looked up toward the opening in the sky; the bright overhead sun was gone, replaced with the waning light of early evening. How long had he been asleep? Then his brain filled with a more urgent question. Where is Mr. Weaver?
Maybe the old man thought he couldn’t pull him out alone, that’s it, he’s gone to get help. J.D. leaned heavily back against the dusty walls and cried out as a sharp stab pierced through his hip and he quickly straightened up again. He took in a deep breath; the numbness in his lower extremities was quickly being replaced with racking pain. He tried shifting his weight, but there wasn’t enough room to reposition and he collapsed on his injured hip again.
"OOOHHHH!" He yelled to no one and he realized just how terrible he felt. The musty odor of dirt and rotted wood coated his lungs and he choked on the putrid air. He couldn’t remember exactly, but he’d heard about people dying from poisonous fumes in wells and his heart flipped in panic.
"Mr. Weaver!" J.D. yelled, suddenly desperate to get out of the suffocating pit. He grasped onto the side of the well and heaved himself to his feet, falling against the dirt wall as his injured leg gave way. He closed his eyes and moaned as he struggled to remain upright, then screamed until his strength was gone. Still no one answered and he slowly sunk back to the ground, gritting his teeth from the agony of the movement as tears of pain and frustration welled in his eyes.
J.D. kept his eyes shut and tried to force himself to be calm. The air smelled funny, but he figured he would have passed out already if it had been dangerous. He coughed, his throat scorched and raw from the suffocating heat and he longed for the canteen still tied to his saddlehorn. J.D. wondered why Mr. Weaver hadn’t at least thought to throw that down to him before he went for help. He wiped the rivulets of sweat from his face and tried taking off his vest and shirt, but had to settle for unbuttoning them when the effort sent excruciating bolts of agony down his leg.
The young man half-laughed, half-cried as a wave of dizziness claimed his consciousness and he drifted into a fitful daze. His cramped limbs made it impossible to really rest, but there wasn’t much else to do except try to sleep until Mr. Weaver came back to get him.
*******
Edmund took his time settling his horse in the barn and it was nearly four o’clock before he made his way toward his house. His gaze wandered to the hilltop, to the left of the cabin he shared with his wife. Tommy’s place. Where he was supposed to take another wife, one who could bear the hardships of childbirth and raise a son as fine as the one he has. Had.
A tear formed in the corner of Weaver’s eye and he quickly reached under his glasses to wipe it away. He hadn’t gotten used to referring to Thomas in the past; never would.
*******
Beth Weaver watched her husband shuffle up the porch steps and she dutifully set aside what he called her useless needlepoint.
"You’re back early." She calmly gathered up her pans and cooking spoons. "I thought J.D. was going to help you mend the fences."
"Had to go back early."
"I’ll have your meal ready in half an hour." She couldn’t help the apologetic tone as she mixed batter for biscuits.
"Take your time, I’m not hungry." He retrieved his jacket from the door and walked back outside as if in a daze.
Beth pulled back the curtain and saw him drop into the rocking chair at the end of the porch and she wondered what had gone on. She and Ed had been married for over 35 years and the man always got quiet and sullen like a little boy when he’d done something wrong. She set aside the mixing bowl, wiped her hands on her apron and joined him.
"Something happen today?" She tried to sound light and open, making her voice so velvety soft that he said it melted his heart.
"Just thinkin’." He still refused to look at her.
"I know." Beth knelt down in front of Edmund and took his trembling hand. She knew better than anyone how hard Thomas’ death had been on him and that when their boy drew his last breath, it seemed to draw the life out of him too. How on earth did anyone survive such pain? Beth asked herself that everyday, but she had to, for the love that was left, for Ed.
Edmund stared straight ahead as tears dropped from his face.
"He loved that thing so much when he was little." Edmund’s voice shook and Beth turned to look at the tree she knew he was staring at. "He was always bringin’ in them tiny green apples…"
"Begging me to make a pie out of the sour things." Beth finished for him, her own eyes misting over at the memory.
"He shouldn’ta died, Beth." The words came out rougher than she knew he’d meant.
"We’ve been through this, dear. Tommy was a grown man, he made a mistake…"
Edmund jumped from his chair, almost knocking his wife over and leaned on the railing. "Damn fool kid was always gettin’ into somethin’, I know that. But that colored feller, he should never ‘ave tried passin’ hisself off as a doctor!"
"He did his best." They had already had this argument too many times, but she couldn’t give up trying to make her husband see the truth.
"It weren’t good enough, Beth!" Edmund turned to look at her, his eyes shining with hate that glowed through his tears. "It weren’t one of his friends hurtin’, so what concern was it of his if my boy died?"
Beth closed her eyes, frustrated and exhausted from Edmund’s irrational outbursts. She didn’t know how much longer she could be strong for him, it was her child too. She’d carried him and raised him, and now she had this irreparable hole in her heart that nothing could fill. Now that hole was filled with dread.
"Ed, what happened today?" Beth knew her husband had a temper, and since Thomas’ accident he hadn’t tried to keep it in check. Only with her. But she knew what grief could do and she suddenly felt cold chills run up her spine. "You didn’t do anything you’re going to regret?"
"No." Edmund shook his head, but Beth read the deceit in his eyes. "I don’t regret nothin’."
Part 3
