Heath crouched to the dirt floor of the livery stable and returned the hug. He felt Randall snuggle into his neck. When the boy showed no signs of wanting to break the embrace Heath gently pulled him away and held him at arm's length.

"Randall? Are you all right? Is your mother,..."

The boy brushed a shirt sleeve over his eyes. He didn't want his friend to see him cry.

"I'm fine. Ma,...Ma's real sick but she's fine, too. I,...I'm just a little scared I guess. Some people,...some people died last night, Morgan."

Heath didn't bother to tell the boy his true name. As a matter of fact, he had no intention of telling anyone else in Heaven who he really was.

"It's okay to be scared, Randall. Don't let anyone ever tell you it isn't. The only time fear is wrong is when it keeps you from doing the right thing."

Randall wasn't sure what his friend meant by that, but it didn't matter. He thought maybe this was how a father talked to a son, and it made him feel good inside.

"I'll take care of Charger. Then I'll come back and help you with your work like I did yesterday."

"You sure you don't want to be with your ma?"

"Orra's with her. She promised me she'd stay with Ma until I'm done here. We need the money, Morgan. Especially with Ma being sick. I can't afford to have Mr. Thurmond fire me 'cause I ain't showin' up for work."

The boy was so young, Heath thought. So young to be shouldering so much responsibility and worry. He looked into Randall's face and once again saw his own. His heart ached for the hard life he knew Randall was destined to have simply because there was no father in his home.

Heath patted the boy on the back. "Don't you be worrying about Mr. Thurmond. If the time comes that your ma needs you then I want you by her side."

"But,..."

"I'll make it right with Mr. Thurmond if I have to. Let me take care of a few things for you, son."

Randall couldn't keep from smiling. Morgan had called him son and told him he'd make things right with Mr. Thurmond. Though he'd never met his father, Randall knew this was exactly what a man did for a boy he loved.

"Thanks, Morgan. I really appreciate it."

"No need to thank me." Heath tousled the boy's hair. "Now you go on. Charger's waiting for you in the corral."

Heath watched the child scamper through the barn. He called after him. "Randall?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you have breakfast?"

"Yep! Monica told me to go by Doc Wallace's house. Tess fed me."

Heath nodded his satisfaction at hearing his young helper had been provided with a morning meal. "Good."

The blond man didn't quite understand the smile of pure devotion he saw on Randall's face right before the boy turned around again and ran for the corral.

The day passed in similar fashion to the one that preceded it. Randall worked with Heath all morning, then Heath took the boy to A Little Bit Of Heaven for lunch. When their work at the livery stable came to an end late that afternoon Heath walked Randall to the church. Heath stopped at the bottom of the steps only to have Randall tug on his hand.

"Come on, Morgan. Come inside and say hi to my ma."

Heath looked up at the white double doors. He had no desire to visit the inside of this makeshift infirmary again. As a matter of fact he was happy to isolate himself at the livery stable where very little activity occurred just as Jasper had promised.

"No,...no, I've got some other things I need to do. You tell your ma and Orra hi for me. I'll,..."

Before Heath could finish he felt a hand come to rest between his shoulder blades.

"Ah, just who I was looking for. Two strong men to be of service this evening."

Heath and Randall turned around to see Doctor Wallace behind them.

"I need buckets of cold water brought in from the well. And then a kettle of soup needs to be carried from Tess's cafe. After that, you can sit with your ma, Randall, and help see to her needs. And you, Mr. Bark,...."

"The name's Lee," Heath said in a voice that dared the old man to challenge him.

"Yes,...well huh, Mr. Lee,....and you, Mr. Lee, can speak with Monica regarding what assistance you can give her."

"I'm not planning on giving her any,...."

Heath was interrupted once again as empty buckets were placed in his hands and in Randall's.

"Run along now, boys. Hurry! We need that water."

Randall raced for the well at the far end of the church yard. "Come on, Morgan! I bet I can fill my buckets faster than you can fill yours!"

Heath scowled at the doctor. "Look, Doctor Wallace, I grateful to you for givin' me a place to stay and food to eat until this quarantine passes. And believe me, before I leave I'll pay you whatever room and board you want to charge me. But I'd appreciate it if you quit interfering in my personal life, and quit trying to manipulate me into doing things I'd rather not."

The old man lifted an amused eyebrow. "Take it from one who knows, Heath Barkley. Sometimes we all need to be reminded of our 'personal lives' as you put it, and sometimes we all need to be manipulated into doing things we'd rather not."

Just like a father might do to his son, Abraham patted Heath on the back while giving final instructions.

"Now go on. Fill your buckets and bring them inside. We need that water, and Randall needs a friend."

It wasn't until after Heath was halfway to the well, and Doctor Wallace had disappeared inside the church, that the cowboy wondered what it was about this annoying old man that caused him to so readily follow his orders.

The last time Heath could recall a night lasting so long was when his mother died. Though three different times he thought of fleeing the church by slipping out the side door, before he got the chance Monica was by his side pressing him into service. Heath tried to block out the harsh coughs that sounded like the bark of a fog horn, the frantic wheezing that made Heath think of a boy he'd served with in the Army who had something called asthma, and the choking; the terrible choking that left its victim exhausted and breathless.

Heath watched throughout that endless night as people bathed their family members with cold water, or tried to get a sick child to sip some broth. He saw a man bend his brother over his knees and pound on his back, while another brother encouraged the ill sibling to cough up phlegm. At those times Heath thought of his family. He relived his own diphtheria bout with a clarity that had previously been missing. No longer were the fragmented images in Heath's mind dreams brought on by fever, instead he saw Jarrod and Nick working together to try to get him to breathe. He felt Nick hitting his back and heard Jarrod telling him to cough.

"Go ahead, Heath, cough. Cough it up! No, don't swallow it, cough it up. I've got a towel in my hands. It's right here by your mouth. Go ahead and spit everything out, I'll take care of the rest."

A sister spooning broth into her brother's mouth brought back memories of Audra crying when he was too delirious to do what she asked of him. And the fear in a mother's eyes as she bent over her son, only to offer him a brave smile when he looked up at her, made Heath think of all the times throughout his illness when he'd seen the same fear, and then the same smile, on Victoria's face.

Heath never quit observing the people around him as they offered never-ending devotion to their sick family members. In an odd way, it was like seeing what his own family went through for him when he was so ill. For him. Heath Thomson Barkley. Their half brother. Victoria Barkley's stepson. Yet you'd never know that by the selfless care they'd given him. By the sleepless nights they'd endured on his behalf. By the way they'd rejoiced when he was finally on the road to recovery. And how had he repaid them for their love? By riding away from the ranch with no intention of ever returning.

Just when Heath was certain that decision to leave had been a hasty one, twelve month old Samuel Crawford struggled for a final breath of air, flailed his small fists, and then died in his mother's arms. In that moment, while Della Crawford wailed for her baby and Frank Crawford sobbed into Monica's shoulder, all Heath could think was;

One hundred and thirty-five people. One hundred and thirty five people are dead because of me.

It was three o'clock in the morning when Heath fled the church. But no matter how far he ran, he could still hear Della's cries.

And Harland Whitcomb's damning words as spoken in Stockton's graveyard so many days before.

Chapter 28

Unbeknownst to Victoria Barkley, there was one other item Heath kept in the wooden box that forever connected him to those he loved. Aside from Leah's Bible, the toy train, Rachel's sonnet, and Grandfather Thomson's pocket watch, the box also contained a letter Victoria had written Heath the first time he'd had reason to be absent from the Barkley ranch for more than a few days. He'd been living with his new family for eight months when he went to Texas on an extended horse buying trip. The now-cherished letter arrived while he was staying at the home of a wealthy rancher who was an old friend of Tom's.

Heath sat on his bed in Doctor Wallace's room, reading that letter in the pre-dawn darkness by the soft glow of the kerosene lamp. The cowboy didn't allow himself to contemplate why he turned to Victoria's words for comfort. Especially now, when he was working so hard to put his past behind him. He simply knew he needed her near, and this was the only way to satisfy that need. Dearest Heath,

Heath wasn't sure how long he sat reading and rereading Victoria's letter on that dark morning of little Samuel Crawford's death. Nor was he aware of Abraham Wallace silently observing him from the doorway. A rooster was crowing somewhere in the distance when Heath finally stretched his weary body out on the bed. The sleeping cowboy never stirred as Abraham gently slid the letter from his fingers. The doctor read the letter twice before returning it to Heath's hands. He walked out of the room without Heath ever knowing he was there.

Nothing had really changed on the Barkley ranch since Heath left six weeks earlier, yet so much seemed different. At least to Victoria and her family.

Jarrod was quiet and appeared lost in deep thought each evening. Victoria had no doubt he was trying to decide if they should begin looking for Heath, and if so, where to start.

Nick, on the other hand, was far from quiet. He had little control over his famous temper on most days, a fact that sent the ranch hands scurrying in every available direction when the jingle of Nick's spurs signaled his approach. Victoria knew Nick didn't mean to take his foul mood out on the men. She realized that in some ways Nick was mourning the loss of his brother, partner, and friend. She knew Nick had a lot of mixed emotions about Heath's departure ranging from understanding, to sorrow, to anger. She often wondered if Nick would ever be able to reconcile all those feelings should Heath not return.

Audra was the only one in the household who still spoke openly of Heath on a regular basis. If they were having something for supper that Heath especially liked she'd comment on it. If a foal was born she knew Heath would want to be there to see, she'd make sure to mention it at the supper table. When the family border collie, Lucy, lost a fight with a skunk Audra said, "Do you remember last year when Heath got between Lucy and that skunk she had cornered? No matter how many baths he took, he stunk for two weeks straight."

That was the night Nick brought his sister to tears. He pounded his fist on the dining room table and shouted, "Would you stop it! Every single day it's 'Heath this!' and 'Heath that!' Heath isn't here, dammit! He's not here so there's no point in bringing his name up every chance you get. It won't bring him back, Audra! It sure as hell won't bring him back!"

Nick threw his napkin down and stomped for the door. The windows were still rattling from its slam as Audra burst into tears and fled up the back stairs.

Jarrod looked from one departing sibling to another, then arched an eyebrow at his mother. "Which one do you want me to talk to?"

"Nick. I have a feeling he needs a brother right now."

Jarrod stood and walked to the end of the table. He kissed his mother on the cheek before heading to the door.

"Nick it is. I'll leave Audra to you. I imagine she needs a mother right now as much as Nick needs a brother."

As Jarrod walked away that night Victoria whispered, "You're wrong, son. Audra needs a brother, too. Unfortunately, at this particular moment, there's not enough of you to go around."

And that's how Victoria's summer progressed. The only bright spots were the occasional letters from Eugene and Anna. Victoria had decided not to tell Gene about Heath's departure for the time being. If Heath didn't return, then of course there would come a day when Eugene and Anna had to know what had transpired. If Heath did return,...well, that was one advantage to living on the other side of the ocean. You were spared the day to day family happenings that evoked everything from joy, to stress, to worry, to grief.

Victoria spent another night in restless sleep. Her dreams had been littered with fragmented images of Heath. For some reason, even while asleep, she felt he needed her. She felt as though he wanted her near. When Victoria awoke shortly after sunrise she was tired and ill at ease. She slipped out of bed and crossed to the window that overlooked her rose garden. She stood staring down at the blooming flowers until she heard the rest of her household begin to stir. She turned around to retrieve clothes from her closet. As she passed her dresser she spotted an envelope propped against the mirror. Her name was written clearly in a compact, slanted print she hadn't seen in nine years now. But how could that be? With a trembling hand Victoria plucked up the envelope and opened the flap. She unfolded the letter she found inside, and with pounding heart, began to read.

My Victoria, Rest assured Heath is safe and in good health. Though I could not guide him in life, it is my job to guide him now. I'm sorry, I do not know if he is meant to return to you or not. But then, I'm not sure anyone knows that but Heath. I do know he loves his family with all the love his soul has to hold. I pray that thought brings you peace. Early this morning I watched as Heath read and reread the letter you sent him while he was staying at Rex Gardner's ranch. Only I saw the tear that came to his eyes at your words. I will do my best to help this precious son of mine, whom I know has grown to become your son, too. I thank you for the love you have given him. I, better than anyone, know what a lucky man he is for having a place in your heart.

Victoria didn't have to pull out the stack of Tom's letters she kept in her nightstand. She knew without a doubt the handwriting on this letter would match perfectly with the handwriting on every letter Tom had sent her throughout their courtship and marriage. And he'd never opened those letters with anything other than the greeting, 'My Victoria.'

Victoria read the mystery letter through four times before finally tucking it in a far corner of her third dresser drawer beneath a stack of shirts. She had no logical explanation for the letter or its arrival, but she'd lived long enough to have witnessed a few miracles in her day. Perhaps this was another one.

The woman didn't mention the letter to her children, though they must have noticed something different about her demeanor at the breakfast table that morning. When the meal ended Jarrod asked her if she was all right.

"All right?"

Jarrod's eyes flicked to his brother and sister before returning to Victoria.

"You seem,..." the lawyer stopped there. For one of the few times in his adult life Jarrod was at a loss for words.

"At peace?" Victoria asked.

"Yes. That's it. At peace."

"I suppose I am at peace, children." With that the woman stood and headed for her garden. "I have it on good authority that we can all be at peace now."

Before any of the Barkley offspring could question their mother further, she walked out the French doors and into her garden.

Chapter 29

The next two days in Heaven, Nevada brought frequent visits from the Angel Of Death. Try as he might, Heath couldn't ignore what was happening around him. He reported to work at Mr. Thurmond's livery stable each morning at eight. By eight-thirty Randall arrived to take care of Charger and then help Heath in any way he could. As things got worse at Jasper's house Heath and Randall saw less and less of their boss. On the third afternoon he stopped by to pay Heath the back wages he owed him. The blond man immediately knew something was wrong. Jasper's eyes were bloodshot, and gray beard stubble tracked his face. His ever-ready smile was missing as he reached into his wallet.

"Sorry I haven't been around for a few days, Morgan. I appreciate the way you've been keeping the place going for me. And the work you've done. You've got better carpentry skills than any man I've run across."

"Thank you for saying so, Sir." Heath took the nine dollars Jasper handed him. "If you don't mind me asking, are things okay at home?"

Jasper broke eye contact at Heath's question and stared off into a far corner of the stable.

"No,...I,...my wife,...she passed on this morning. And my grandson,...Benji,...he died early this afternoon. I,...I,..." the man turned so Heath couldn't see the tears running down his face. "It's just been a hard day."

It took Heath a moment to find his voice.

"I understand. And I'm sorry. Very sorry for your losses."

"I know you are, son. Thank you."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No,...no. I don't reckon there's anything anyone can do. Death is a part of life. Or so the preacher tells me. Problem is, no matter how old we get, we never seem to accept that fact."

Heath watched as Jasper shuffled out the open double doors, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Randall raced in from the corral at the sight of his boss. "Mr. Thurmond! Mr. Thurmond!"

Heath snared the boy by his arm. "Don't bother Mr. Thurmond now, Randall."

"But why?"

"He,...he's going through a bad time. He just needs to be left alone for a while." When Randall looked up at Heath all the cowboy saw were two huge blue eyes filled with utter trust.

"Did something happen to Mrs. Thurmond? Did she die?"

Heath swallowed hard then crouched down so he was eye level with the boy.

"Yes, Randall, Mrs. Thurmond died."

At Heath's words tears flowed down Randall's cheeks.

"She was so nice. Always so nice to me. If she knew,...knew me and Ma were going through a rough patch, she'd always make sure we had something to eat. Mrs. Thurmond never told us she was the one havin' food sent over from the general store, but Ma knew it was her."

"Mrs. Thurmond sounds like a good woman."

"She was, Morgan. She was a right fine woman."

Heath allowed the boy to mourn his boss's wife, then reached out and placed his hands on Randall's shoulders.

"Son, I have something else to tell you that's going to be hard for you to hear."

"What?"

"Benji,...Randall, Benji died this afternoon, too."

Despite the deaths he'd witnessed this week Randall's young mind couldn't comprehend the loss of his eight year old friend. He struggled to break free from Heath's hold.

"No, Morgan! No! I,...I was just playing with him the other day. Kick-the- can. We were playing kick-the-can. And then we played a trick on his little sister Doris. We told her some cow turds we found were chocolates. She almost ate 'em, too, and Benji laughed and laughed. And me and Benji and Paul were supposed to go fishing this weekend and,...and,...,and,..." Randall wasn't able to finish his sentence as his tears turned to heaving sobs. He threw himself into Heath's chest and cried.

The cowboy embraced the child. Heath had no words to offer, but simply held Randall close until his tears stopped several long minutes later. The boy swiped a shirt sleeve across his eyes before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a handkerchief. He blew his nose, returned the hankie to his pocket, then looked to Heath for answers.

"Why, Morgan? Why does God make life so hard sometimes?"

Heath picked Randall up and carried him to a hay bale. The blond man sat down on the bale and rested his young friend sideways on his lap.

"I wish I knew the answer to that, Randall, but I don't. All I can tell you is I'm sorry you're hurting so badly for Mrs. Thurmond and Benji. I know you're not going to believe me when I say this, but as each day goes by the hurt will lessen a little until the good memories you have of Mrs. Thurmond and Benji make you smile instead of cry."

"Did that happen to you? I mean did someone die that you loved, and even though at first it made you cry, now you smile when you think about them?"

"Yes, that happened to me."

"With who?"

"My mama and my Aunt Rachel."

"But at first, right after they died, was it hard to smile?"

"Yes. It was very hard to smile right after they died."

"How long did it take 'fore you was smiling again?"

"I don't rightly know. With my mama, it seems like a long, long time. I guess a person doesn't really remember when the day comes that the pain isn't so sharp it feels like a needle piercing your heart. You just look back on it years later and know that's what happened."

Randall leaned his upper body into Heath's chest. He liked the feeling of strength and security he got from being held within the confines of the blond man's arms. It wasn't quite the same feeling as the one he got when his mother held him. That was a softer, gentler feeling. One that was full of love, but one that also brought out the boy's need to protect her. But with Morgan it was different. This time it was Randall who felt protected.

"Morgan, can I ask you another question?"

Heath looked down at the pale blond head snuggled into his shirt collar.

"I reckon so."

"Are you gonna stay around here after the quarantine is lifted?"

"I wasn't plannin' on it. Why?"

"I was just wondering. If my ma,...well if she dies,..."

"Randall, don't talk like that."

"But Mrs. Thurmond died, and Benji died, and little Samuel Crawford died, and a lot of other people have died, so it's possible, isn't it? It's possible my ma could die, too."

Heath took a deep breath before answering the boy. He wanted to lie to the child. God, how he wanted to lie. But he recalled how his family had lied to him during his illness and how angry it had made him once he discovered the truth. It was strange, now that the shoe was on the other foot he couldn't say he blamed them for what they did. If nothing else, maybe he understood it a little better. For hope was what humans cling to when the world is full of nothing but dark despair, and to take away someone's hope is like taking away their reason for living.

"Morgan?" Randall's soft voice interrupted Heath's musing. "Ma could die, too, couldn't she?"

Heath tightened his hold on the boy before he answered.

"Yes, Randall. Yes. Before this is all over your ma could die, too."

Randall didn't start crying again like Heath fully expected him to. Instead he lifted his face so he could look into Heath's eyes.

"Can we pray, Morgan? Can we ask God to spare my ma?"

Again Heath wondered how many times his own family had prayed, asking God to spare him when he was at his sickest.

"I'll tell you what, son, I'm a bit rusty where praying's concerned. But while we sit here together let's each, in our own way, ask God to watch over your ma."

Randall nodded. He closed his eyes, clasped his hands, and bowed his head just as Orra had taught him. His lips moved with a silent, heart-felt plea he sent straight to heaven.

Just like he promised Randall he would, Heath prayed, too. First he asked God to allow Josie Becker to live to raise her boy. Then he asked God to watch over his family and to somehow let them know that he loved them and that he was safe.

Five minutes later, when Heath and Randall stood to return to work, Heath had no way of knowing that the latter part of his prayer had already been answered.

By that night three more of the Crawford children were dead. Heath could barely stand to see the empty cots as he walked into the church. The oldest child, a girl by the name of Abigail, was still living, as was a four year old boy named Martin. But by looking at them Heath doubted they'd last another two days themselves.

What's the purpose to this, Lord? Why do you allow a man and woman to have a family, only to take that family from them in a few short years? I don't understand. I wish I did, but I don't.

Heath was startled by the hand he felt on his shoulder. He turned to see Abraham behind him. As though he could read Heath's mind, the doctor said, "It's hard to understand, isn't it?"

"What's hard to understand?"

"Why God takes some and spares others. Why little children always seem to be the first to go."

"Yeah,...yeah, it's real hard to understand."

"And you're angry about that."

Heath whipped around so he was facing the man. "Of course I'm angry about it!" He lowered his voice when he remembered where he was. What was it about this old man that he seemed to know all of Heath's thoughts and feelings as if they were his own? It was as though they were connected in some spooky way. Like he'd sometimes imagined he might be connected to his father because of how often he'd been told by Victoria and his siblings that he possessed so many of Tom Barkley's traits.

"Look, Doctor Wallace, whenever we get into one of these discussions it always ends in no good so let's just skip it for tonight."

Abraham shot Heath a crooked grin. "No good, huh? And here I thought our discussions were quite productive."

"How so?"

"Well, each time we have one I get to know you that much better."

"And that's productive?"

"To me it is."

Heath shook his head at the man. If the old codger was missing his own children that much then he should contact them. Heath didn't plan on being a substitute son just because he was handy. The blond man made quick work of changing the subject.

"How's Miss Becker doing?"

Abraham looked past Heath to the cot where the feverish Josie lay. Orra sat by her side sponging her face with cold water while Randall slept on the floor curled up in a blanket Monica had given him.

"She's not doing good. Not good at all. But with this disease,...well, who knows? She may pull through just fine, but then again she may not live to see another day. Even a doctor is hard pressed to be able to make such predictions. I do know one thing, however."

"What's that?"

"If we don't get another shipment of quinine, and get it soon, a lot more people will lose their lives than I originally thought."

Heath closed his eyes. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Ever since he'd come to Heaven it felt like God was forcing him to relive what he'd rather forget.

"Son?" Abraham laid a hand on Heath's arm. "Heath,...Morgan, are you all right?"

"Yeah." Heath opened his eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine."

The blond man tried to block out the coughs and moans that floated to his ears as he mulled over what he'd been told.

"How much quinine do you need?"

"As much as I can get."

"Wire Stockton."

"Pardon?"

"Stockton, California. Send a wire to Doctor Jacob Sheridan. I'm willing to bet he's got a large supply left."

"That's all good and well, but the people in Heaven aren't wealthy folks. And me,...I'm by far not a wealthy man either. You don't get rich when your patients pay you with eggs or a side of beef. You eat good, but you don't get rich."

"No, I don't suppose you do."

"So therefore we'd have no way of paying this Doctor Sheridan for the medicine."

"I'll pay for it. You just have to do me one favor."

"What's that?"

"You send the wire to Jake, but you don't tell him who gave you his name."

"All right. But what about the payment? How do I tell him he'll get paid?"

"Instruct him to go to the Stockton National Bank as soon as it opens on Monday morning. The money will be waiting for him there."

"How?"

"You let me worry about that. Just tell him that as soon as he has the money in hand he can ship the quinine by stagecoach. I'll meet the coach outside of town."

"All right. If you say so. But, son, wouldn't it be easier if you just wired your family and asked them to get the money to the doctor,..."

"No! I don't want my family involved. This is a business deal between you and me. Just us. Do you understand that?"

"Business deal? I hate to tell you this, Mr. Barkley,...or, Mr. Lee, or whatever you prefer to call yourself, but if this is how you do business then you'll never be a wealthy man."

"Wealth means nothing to me, Doctor. I grew up with no more than Randall Becker has, and somehow I survived. When I first went out on my own I was lucky on some days to have two dollars to my name. Yes, money has come my way since I became a member of the Barkley family, but truthfully, if it was all gone tomorrow I could go on without mourning its loss. The money doesn't matter in the slightest."

Before Abraham could say anymore Heath walked away from him. He watched as the young man knelt by Josie's side. Like he'd told the blond minutes earlier, each time they had a discussion he got to know Heath better and better.

And understood him more and more.

And saw in him a man any father would be proud to call son. Chapter 30

Heath got to the post office long before Abraham the next morning. In the tiny town of Heaven the postmaster also served as the telegraph operator. It came as no surprise to Heath that this person was none other than Tess.

Through convoluted channels that traveled from east, to south, to north, to west, Heath sent a wire to the head teller in Stockton. The young woman was the bank president's daughter and the only female he employed. Heath had dated Laura Doyle on a number of occasions, and though both had mutually agreed a marriage between them wasn't in their future, they remained good friends. Heath knew he could count on the woman to keep his confidence. When Jake Sheridan arrived to pick up the money for the quinine she wouldn't reveal whose account it had been withdrawn from.

As Tess wrote down Heath's instructions she peered at him over the Ben Franklin glasses she had perched on the end of her nose. "If I was a betting woman I'd say you're not wantin' Miss Laura Doyle to know where this wire is coming from."

"What difference does it make?"

"None to me. But if you want my opinion it's a foolish waste of your money to send it to Boston, then to St. Louis, then to Houston, then to Chicago, and finally to Stockton. Why it's bouncin' around more than a ping pong ball hit by Hulk Hogan."

Heath had no idea what a ping pong ball was, nor who Hulk Hogan was, but he didn't really care either. Just another one of Tess's odd expressions most likely.

"Didn't ask for your opinion. And it's my money, I'll spend it any way I see fit."

"Mr. Morgan Lee, you are stubborn, there's no doubt about that. But hiding from whatever is your trying to escape will do you no good."

"It won't, huh?"

"No, it won't. 'Cause no matter how far you go, baby, God will always know where you're at."

Heath made no reply the woman as he picked his hat up off the counter and walked into the morning sunshine. Nonetheless, he couldn't stop his thoughts.

Believe me, Tess, if I've learned anything since coming to Heaven, it's that there's no hiding from God.

Burton Hughs and John McClafferty met behind the livery stable after the sun set. The two men who had tried to prevent Heath from bringing Josie Becker into the church kept their voices low despite the fact that Heaven's streets were deserted.

"What'd you drag me all the way out here for?" McClafferty asked.

Burton peered into the darkness. When he could detect no movement from anywhere close by he spoke.

"I heard Doc Wallace and that Lee guy talkin'. Seems Mr. Lee is gonna be meeting a stagecoach out by Miller's Pass Tuesday afternoon."

"So?"

"He's gonna be picking up a shipment of quinine."

"Thank God. Now maybe my girls will have a chance."

"Yeah, maybe. But then again, maybe not."

"Whatta ya' mean?"

"You know how Doc Wallace operates; share and share alike. Well, if you want my opinion someone needs to change that motto of his."

"Change it?"

"Look, Johnny, your kids are sick, right?"

"Right."

"And so are mine. Right?"

"Right."

"And so are the children of a lot of other law abiding Christian citizens of this town. But then there's those like that Becker woman, and them Cooper kids, and the Widow Hawkins, and them Injuns out on the reservation. You know damn good and well Wallace is gonna insist all them no-good-for-nothin' yahoos get some of that quinine, too. And the next thing you know, we'll be runnin' low on it again and good people will have died."

John nodded his head at Burton's words. Josie Becker had been an unwed mother at sixteen and had never corrected her sin by marrying her son's father. Stace Cooper was a bank robber who was serving time in the state penitentiary, and who had no doubt passed his thieving ways onto his eleven children. The Widow Hawkins wasn't really a widow at all, but rather a forty year old single woman who earned her living by inviting men to spend the night in her bed. And as far as the Indians went on the Paiute Reservation, Burton was correct. Abraham Wallace was offering them medical care during this epidemic as well. There was no way John McClafferty was going to stand by and watch his little girls die just so some blood thirsty Injun could be saved.

"So what do we do?" John asked his friend.

"We let Lee pick up that quinine, but after the stagecoach leaves we arrange a little ambush. Once we've got the medicine we'll be in charge of who gets it." Burton smiled. "We might even turn ourselves a bit of a profit."

"How so?"

"Well, once our families are better we can sell what's left over to those who can pay our price. And, Johnny old pal, our price just might be kinda high."

"But what about Doc Wallace and the sheriff?"

"What are ya', some kinda chicken? Everyone knows Doc Wallace is as mellow as a little lamb. The old guy don't even own a gun. And the sheriff,.....come on, Johnny, don't tell me you're afraid of a fat old nigger woman."

John mulled over Burton's words, then a slow grin spread across his freckled face. He put an arm around his buddy's shoulders as they walked back to the church.

"Burton Hughs, I like your style. I do like your style."

Chapter 31

On Tuesday afternoon Heath hitched two horses to a wagon at Thurmond's Livery Stable. Jasper and Abraham laid a well-padded mattress in the wagon's bed, then added three blankets.

"This should make the ride less bumpy," Abraham said.

Heath glanced into the bed and nodded his approval as he stored a rope under the wagon's seat. He knew the quinine bottles would arrive in wooden crates, but how well they'd be packed he couldn't guess. The last thing he wanted to do was arrive back in Heaven only to find spilled medicine dotting a trail behind him.

The blond man climbed up on the wagon's seat. He'd be making this trip alone. Abraham was needed at the church, and Jasper was needed by his family, as was every able-bodied man in Heaven. That didn't bother Heath. He knew where he was going and besides, Jasper was a bit too talkative for his liking, and Abraham,...well Abraham seemed to know his deepest thoughts and feelings without even trying. Better to be alone than to have the old doctor bombarding him with fatherly advice as though he had that right.

Abraham and Jasper watched until Heath disappeared around the corner at the end of Main Street. Heath was so lost in his own thoughts that he never felt the slight dip of the wagon's bed, nor was he aware of the boy who slithered under the blankets.

When Heath reached Miller's Pass he parked the wagon under two trees so the horses could get some relief from the late afternoon sun. He retrieved a canteen from beneath the wagon's seat and allowed the horses to drink, then took a long swallow himself. He choked and grabbed for his gun when a blond head popped up from the bed.

"Hi, Morgan!"

"Randall! Randall, what the hel,...heck are you doing here?" Heath slid his gun back in the holster and walked around to the side of the wagon. He held out one arm and lifted the red-faced boy to the ground.

"I came to help you."

Before Heath would allow the child to speak further he made him drink some water, then led him over to the shade of the trees. He sat in the sand and pulled Randall down next to him, then made him drink again. When Heath was satisfied the boy wasn't overheated he said, "All right. What's this about you comin' to help me?"

"I had to, Morgan. I just had to."

"Why?"

"Because my ma needs that medicine and there's nothing else I can do for her. Nothing. Ma's so sick, and Orra said all I can do now is pray, but I gotta do more than pray, Morgan. I just got to!"

Heath nodded his understanding. He knew how helpless the child must be feeling. And he knew from personal experience when a person felt helpless they sometimes did desperate things in order to appease their conscience whether that was justified or not.

"So just how do you plan on helping me?"

"I heard Doc Wallace and Mr. Thurmond say you have to be careful so none of the bottles of medicine get broken. I figured if I ride in the back of the wagon and hang onto the crates we'll get every one of them bottles back to Heaven without a drop being spilled."

Heath couldn't argue with the boy on that point. As a matter of fact it was good thinking on the eight year old's part.

"But what about Orra? Won't she be wondering where you're at?"

"Naw. She'll just think I'm workin' at the livery."

"Then what about Mr. Thurmond?"

"Naw. He'll just think I'm with my ma and Orra."

Heath smiled. "So I guess that means you've got it all figured out, huh?"

"Yep. I guess that's what it means. But you can whip me for this later if you want to, Morgan. After we get back to Heaven. If you want to tan my hide you can."

Heath thought it was strange that Randall was actually volunteering for a whipping. And that he seemed light hearted about the subject.

"No. I don't plan on doing that. If your ma thinks punishment is necessary for this stunt then she'll have to dish it out once she's well again."

"Okay. But you know, if you decide you need to do it in her place I understand. 'Cause see,...." Randall leaned into Heath's chest and played with the button on the cuff of his shirt. "Well, it's kinda like what a father might have to do to his son. So it would be fine with me if you had to whip me,...to teach me a lesson and all."

Heath placed two fingers under Randall's chin and forced the boy to make eye contact with him. Gently he said, "Randall, I'm not your father."

"I know, but,..."

Before the child could finish his sentence a stagecoach thundered over the horizon. The subject of Randall's paternity was forgotten as both man and boy jumped to their feet.

Heath didn't know the stagecoach driver for which he was grateful. And since Jarrod and Nick didn't hop out of the stage, or come riding up behind it, he knew Laura Doyle kept his secret and hadn't revealed to Jake who was paying for the quinine.

Four wooden crates were transferred from the stagecoach to Jasper Thurmond's wagon. Heath placed the crates on the mattress and packed them together as tight as he could with the aid of the blankets. He reached for the rope he'd thrown under the wagon's seat. When his hand encountered more rope than he thought possible he bent and took a look. Instead of one rope, there were three. Heath thought a moment then shrugged his shoulders. Maybe Jasper had added the additional ropes without Heath being aware of it.

Better safe than sorry I guess.

The cowboy took just one rope for the time being and went about securing the crates in place. When he finished he lifted Randall into the bed. The boy got on his knees and put his arms around the crates as though he was cradling a baby.

Heath waved his thanks to the stagecoach driver then climbed onto the wagon seat. He slapped the horses lightly with the reins. The animals moved forward, keeping a slow and gentle pace as dictated by their driver.

As he headed back toward Heaven Heath would turn around every few minutes to make certain Randall was doing all right. The perpetual smile on the boy's face told Heath all he needed to know. The sun was starting to paint the western sky pale pink, and the oppressive heat of the day beginning to recede when they reached the halfway point. Heath stopped the wagon to rest the horses and allow Randall to get out and stretch. He lifted the boy to the ground and once again gave him water. When Randall had his fill Heath watered the horses, then took a drink himself.

Heath smiled as Randall scampered for a large group of boulders far taller and wider than Heath himself with an, "I gotta pee!" tossed over his shoulder. The boy disappeared behind the rocks while Heath moved to the wagon's bed. He stored the canteen then checked his cargo. The crates were tightly packed and the rope still secure. The blond man nodded, satisfied that the quinine would arrive in Heaven unscathed.

The pounding of horses hooves brought Heath's head up. He started to reach for his revolver, but stopped when he recognized the riders.

Wonder what Hughs and McClafferty are doin' out here? Doc Wallace must have sent them to meet me and see if I need any help. Or maybe by now someone noticed Randall was missing and they're out lookin' for him. But why would these two volunteer for the job? They've made it no secret that they think Randall's nothing but the town bastard, certainly not worth their time or effort. And they've hated my guts since the day I carried Josie into the church.

Before Heath had time to further ponder the men's arrival they were climbing off their horses. The pair smiled as they approached the cowboy.

"Howdy, Morgan."

"Hey there, Mr. Lee."

"Hughs," Heath nodded. "McClafferty. What brings you two out this way?"

The two men exchanged smiles as Burton spoke.

"Well, see here, Morgan, it's like this." With that the fat man drew his gun. His partner did the same.

Burton held his left hand out. "Give me that there fancy revolver nice and slow like."

Heath's eyes danced from one man to the other. Neither one of them was a match for him physically, but of course their ability with their fists made little difference when they had the advantage of holding loaded weapons in their hands.

"Come on, Lee, the revolver! Now!"

Heath didn't dare look toward the rocks no more than six feet away that concealed Randall. He prayed the boy had the good sense to stay hidden. As Burton jutted his gun toward Heath's belly the blond man slowly removed from his holster the revolver Jarrod had given him as a birthday gift and handed it to the pudgy man.

"Good," Hughs praised while sticking the gun in the waist band of his pants. "That's real cooperative of you."

"Look, fellas, if it's cash you're lookin' for you're plumb outta luck 'cause I'm not carrying any."

"Now that's just too darn bad, 'cause a little spendin' money woulda' sweetened this here deal, but no, Lee, it ain't exactly cash we're after," Burton said. "Or at least not yet. Now step away from that wagon."

"What?"

"You heard me. Step away from that wagon."

"But,..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, Mr. Good Samaritan. You've gotta get this medicine back to Heaven."

"Then if you know that why are you trying to stop me?"

Hughs looked at his accomplice. "So, Johnny, ya' think we should fill the man in."

"Why not?"

"Okay." Hughs turned to Heath. "See, Mr. Lee, it's like this. You're a stranger to Heaven, and me and Johnny here just plain don't cotton to ya'. Ya' don't understand how things are done in our town and you think you can just ride in and change the rules. Well, you can't. There's folks who is deserving of this medicine, and there's folks who ain't. And me and Johnny will be the ones who decide who is and who isn't, not you."

"At what price?"

"Huh?"

"Price, Hughs. I asked at what price?"

The robbers exchanged looks that clearly spoke of their shock at Heath's insight.

"So that's it? You plan on taking whatever amount of medicine you need for your own families, then selling the rest to those who can afford to pay whatever outrageous price you set for it, while at the same time keeping it from anyone you deem unworthy of it, or from anyone who can't afford what you're demanding."

Burton smiled. "I'll give ya' this, Mr. Lee, ya' ain't no dummy. And hell, why should we hide our intentions from you anyway. After all, this is a free country. The United States of America. And 'cause we live in these here United States, The Declaration Of Independence says we can do what we want."

"I don't recall The Declaration Of Independence stating that stealing is a legal act."

"A legal act, huh? Gosh darn it, Mr. Lee, but don't you sound like one of them there Boston lawyers. Yes, sir, you surely do. But since you ain't my lawyer I don't give a flyin' fig about your opinion one way or another." Burton waved his gun at Heath. "Now git. Git over there by them rocks and sit your butt down." Hughs didn't take his eyes off Heath as he said to his partner, "Git the ropes outta your saddle bags, Johnny."

Heath didn't have to be told to know he was going to be hog tied and left in the desert for whatever fates awaited him.

"You'll never get away with this," Heath warned as he walked toward the rocks. "Someone's bound to come lookin' for me."

Hughs laughed. "Mr. Lee, you really give yourself too much credit. You're a stranger in Heaven, remember? And we're in the middle of an epidemic. Do you honestly think anyone's got the time to worry about your behind? Besides, thanks to Johnny's quick thinkin' we got that covered."

"How?"

"We're just gonna say we rode out here to meet you, ya' know, to be helpful like, and all we found was an abandoned wagon loaded down with medicine. How are me and Johnny supposed to know what happened to ya'? Maybe you decided to head on back to wherever it was ya' came from. Or maybe the law is lookin' for you so ya' hightailed it while the gettin' was good. Or maybe you ran across some bandits who done ya' in and hid your body. Me and Johnny, we got lots of ideas about what might have happened to you. By the time we finish tellin' the folks our theories ain't no one gonna worry about puttin' out the effort to look for you."

"It hasn't crossed your mind that some of your fellow town's people, like Doctor Wallace for instance, will put two and two together and realize what you and McClafferty had planned all along when you start selling the quinine?"

"I can't say I'm frettin' over it if that's what you're askin'. What's that old coot gonna do about it - have that fat nigger woman sheriff-housekeeper of his arrest me?"

Hughs broke into hysterical laughter at that thought as McClafferty trotted over with the rope. When the portly man regained control of himself he ordered Heath to turn around and cross his wrists behind his back. Heath felt the rough horse hair rope against his skin, and out of the corner of his eye saw John walking toward the wagon. If he had a chance to gain his freedom it would have to be taken now.

Randall Becker's thoughts mirrored Heath's as he crept up the back of a boulder. The boy had just been rebuttoning his pants when Mr. Hughs and Mr. McClafferty arrived. Mr. Hughs was always so mean to Randall and his mother. He's always said nasty things to them whenever he passed them on the street, which was why Randall chose to remain behind the rocks. He'd let Mr. Hughs and Mr. McClafferty discuss whatever business they needed to with Morgan, then come out after they rode away. Only they didn't ride away, and soon Randall realized they were out to cause trouble for not only Morgan, but for everyone in Heaven.

Randall's palms were sweating so bad he was afraid he'd lose his grip. As he stayed in a low crouch like a panther and climbed ever higher he sent up a silent prayer.

Please, God, let me be brave. Let me be brave like Morgan.

When the boy got to the top of the rock he was eight feet above Burton Hughs. He saw Mr. Hughs moving to wrap a rope around Morgan's wrists, and saw that Mr. McClafferty's back was to them as he walked toward the wagon.

Now's my chance! Please, God, please.

Randall let out a blood curdling war cry like he thought an Indian might do as he jumped onto Burton Hughs back. He covered the fat man's eyes with his hands and hung on for dear life.

Heath dived for the gun Burton dropped as the man spun around in blind circles. McClafferty swiveled and pointed his pistol at Heath's head. At that moment Heath thought his life was over. He'd never get to Burton's gun before a bullet seared a path through his brain. He saw McClafferty squeeze the trigger, but heard no sound and felt no impact of hot lead. McClafferty pulled the trigger again and again, but still nothing happened.

Heath scrambled to his feet and rammed his right shoulder into John's mid-section. As Heath suspected the man was no match for him when it came to a fist fight. Three well-placed punches had McClafferty on his knees clutching his stomach. An upper cut to his jaw left him toppled in the sand, groaning and dazed.

If Heath wasn't so concerned for Randall's safety he would have laughed at the spectacle going on behind him. Burton Hughs flapped his arms in the air like a fat chicken, causing his and McClafferty's horses to bolt in the direction of Heaven. The big man cussed and hollered as he turned wild circles while trying to toss Randall from his back.

Just as the man lost his balance Heath was at his side. He plucked Randall from Burton's back and set him on his feet. Like he'd done with McClafferty, Heath quickly incapacitated the doughy Burton Hughs.

Heath retrieved his revolver from Hughs' waistband and pointed it at the fat man while keeping one eye on McClafferty.

"On your feet, Hughs. Head for the wagon and be quick about it!"

Burton groaned as he staggered to his feet. The world was still spinning in crazy circles as he weaved toward the wagon.

Heath kept his attention on his captives as he said, "Randall, pick up that rope Mr. Hughs dropped, then run over to the wagon. You'll find more rope underneath the seat."

"Okay, Morgan!"

The boy scrambled to do what Heath asked of him. As Heath and Burton came abreast of McClafferty Heath gave him a poke in the stomach with the toe of his right boot.

"Get up, John."

McClafferty rolled to his knees and cradled his stomach. He moaned and whined, "I can't."

Heath had no sympathy for these two. "Then crawl," he ordered.

Randall had to bite back his laughter as he watched Mr. McClafferty crawl to the rear of the wagon. Heath made Hughs climb in while John McClafferty collapsed face down in the sand. The blond man took the rope from Randall while handing his gun to his young friend.

"You keep that pointed at these two criminals while I tie 'em up. If they make one wrong move, shoot 'em."

Randall's mouth hung open in awe of the responsibility Heath had given him. He straightened his shoulders and jutted his chest forward while aiming Heath's revolver at Hughs and McClafferty.

"Yes, Sir! I'll do that, Sir."

Heath hid his smile while he bound Burton's hands and feet. He had no concern about Randall needing to use the gun. These two out-of-shape shop keepers weren't going anywhere.

Once Heath had Hughs trussed up in the back of the wagon he turned his attention to McClafferty. The man moaned and remained doubled over in the middle as Heath hauled him to his feet. In a minute's time John was in the same hog-tied condition as his friend.

Heath dragged both men forward until their bodies rested against the crates of quinine.

"Well, gentlemen, I didn't figure on being able to give the medicine quite this secure of a ride, but I sure do appreciate you offerin' to help like this."

Hughs spouted a string of expletives at Heath while McClafferty simply groaned. Heath laughed as he jumped off the back of the wagon. He allowed Randall to keep his gun while they walked to the wagon's seat. He swung the boy up.

"Now, Randall, you sit sideways and keep an eye on those two. If they do anything fishy,..."

"I know. Shoot 'em."

Heath winked at the boy as he climbed up beside him. "That's right. Shoot 'em."

Heath used the reins to urge the impatient horses into motion. With four crates of quinine, one eight year old boy, and two bumbling robbers in tow, he headed for Heaven. Chapter 32

It seemed to Heath as though every healthy man, woman, and child was gathered outside Heaven's church when he reined the horses to a halt. Questions were shouted from all directions as one by one the citizens took notice of the trussed up Burton Hughs and John McClafferty. Randall was quickly caught up in the town's excitement. Before Heath could stop him the tale of their adventure poured from the eight year old's mouth. Everyone listened with rapt attention as the boy told of how he snuck onto the wagon, and how he and Morgan carefully loaded the quinine, and how when they were halfway home Mr. Hughs and Mr. McClafferty showed up and tried to take the quinine for themselves.

"And they were going to sell it," Randall told his audience. "They were going to use it for their own families, and not give it to some others who need it like my ma just 'cause they don't like her, and then they were gonna sell what was left over to whoever could pay their price. But I jumped on Mr. Hughs back, and Morgan fought Mr. McClafferty. Mr. McClafferty tried to shoot Morgan, but there wasn't no bullets in his gun."

Tess winked at Monica as they stood with Abraham on the very fringe of the crowd. "That old 'takin' the bullets outta of the bad guy's gun' trick works every time, Angel Girl."

"And stowing the extra rope under the wagon seat wasn't a bad idea either," Monica said as she and Tess focused back on Randall's words.

"So Morgan rammed his shoulder into Mr. McClafferty and punched him over and over until Mr. McClafferty was rollin' in the sand and cryin' like a baby. Then Morgan fought Mr. Hughs while I hung onto Mr. Hughs' back. By the time it was all over Morgan had both of 'em tied up in the wagon and I rode home just like this, pointin' Morgan's gun right at 'em."

With that Heath reached out and carefully slid his gun from Randall's hands. He holstered it as animated conversation filled the air.

"Hang those two, that's what I say!" One man shouted.

"Hanging's too good for them!" Another man cried. "They were going to keep that medicine from our families! Medicine that Doc Wallace says Mr. Lee bought with his own money for all of us to use."

"Tar and feather 'em, then run 'em out of town!" came another suggestion.

"I know one thing," a woman declared, "no quinine should be given to the families of either one of these two scoundrels. They were going to keep it from us, so now let's keep it from them!"

A united cry rose from the crowd as everyone shouted their agreement to the woman's words.

Before Abraham and Tess could intervene to talk sense into the enraged mob Heath rose. He stood up on the wagon seat so his voice would carry to those surrounding him. When the crowd quieted he spoke at the volume that was normal for him, just as if he was talking to his family in the Barkley parlor.

"Though I had no intention of Doctor Wallace telling any of you I purchased the quinine, that's a fact. I didn't buy it to be thanked, or to be repaid, or to be called a hero. I bought it because you need it. I bought it because you have sick children, husbands, wives, parents, sisters, brothers, and friends. In order for them to have a chance at getting well quinine is a necessity. I'm a stranger to Heaven so I don't know you folks. How you live, who you are, who your parents are, what good or bad any of you has done means nothing to me. Mr. Hughs and Mr. McClafferty thought they could regulate who received this medicine. Now you all think you can do the same thing by denying their children use of it. Well, you can't. At least not and live with yourselves a week or two on down the road. Don't punish innocent children for the sins of their fathers. Don't punish Randall's mother because she doesn't have a husband. Don't punish anyone simply because their ways differ from yours, or because their skin color isn't the same as yours, or because they don't speak the same language you do. That's not how God wants people in a place called Heaven to conduct themselves. I reckon since I bought this medicine it's mine. And if it's mine it's up to me to say how it's gonna be used. But I'm not going to do that. I don't need it. I'm not sick, nor do I have a sick wife or children. Like I said before, I'm just a stranger passin' through. It's up to you folks to decide how this quinine will be distributed. I hope, for all of your sakes, you make the right choices."

Heath wasn't accustomed to public speaking, and as all eyes continued to gaze upon him long after he was done talking he felt his face begin to flush. In an effort to hide the feeling of self-consciousness that threatened to overwhelm him, Heath jumped from the wagon. That act caused the crowd to shift its focus as he hoped it would. While two men untied Heath's captives and led them to the jail, two others began to unload the quinine. Heath lifted Randall to the ground. The boy hugged Heath's waist for a long moment, then ran into the church to check on his mother.

All Heath could think of was how good it would feel to wash up with cool water, put on a clean shirt, eat whatever meal Tess had waiting for him, and then collapse into bed. He walked away from the crowd and headed toward Doctor Wallace's house. He stopped and turned when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"That was quite a speech you just gave," Abraham said.

Heath shrugged. "Just said what those people needed to hear. What they do now is up to them."

"Oh, I have a feeling they'll do the right thing. Thanks to you that is."

"No need to thank me," Heath replied as he resumed his journey to the house.

Abraham fell in step beside him. When they came to the front gate the old man put a hand on it and held it closed, thus preventing Heath from going any farther.

"Heath, whether you think so or not, there is a need to thank you. As you said, you're a stranger here. You don't owe this town or its people anything. Yet you spent your own money, and risked your life, to get medicine to them."

Heath started to speak but Abraham held up an age-spotted hand. He straightened the shoulders slumped with fatigue and looked the cowboy in the eyes.

"I have a strong feeling that if your father was alive he'd tell you you're a good man, Heath Barkley. He'd tell you he's proud of you. He'd tell you how sorry he is that you've been forced to bear the burden of his mistakes. But most of all, I have a feeling your father would tell you he loves you."

Heath stared at the old man a long time. He finally lifted one shoulder in an indifferent shrug.

"Yeah, I reckon he might say all those things. But then again, he might not say any of 'em. And since he's dead I guess I'll never know, will I?"

Heath removed Abraham's hand from the gate. He walked the flower-lined path to the house and disappeared inside.

Abraham remained on the sidewalk long after darkness enveloped him. As he turned to follow his son he whispered, "I wish you could know, Heath. Oh, son, how I wish you could know." Chapter 33

Based on his own recent experiences, Heath was well aware that quinine didn't bring with it a guarantee that every sick person in Heaven would recover. Within twenty-four hours of Heath's return from Miller's Pass a dozen people died. Heath was helping Orra and Randall tend to Josie when Martin Crawford passed away in his father's arms, and was still present eight hours later when the only remaining Crawford child, Abigail, succumbed to the deadly diphtheria.

Heath wouldn't allow himself to dwell on the soul-wrenching pain he knew Della and Frank must be feeling as he focused on tending to Josie with a renewed vengeance. Randall sat by his mother's side holding her hand. The boy's face was pale and drawn. Each time another death occurred he looked to Heath for comfort. When Abigail died Randall released his mother and crawled into Heath's lap. Though he shed no tears, the eight year old buried his face in Heath's chest and stayed wrapped within the comfort of the man's arms until he finally fell into a fitful sleep.

It was four-thirty on Thursday morning when Heath had no choice but to wake Randall who was slumbering on his pallet next to Josie's cot. Heath gave the boy's shoulder a gentle shake.

"Randall,...Randall, wake up."

The child opened his eyes. It took him a moment to get his bearings, but when he remembered where he was and why he hiked himself up on one elbow.

"Ma?"

"Randall,...son,..." Heath was forced to swallow the lump in his throat before he could continue, "Randall, it's time,...it's time for you to say goodbye to your mother."

Tears took away some of the bright blue of Randall's eyes. His lower lip quivered as he attempted to protest the finality of Heath's words. "But the quinine is here. Just give her more of it, Morgan. She'll be fine if she gets more. I know she will."

"Randall, we talked about this after Abigail died. Remember, I told you the quinine helps reduce the fever, but it's not a cure for the disease. There is no cure, son. You know that. I...I'm sorry. If I could change any of this for you I would. If I could do anything to save your ma I would. But, Randall, I don't have that power and neither do you. Last night Pastor Andrew helped you ask God to do what was best for your mother. This morning God has made His decision. He wants your mother with Him, Randall. But He's giving you time to say goodbye and to tell her you love her. God gave me that time with my mama when she died, and all these years later it's a memory I still carry in my heart. You have to be brave now for your ma and let her know that you'll be all right. Let her know you'll always love her and that she'll always be a part of you. She needs to hear that, son, before she starts her journey to God."

Later Heath would wonder where his words came from. This was the second time in two days the normally reserved man spoke eloquently and from the depths of his soul, and in so doing influenced the actions of others. Nick would never believe it possible. Heath doubted the rest of his family would either.

Heath helped Randall climb out from beneath his blanket and get on his feet. The boy kept a tight grip on Heath's hand as they walked together to Josie's bed. The eight year old seemed unsure of himself as he approached his mother's side. Heath was forced to pry Randall's fingers from his hand, then encouraged the boy to sit on the side of the cot.

Though Della and Frank Crawford now had no reason to spend their days in the church-turned-infirmary, they had come back shortly after burying Abigail and stayed through the night to offer whatever help they could. Della moved away from Josie to allow Randall to take her place. Orra sat on the other side of her friend, humming a quiet hymn while wiping Josie's forehead with a cold cloth.

When she sensed the presence of her child Josie's red-rimmed eyes slowly opened. She lifted a weak hand and cupped the left side of Randall's face. Repeated coughing spasms made it hard for the woman to talk. With shallow, gasping breaths she told her son how strong she needed him to be, what a good, honest man she expected him to become, how she'd always be with him no matter how far away she was, and then over and over again, she told him how much she loved him.

Silent tears ran down Randall's cheeks. When his mother was too sick to talk any more he rested his head on her collar bone. He stroked her face with his finger tips while he said his good-byes.

"I promise I'll be the man you want me to, Ma. I'll never forget you. Not ever. Morgan told me,...he told me you'll always be a part of me and I know that's true. No matter where I go, I'll be thinking of you. I'll always do the kinds of things that I know would make you proud of me. I love you so much, Mama. I love you so much."

Tears prevented Randall from saying anything else. Josie's glazed eyes traveled to those around her. She smiled at her friend Orra, the old black woman who had been a mother to her and a grandmother to her son. She then looked to those who had helped her in recent days without passing judgment; Monica, Pastor Andrew, Doctor Wallace, Della and Frank Crawford. Her gaze finally stopped on the man she knew as Morgan Lee.

"Please, Mr. Lee," Josie whispered, "please take care of Randall for me. You're his friend. Please,...please see to it that he has a good future. A family. I,...I know it's a lot to ask,...and this is going to sound strange, but right now,...at this very moment,...God is telling me you're the man for the job."

Heath didn't think twice before making his reply. "I'll take care of him. I promise."

The smile that formed on Josie's pale face at Heath's words could only be described as one of utter peace and contentment. She said no more. She turned her head so she and Randall were face to face. She kissed her son's brow and told him one last time that she loved him. She lapsed into unconsciousness the moment the words left her lips. For the next fifteen minutes the only sounds Josie Becker made were those of desperate gasps for air. When she died Randall was still resting his head between the hollow of her neck and shoulder, while Orra held her hand. Randall appeared to accept his mother's death with an inner calm far beyond his years until he was gently lifted from her body by Pastor Andrew and given to Heath. The boy wrapped his arms around Heath's neck and his legs around Heath's waist. He buried his face in the cowboy's shirt collar and gave into his grief with heavy sobs he couldn't control or abate.

Heath didn't say anything as he carried Randall out of the building and into the dampness of the early morning dawn. He walked back and forth in the church yard with the crying boy while rubbing one hand up and down Randall's back. He said no more than, "I know, son, I know" in reply to all the grief-stricken thoughts Randall voiced.

"I miss her so much, Morgan."

"I'm all alone now, Morgan. I ain't got no one."

"I loved her, Morgan. I loved her more than I ever loved anyone in my whole life."

"I don't want her to be dead, Morgan. I wish I would have made her better."

And Heath did know, because these were the same things he'd felt when his own mother died. He then thought of how that tragedy paved a path to a new life and family. Could his mother, while on her death bed, instinctively have known that by directing him to the newspaper article about Tom Barkley he would begin a sorrow-driven anger-filled quest that would ultimately end with joy? Could she have somehow known he'd come to be embraced by his father's family in every sense of the word, and with their love and acceptance blossom to the man he was today? Could Leah Thomson have known those things the same way Josie Becker claimed to know that Heath was the man to find Randall a family? Could God have spoken to Leah? Is that why she revealed to Heath who his father was just moments before she passed away?

Heath pondered these things as he walked with Randall until long after the sun came up. When he could tell the boy had fallen asleep on his shoulder Heath carried him to Doctor Wallace's house. Heath laid Randall on the bed he used without waking him, then crossed to the dresser. Why he'd never returned the Barkley family photo to his saddle bags Heath didn't know. This was where Doctor Wallace had set it the morning Heath stormed from the house, and this was where it had remained.

Heath stood studying each face in the photograph as though committing them to memory. He turned when Tess entered the room and poured fresh water into the bowl on the washstand. In deference to the sleeping Randall she kept her voice low as she spoke.

"You clean up now, Mr. Morgan Lee. Breakfast is ready."

"Yes, Ma'am," Heath replied as he walked to the washstand.

Tess pointed to the picture. "That's a fine looking family you got there. Mighty fine. I imagine they're beside themselves with worry, wonderin' where you're at and all."

Heath did nothing more than shrug one shoulder as he began to wash his hands and face.

"I wouldn't be shruggin' my shoulders like that if I was you, Mr. Morgan Lee, as though you ain't got a care in the world. Tess knows better, she does. You don't look like the kinda man who takes a loving family for granted. As a matter of fact your eyes have told me nothin' but a sorrowful story since the day you came here. Only I can't help you work through your heartache, baby, 'cause I ain't your mama. Or your sister. Or one of your brothers. But those people,...well old Tess has a feeling those people can." The woman's eyes shifted to Randall. She studied the dried tears she saw on his face. "Here you are, runnin' away from the exact same thing little Randall wants most in this world. People to call his own. A place to call home. A woman,...a woman who might not be his mother by birth, but who he can grow to love and respect in the same way he loved and respected Josie."

Tess watched as Heath began trimming his beard. He refused to meet her eyes, just like he refused to reply to her words. She finally shook her head and turned for the kitchen.

"I've said it before and I'll say it again. You're a stubborn man, Mr. Morgan Lee. You refuse to see what's yours for the taking, while at the same time hurting so much inside because you no longer have it."

Tess's words echoed in Heath's head long after she left the room. Before he joined her at the breakfast table he removed the picture from the dresser and put it back where it belonged, deep inside his saddle bags.

Chapter 34

Josette Nadine Becker was laid to rest in Heaven's cemetery at eleven o'clock on Friday morning. Aside from Heath and Randall, those in attendance included Monica, Tess, Doctor Wallace, Frank and Della Crawford, Orra, and Jasper Thurmond. Pastor Andrew preached the service that didn't dwell on death, but rather spoke of everlasting life and the joyous home Josie now had with God. Though Heath wasn't exactly certain what opinions he held regarding life after death, he was grateful to the minister for his positive words. If nothing else an eight year old boy could walk away from his mother's grave with the hope of one day being reunited with her.

Upon saying his final good-byes to Josie, Randall walked hand in hand with Heath out of the graveyard. Heath stopped their progress when he was hailed from behind. Frank and Della hurried to catch up to him.

"Mr. Lee, my wife and I would like to take you and Randall to lunch."

Heath looked at the pair with clear puzzlement on his face.

"We'd like to speak with both of you if we may," Della said. She paused, then added, "About Randall's future."

Heath felt the grip Randall had on his hand tighten. He smiled down at the boy in an attempt to assure him no decisions would be made Randall himself didn't approve of.

"That's all right with me if it's all right with Randall."

Randall looked from one adult to the other. He hadn't known the Crawfords prior to the epidemic hitting. They rented a small ranch at the far outskirts of town. Their children hadn't attended Heaven's school house, but rather the Cross Junction school which was nearer to their home.

The boy thought a long time before finally nodding his consent. Despite their own worries, Mr. and Mrs. Crawford had been kind to Randall from the day Morgan had carried his mother into the church. Mrs. Crawford was always asking him if he'd eaten, and if he'd gotten enough sleep, and once, when he'd woken up in the middle of the night scared from a bad dream, Mr. Crawford had lifted him from his pallet and rocked him back and forth in his lap until the memories of the bad dream faded. Randall wasn't sure what the Crawfords were going to say, but he supposed it wouldn't hurt to hear them out.

Frank and Della led the way to A Little Bit Of Heaven. Heath shook his head in amazement when he saw Tess working behind the counter. Just minutes before she'd been at Josie's funeral. How the woman could have changed clothes so quickly and gotten the cafe open was beyond him.

No other patrons were in the restaurant as Frank led the entourage to a table that sat four. As usual for Heath and Randall when they visited A Little Bit Of Heaven, they didn't receive menus, though Heath noticed Frank and Della did. By now; however, Heath knew better than to argue this point with Tess. She wasted no time in taking the Crawfords' orders, then scribbled something down she intended to be for her remaining two guests.

Frank and Della attempted to make small talk until the food arrived. The conversation was painfully one-sided as the normally exuberant Randall suddenly turned shy. As for Heath, well he never had excelled at small talk so their efforts were lost on him, too. He supposed they were wondering what had happened to the man who could influence the thinking of an entire town with a few well-spoken words.

Fortunately the Crawfords didn't have to wonder for long. The hot food Tess brought caused everyone to relax and focus on their lunch. It wasn't until dessert was served that Frank Crawford brought up the reason for this invitation. He waited until everyone had taken a bite of blueberry pie, then began.

"Mr. Lee, my wife and I heard what Miss Becker asked of you yesterday morning in regards to finding a home for Randall."

Heath eyed the couple, then nodded his head.

"Well, we'd like to be the people who provide him with that home."

"I see."

Della glanced at her husband, then took over the conversation. "We won't lie to you or Randall and say this decision isn't partly based on the fact that we've so recently lost,...lost our own children. We,...ever since the day we married all Frank and I really wanted was a family. A house filled with little ones. For a time,...well for a time we had that."

"Don't you think it's a bit soon to be deciding to take another child into your home?" Heath asked. "I don't mean to sound cruel, but Randall won't be a replacement for the children you lost. Randall can be no one other than who he is. If your invitation is based on nothing more than trying to mold him into being Samuel, or Martin, or Clarence, or Warren, then I'll have to say no. That's not fair to either one of you, or to the memories of your deceased children. But most of all it's not fair to Randall."

"Oh, no. No," Della assured with tears in her eyes, "that's not our intention at all. In the past week we've come to know and love Randall for the boy he is. We love him for the sweet, good-hearted child he is, and for how hard he worked to make a life for himself and his mother. For the devotion he showed towards her and those he loved. Randall,..." Della smiled at the boy before turning her attention back to Heath. "Randall has no parents now, just like Frank and I have no children. We just thought,...well perhaps you're correct, Mr. Lee, and we have been somewhat impulsive, but we thought this would be a fitting arrangement,...a happy arrangement, for all concerned."

When Heath made no comment Frank spoke.

"We're going back to Illinois as soon as we can pack up our home."

"Illinois?" Heath questioned.

"Where Della and I are from. A small town in the north central part of the state called Dixon. It's a beautiful little place. Absolutely beautiful. Right in the heart of farming country and built on the Rock River. Our families still live there. If Randall agrees to join us he'll have more aunts, uncles and cousins than he'll be able to keep track of."

"That's all good and well, but what about the boy's future?" Heath asked.

"After my father received my wire about our children's,...passings, he wired back begging me and Della to return home. He owns the hardware store in Dixon, but he's reaching an age where running the business is too much for him on his own. I have six sisters, but no brothers. It was always my father's dream that I'd take over the business when the time came. Unfortunately for him it was my dream to come west and try my hand at ranching. But Della and I have talked it over. After what's happened here in Heaven,...well you'll understand when I say we need a fresh start. The store has a nice-sized house attached to the back of it that's been empty for years. My parents are going to give it a good cleaning and some fresh paint so it'll be ready for me and Della to move into the day we arrive. And ready for Randall, too, if he'd like to come with us that is. He'll have his own bedroom and attend school with his cousins. Once we're settled we'll start adoption procedures so that legally Randall will be ours and we'll be his."

Randall looked from the Crawfords to Heath. Heath could tell the boy was far from ready to make a decision. Not that Heath could blame him. He was far from ready to make a decision either.

Della and Frank seemed to sense there was nothing more they could say one way or another that would influence the final outcome of their proposal. The remainder of their dessert was eaten in silence. Frank insisted on paying for everyone's food when the meal drew to a close. The Crawfords walked outside with Heath and Randall.

"Della and I will be staying here in town until the quarantine's lifted. We'll be over at the church, helping out in any way we can." Frank looked down at Randall and smiled. "We'd feel blessed if you'd join us on our trip to Illinois, Randall. We'd feel blessed if you decide to become a member of our family. But if you don't both Della and I understand. There will be no hard feelings, but rather we'll wish you the best of luck in whatever it is you choose to do."

Randall's, "Thank you, Sir," was spoken so softly the adults had to strain to hear it.

Della reached out and ran a hand down the boy's cheek. "Your mother did a wonderful job of raising you for the first eight years of your life. Now I'd like to finish that job if you'd let me. But as Frank said, if you make another choice that you think will be better for yourself I'll rejoice in your decision, for only you know what's in your heart."

Randall and Heath watched the Crawfords walk to the church. Randall didn't say anything when he turned and headed for Mr. Thurmond's livery. Heath followed him, not at all surprised that this was where the boy would choose to go to do his thinking.

The eight year old didn't stop until he came to the corral that held Charger. He climbed up on the fence and sat down on the top rail. Heath followed suit. They both petted Charger when he came over to nuzzle Heath's neck. When the horse grew weary of their undivided attention, and complete silence, he wandered away as if to say, "If the two of you can't carry on a decent conversation I'll go look for amusement elsewhere."

Ten more minutes passed before Randall let out a heavy sigh. He squinted into the afternoon sun and stared across the corral at Charger.

"I'm not sure what I should do, Morgan."

"No, I don't reckon you are. Decisions that involve a lot of uncertainty, like the one you're faced with, are never easy to make."

"I don't know any other place but Heaven. This is my home."

"That's true. But in time, home can become a place that right now seems distant and scary."

"I suppose. Ever since Ma died I've been thinking a lot about who I might live with."

"And?"

"Well, there's really only a few people in Heaven who have ever been nice to me and might be willing to take me in."

"Who would that be?"

"Orra for one. 'Ceptin' she's old and has a hard time makin' ends meet just for herself. She works for Mrs. Michelson, the dressmaker, but she doesn't earn a lot of money. I guess she and I could get along okay together just like me and my ma did, but,..."

Randall let his sentence end there, nonetheless Heath could guess at his unspoken thoughts. It was quite likely Orra wouldn't live long enough to raise him to adulthood and then where would that leave him?

"Mr. Thurmond,...he might take me in. Especially if I work for my keep. But he's been busy helpin' to raise his grandkids ever since his son-in-law died so maybe he won't want another mouth to feed."

Heath had already mulled over the possibility of Randall staying with Jasper Thurmond. The boy made a point Heath hadn't thought of, that Jasper had his hands full playing the part of father to his daughter's children. The one thing Heath had thought of was that like Orra, Jasper was pushing seventy years old. If he passed away before Randall was grown then what would happen to the boy?

The pair sat in silence for a long time before Randall voiced another idea. "I,...there was one other person I was thinking of who might take me in."

Heath looked down at the boy. "Who?"

"You, Morgan. Maybe I could live with you, huh?"

Heath saw the hope in the child's eyes. A hope he didn't want to dash because he'd had the exact same thought himself. If he was returning to the Barkley ranch the decision to take Randall with him would be an easy one. He knew his family would welcome the child with open arms. Victoria and Audra would provide the maternal influences Randall needed, Jarrod and Nick would grow to become cherished uncles, while Heath himself took on the role of father. Yes, if he was returning to the ranch it would be so simple and straight forward. But he wasn't returning to the ranch, at least not to the Barkley ranch. Instead he would be leaving Heaven to look for a job. Heath had worked as a wrangler for too many years not to have seen what happens to children of single fathers who are forced to move every six months when the work runs low and the head of the household is once again unemployed. He had also seen first-hand the negative effects of a single father working fourteen hours a day while his children were left alone in a rented house in town. Invariably the children got into trouble because the home was without adult supervision and the guiding hand of a mother. That was no life for Randall. His life had already been hard enough. He deserved a family and a place to call home.

Heath put an arm around Randall and pulled him close.

"Randall, there's nothing I'd like more than to bring you with me when I leave Heaven. But the fact of the matter is, I'm not a married man. I can't provide you with the kind of love and guidance Frank and Della can simply because with them, you'll have both a father and a mother."

"But Ma raised me by herself and she did okay."

"You're right, son, she did. She did a fine job of raising you by herself. But it wasn't an easy job, was it?"

Randall thought of how many times he'd heard his mother crying because they didn't have enough money to buy food, or because Randall needed new shoes and she couldn't afford the expense, or because someone had called her or her son a nasty name.

"No. No, I guess it wasn't easy."

"That's because raising a child is hard work. It takes the combined efforts of two parents. Of course, not all of us are lucky enough to have a father in our lives, and that doesn't make us bad people. But it does mean that the job left to our mothers is that much more difficult."

Randall looked up at Heath. "You mean you were like me when you were a boy, Morgan? You didn't have a pa?"

"No, Randall, I didn't have a pa. Or at least not in the sense that I ever got to meet the man."

"So after your ma died you had no one, just like I got no one?"

"That's right. Or so I thought anyway. But like you, after my mama died I did get a chance at having a new family. A chance I took."

"Did someone adopt you, like Mr. and Mrs. Crawford want to adopt me?"

Heath smiled. He supposed that in many ways, someone had adopted him. Certainly he'd felt that way the day his legal name change had gone through and he was henceforth known as Heath Morgan Thomson Barkley.

"Yes, someone adopted me."

"And were you happy living with your new family?"

"Very happy."

"Then why'd you leave?"

"Because it,...it was time for me to move on. But keep in mind I was considerably older than eight when I made that decision. I was a grown man. But that doesn't mean I don't have a wonderful family, or that I don't love them very much. They were good to me, Randall. Real good. I wouldn't trade them, or the times I had with them, for all the money in the world."

"So you think I should live with Mr. and Mrs. Crawford? Let them adopt me and become their boy?"

"That's your decision, son. I can't make it for you. All I'm saying is that sometimes we gotta take a chance in order for our lives to get better."

Randall gave his head a slow nod. "I'd like to think about it for a while. I have to talk to Orra first, then,...well after that maybe I'll know what to do."

"I understand. And I'm sure Mr. and Mrs. Crawford will, too. Besides, until the quarantine is lifted no one's leaving Heaven."

Randall jumped off the fence and went over to Charger. As he petted the horse's nose he looked at Heath.

"Morgan, can I tell you something even if you're not gonna like what I have to say?"

"I reckon."

"If you have such a good family, and you love them so much, and they love you, then I think when you can leave Heaven you should go back to them. It don't seem right somehow, a person not being with his family. I'd give anything to be with my ma again, and here you just up and walked away from the folks that was yours."

"It's a little more complicated than that."

"Orra says life is only as complicated as we make it."

Heath sighed. He knew from his experiences with Hannah there was no use arguing with the logic of an old black woman who could quote scriptures from sun up to sun set.

The cowboy climbed off the fence and headed for the stable. "I've got work to do. I still don't have all those stalls rebuilt for Mr. Thurmond."

Within minutes Randall joined Heath. They passed the afternoon in silence, each lost in their own thoughts about what the future held.

Chapter 35

Four days later the epidemic had run its course and Doctor Wallace lifted the quarantine. By that time Randall had made his decision. He'd spent a good portion of each day with Della and Frank Crawford. As he got to know them better he became increasingly comfortable with the thought of leaving Heaven for a place called Dixon, Illinois. He spoke with Orra at length about the choices he faced. As much as the old woman loved Randall and wanted to keep him with her, like Heath she realized her age would quite likely prevent her from raising the boy to manhood. Besides, a child needed both a mother and a father. The Bible said it was so, therefore in Orra's mind the decision was an easy one.

It took Frank and Della two days to pack their belongings in a covered wagon. The man they rented their ranch from was buying their livestock. Other than a few mementos the couple wanted as reminders of Abigail, Clarence, Warren, Martin, Penelope, and Samuel, they packed their children's toys and clothes into crates and asked Doctor Wallace to give the items to the boys and girls on the Indian reservation.

Heath helped Randall pack his own belongings for the trip. The boy didn't have much, just a few sets of pants and shirts, socks, and underclothes. Heath had a feeling Della Crawford would quickly remedy that meager situation. Like the Crawfords were doing, Orra was going to donate Josie's clothes and kitchen utensils to the Indian reservation. Randall's keepsakes of Josette Becker were limited to a cameo broach, a picture of his mother and himself that had been taken when Randall was five, and a book of fairy tales he recalled Josie reading to him each evening when he was a small boy. As Heath helped the boy pack Randall hung his head to hide his tears.

"I wish I had more things of my ma's to take with me, Morgan. But we were poor. This is all we had besides our clothes and pots and pans."

Heath sat down on the bed in Randall's tiny room and lifted the boy to his lap.

"There's no shame in being poor, Randall. You and your ma lived an honorable life. That's all anyone can ask of themselves no matter how much or how little money they have. I don't have any more than you do in terms of keepsakes that belonged to my mama. But what I do have is her memory. And I know that much of who I am today is because of her and what I learned at her knee. That's something that can't ever get lost, or stolen, or be taken away from me. Just like your memories of your ma can't ever be taken from you. And some day, when you have children of your own, you'll tell them about your ma, and let them hold her broach, and read them stories from the same book she used to read to you, and show them this picture of the two of you together. It's through these things that they'll come to know their grandmother."

Randall wiped his tears with the sleeve of his shirt. "If I ever have a daughter I'm gonna name her Josette."

Heath nodded his understanding. "And if I ever have a daughter I'm gonna name her Leah."

"Was that your ma's name?"

"Yes, it was."

"It's pretty. Just as pretty as Josette."

"I reckon you're right about that." Heath lifted the boy to the floor. "Now come on, let's finish up here so you're ready when Frank and Della come to get you."

By the time the covered wagon stopped in front of Josie Becker's home a small crowd had gathered to say goodbye to Randall. Mr. Thurmond was there with his daughter and her children. Though Mrs. Thurmond and Benji had been taken by the deadly diphtheria, Jasper knew how fortunate he was that Eunice and her eight remaining children had been spared. Paul, Jasper's ten year old grandson, and Randall tried hard to act like men as they said goodbye. With lots of promises to write they parted with a firm handshake.

A handshake wouldn't do for Jasper. He hugged Randall and told the boy he'd never find another stable hand as skilled or as dedicated.

Tess, Monica, Doctor Wallace, and Pastor Andrew took their turns at saying goodbye to Randall next. When the boy stepped into Orra's arms it's all the old woman could do not to snatch him up and run away with him. She kept her tears in check while bending to hug him.

"You be a good boy for Mr. and Mrs. Crawford now, you hear? You write to Orra every chance you get. Mrs. Michelson said she'd read your letters to me and write you back the words I say. You make your ma proud, Randall."

"I will, Orra," Randall promised through his tears. He hugged the frail old lady as tight as he dared. "I'll never forget you. I'll tell my children all about you."

Orra laughed. "Let's hope that day be some ways in the future. But you do that, honey. You tell your childrens about Orra when the time comes." The black woman broke their embrace. She cupped Randall's face in her hands and looked into his tear-filled eyes. "May the Lord bless you and keep you all the days of your life, Randall Owen Becker."

The last goodbye was the hardest. Without a moment's hesitation Randall launched himself at Heath. The cowboy picked the child up, and just like Randall had done the day his mother died, he wrapped his arms and legs around his friend as though he couldn't bear for them to be separated. In a quiet voice Randall said through his tears, "I'm scared, Morgan. I wanna go with you."

Heath walked far enough away from everyone so they couldn't overhear his conversation with the boy. "I know you're scared, but remember what I said a few days back. Decisions that involve uncertainty are scary, but that's normal. You've gotta be willing to take a chance on something good."

"Like you were when you joined your new family and they adopted you?"

"Yes. Just like I was."

"And were you scared?"

"Very scared. But it turned out I had no reason to be. And somehow, I gotta feeling you don't have a reason to be scared either. I think Frank and Della are gonna be a good parents to you, Randall, and you a good son to them. I truly believe you'll be happy once you get settled in your new home. Frank gave me the address you'll be livin' at in Dixon. As soon as I've got a job and an address of my own I'll write to you. If you ever need me, no matter what the reason, you'll be able to get in contact with me and I'll come to you."

Randall lifted his head from Heath's shoulder so he could look him in the eye. "Really? You'll travel all the way to Illinois for me if I ask you to?"

"Yes. I'll travel all the way to Illinois if you ask me to. But I want you to make me a promise."

"What's that?"

"You give yourself a chance to adjust to your new life. Speaking from experience I can tell you it won't always be easy at first. You'll have to get used to new traditions, new customs, new rules, and you'll forever be forgettin' some cousin's name."

Randall giggled at that remark.

"But it's worth the effort, son. It's worth every ounce of effort you can give if the trade-off is living with folks who love you and care about you as if you were their own."

"Like you do, Morgan? Or at least like you did before you left your family?"

"Yeah. Yeah,....just like I did."

Randall gave Heath one final, long hug. He hid his face in Heath's neck as he whispered, "I love you, Morgan."

Heath held the boy close. "I love you, too, Randall." Heath loosened Randall's grip and stood him on his feet. Hand in hand they walked to the covered wagon.

One last round of good-byes was said. Frank Crawford shook Heath's hand. "We'll take good care of Randall, Mr. Lee. Della and I already think of him as our son."

"I can see that. Just be patient with him and keep in mind what's old habit to you is new to him."

"You sound like the voice of experience."

Heath smiled, but said no more than, "I am."

Della stepped forward to give Heath a hug. "Thank you, Mr. Lee. For everything. I won't let you down in regards to your promise to Josie."

"Be a good mother to him," Heath said softly, while thinking of Victoria Barkley and all she'd come to mean to him. "All I ask is that you love Randall as if he were your own child."

"I will. I promise."

Frank helped Della climb on the wagon's seat, then swung Randall up next to her. Frank joined his family and picked up the horses' reins. Good-byes were called back and forth as the wagon headed down Heaven's main street. Randall scrambled behind Della to peer around the wagon's cover. He continued to wave until Frank turned east and the wagon could no longer be seen as it headed out of Heaven toward Illinois.

An odd feeling of tranquillity washed over Heath as he stood amongst these people who had loved Randall, and were now shedding silent tears over his departure. For some reason he knew he was making the right decision by sending the boy with the Crawfords. Heath had no doubt now that God had spoken to his mother on her deathbed and through Leah, had pointed him in the direction of the Barkley ranch. He had no doubt, either, that God had spoken to Josie Becker when He told her Heath was the right man for the job of finding Randall a home. If Randall grew to be half as content and happy with his new family as Heath was when he lived with the Barkleys, then the boy was bound to have the good life he so richly deserved.

Now it was time for those gathered around to say goodbye to Heath. Charger was saddled and tied to a hitching post. Everything belonging to Heath that had been in Doctor Wallace's house was packed in the cowboy's saddle bags. His canteens were full of fresh water and Tess had made him enough food to last for a week.

Jasper shook Heath's hand and thanked him for his hard work.

"Sure you don't wanna consider stayin' in Heaven and workin' at the livery for me? With Randall gone I can sure use the help. Especially come Saturday nights."

"Thanks for the offer, Mr. Thurmond, but no. It's time I move on."

Orra gave Heath a hug and thanked him for his kindness to both Josie and Randall. As she'd done with the boy, she took Heath's face between her wrinkled hands and said, "May the Lord bless you and keep you all the days of your life, Mr. Lee."

Pastor Andrew said his good-byes, then Monica stepped up to hug her patient.

"I don't know where it is you're going, Mr. Lee, but I hope you find what you're looking for when you get there." She tugged on the sleeve of his brown shirt. "And that color looks quite dapper on you if I do say so myself. Especially with that fine tan vest you're wearing."

Heath didn't have time to blush before Tess was standing in front of him with her hands firmly planted on her hips.

"Mr. Morgan Lee, if you want Tess's advice you won't be goin' nowhere but right back to wherever it was you came from. But you never were one for takin' my advice so I'll just keep my big old mouth shut and say goodbye. You take care of yourself, Mr. Morgan Lee. And the next time you pass through Heaven you stop and have a piece of Tess's apple pie."

"I'll do that, Tess. Thank you."

When Tess moved aside to make room for the doctor Heath reached into his wallet. He retrieved twenty-five dollars and held it out to the man.

"What's this for?"

"Room and board, plus the new clothes and medical care. I appreciate all you did for me."

Abraham refused the cash. "Put that away. You don't owe me anything though I thank you for the offer."

"No, I want you to have it. I don't take charity, Doctor Wallace."

Abraham thought a moment, then said, "I'll tell you what, let's call it even. You purchased the quinine, and in trade I gave you a place to stay, food to eat, and clean clothes to wear."

By now Heath had come to realize Abraham Wallace had a stubborn streak as strong as his own. He knew there was no point in arguing with the man, and with a nod of his head acknowledged his agreement to Abraham's proposal.

Heath was shocked when the doctor grabbed him and pulled him to his chest. For a small man the old guy possessed a powerful hug. Abraham held onto Heath until the cowboy had no choice but to hug him back. Right before the doctor released him Heath heard the man whisper, "Your father would be so proud of you, Heath Barkley, and don't you ever think any different."

Abraham turned away from Heath when their hug came to an end. Heath shook his head at what he deemed to be the sentimental ways of an old man who was missing his long-grown and far-scattered children.

Heath settled his cowboy hat more firmly on his long curls then swung up to Charger's back. He paid no attention to the fact that Abraham never turned to join with the others in waving goodbye to him.

Heath urged Charger to follow the same path the Crawfords had taken minutes before. Rather than turn east, however, he kept heading north with Idaho Territory in mind.

When Heath was too far away to clearly see Abraham's face, the doctor turned around. He wiped at the tears streaming down his cheeks. He watched his son ride out of Heaven, surprised to discover once again that angels cry. Chapter 36

Heath made camp that night twelve miles outside of Heaven. He woke with the sun. He built up the fire, started the coffee, then saw to Charger's needs. As he bent to grab the handle of the coffee pot he heard something rattle in his vest pocket. He sat his cup down on a nearby boulder and fished into the small pocket with his fingers. Heath's brow knit in puzzlement as he pulled into view two gold cufflinks and a folded piece of paper. His confusion grew when he realized the links formed the shape of the capital letter B, and had a slash running through them that mirrored the Barkley brand.

Heath turned the cufflinks over and over in his palm. These were no cheap pieces of jewelry. By their weight alone he knew they were solid gold and had to have been custom made.

Heath unfolded the paper next, assuming this was the only way he would find an answer to the origin behind the items he held. The answer was there, but what it revealed left the man in stunned shock.

My Precious Son;