Pouring himself another shot of whiskey, Jarrod settled further into his favorite chair, put aside the book he wasn't reading, and concentrated on his youngest brother, Heath. Life on the Barkley ranch had certainly taken some unusual twists and turns since Heath's arrival. Could it already have been three years this past July? Jarrod smiled realizing he could no longer think of his family without Heath included in each and every memory. In fact, the entire household found it hard to imagine life without the blonde, blue-eyed, very Scotch young man.

Jarrod's eyes left the clear brown liquid in his glass and wandered to the portrait of his father which hung proudly over the mantle. Being the oldest had good and bad points. Jarrod remembered more about Tom Barkley than any of his siblings, especially Heath who never knew their father. Perhaps this fact explained Jarrod's relationship with Heath which included sibling and paternal aspects. Jarrod, who was 8-years-older than the blonde cowboy, was Heath's older brother, but at times, the younger man accepted Jarrod's paternal reactions, orders, and intrusions into his life without an argument. Nick would never have accepted a moment of this and their relationship was purely on a brother to brother basis.

Jarrod analyzed their relationship before the fire while staring at his father's portrait. He realized, and could no longer deny, his relationship with his youngest brother was different than the one he enjoyed with Nick. Jarrod thought of Heath as more than a little brother. In some ways, Jarrod thought of Heath as a son. He also began to realize, Heath might have accepted the way their relationship developed, along with Jarrod's increased meddling in his life, because Heath never had a father figure in his life.

His mind spin back to recent events and Heath's part in the Barkley's world. Jarrod knew his important place in family hierarchy and now, for the first time, understood and accepted his large role in Heath's life. Taking these facts into account still left Jarrod feeling terribly sad and inadequate, especially since he had never been a father before and felt more comfortable in his role as big brother.

Tom Barkley's eyes appeared to be burning into Jarrod's by now. The lawyer's mind spun with people, places, and memories starting last spring which lead to the situation causing his insomnia tonight. Jarrod leaned forward in his chair and whispered a plea to his father's picture for guidance.

"What do you think of the situation, Father? More importantly, what would you do knowing one of your children is in trouble?"

Jarrod jumped up from his chair and raced to his desk. Pulling out a blank paper and a pen, he began to do what came natural, Jarrod began to write done all the facts. When the facts were gathered, he began to arrange them in a more logical order and placed stars next to the events Jarrod found most notable. Finally, he began to review the list and was stunned at the clear picture lying before him on the desk.

He looked up at Tom Barkley once more. They might not use the same analysis techniques, and his father may have been a more like Nick than himself, but Jarrod was certain they both would agree on his plan of action. He threw his paper full of facts into the fire and headed up the stairs to pack. In a few hours, Jarrod Barkley was going to be on the first train headed south from Stockton.

Victoria Barkley sat in her favorite bedroom chair watching the moon pass gently over their ranch. She knew Jarrod was reading by the fire, since she hadn't heard her eldest son come upstairs to bed, but Victoria assumed Audra and Nick were resting. Victoria dabbed a handkerchief at her red eyes while praying for the safety of her missing son, Heath. She would give anything to know he was safely resting down the hall. How wonderful it would be to hear Heath up and around, starting his day, before Jarrod had come to bed for the night. More than once, she smiled and rolled over after hearing the two men exchange greetings in the hall. Jarrod whispering "good night, Heath" in response to Heath's quiet "mor'nin, Jarrod."

Victoria closed her eyes and clearly saw Heath's face. Such a Barkley, even if he didn't understand when she told him so or realize it was a heartfelt compliment. Tom would have been terribly proud of Heath, as he was proud of all his children. She began to feel tears roll down her cheeks, once more, as she wondered if Tom's presence could have prevented, or somehow eased, Heath's pain. How she wished Tom hadn't left her all alone. Normally a confident parent, Heath's arrival presented many challenges Victoria was often at a loss to manage. Luckily, their family had been strong enough to muddle through by mere reliance on their bonds of love, their iron will, and their confidence in their future as a family.

Victoria drifted into a restless nap as her mind reviewed the events of the previous day. Heath rarely screamed aloud anymore. Somehow, even in sleep, the boy trained himself not to disturb the house. Despite his forced quiet, Victoria awoke instinctively knowing to check on him. Victoria, once again, found her blonde son curled up on the floor between his bed and the window. Heath' back was plastered to the wall, his arms wrapped around his knees holding them close to his chest, and his face was buried between his knees. From the doorway, Victoria could sense the enormous effort the young man was putting forth in order to keep quiet and regain control of his rapid breathing.

She crossed the room in silence and slowly approached the frightened young man. It was cold in Heath's room but she could feel the heat radiating from his skin as Heath worked hard for control. Victoria knew better than to touch Heath when he was in this state so she slid down on the floor next to him. She listened as his body shook with enough violence to rattle the items on his night stand all the while praying for Heath's deliverance from the demons which overtook him when the exhausted young man attempted to rest.

After a good half-hour, Victoria sensed Heath's panic easing and whispered, "Heath, I'm here next to you. Everything is all right. You are going to be all right."

They had been through these nights far too often, and normally, Heath would answer Victoria when she tried to reassure him. Tonight, she felt a change, a sense of desperation began to be palpable in Heath's room, and Victoria's mind raced in an attempt to plan what to do next. Instinctively, she reached out to touch her troubled son but Heath pulled away and moved down the wall closer to the window. His breathing became erratic and Heath began to pound his fists against the top of his head. Victoria again moved closer and rested on her knees next to her distraught son.

Unable to fight her maternal reflexes, Victoria reached to run her fingers through Heath's hair, cooing, "I know you are upset, I understand. Please, take some deep breaths. We can get through this together".

Moving faster than a cat, Heath grabbed his mother's wrists and pulled her up as he swung wildly to his feet. Victoria had no time to react or move away. She used the first rays of dawn to gaze deeply into Heath's eyes and saw only terrible confusion, fear, and pain.

"NO," Heath whispered loudly between clinched teeth as he backed Victoria against the wall, "you don't understand ... Nobody understands!"

Victoria's wrists burnt with pain. Heath was an extremely strong young man and could easily hurt the small woman trapped in his grasp. She was frightened but, more importantly, Victoria was concerned for the well-being of her child. Acting once more on her maternal instincts, Victoria didn't fight or try to pull away. With every inch of her being, and all of her strength, Victoria stepped forward and buried her face in Heath's chest while struggling for her arms in an effort to wrap them around the young man.

Something in his mother's actions jolted Heath back to reality and he let her wrists go. They clung to each other for a long moment before Heath fell to his knees and held on around her waist. They clung to each other while maintaining their silence.

Heath finally whispered, "Mother, forgive me. I'm so terribly lost. I'm tired and I just wish ..."

The silence in the room grew between them before Heath squeezed her and then moved away. Victoria followed him and wrapped her arms around Heath as he stared out the window towards the empty barnyard below.

"What do you wish, Sweetheart?"

Heath put his hands up to rub his face and ran his right hand through his wet hair. He took some deep breaths, put a hand on each side of the window frame, and let his chin rest down on his chest. Victoria held on with all her might knowing Heath must know she loved him at that very moment.

"Sometimes, I wish," Heath stood frozen in thought, "No, I pray ..."

They stood there while Heath decided whether or not to trust Victoria with his inner most thoughts. Finally, he took two deep breaths and turned around to return her hold on him.

"It is so deep .. There's something so deep inside me, Mother. I'm not sure I even know what it is and I pray ... I pray He would just ... Dear God, Almighty Father, I pray ... "

Nick passed Heath's open door on his way to the bathroom. He didn't see his mother and brother but they both turned stunned at the time and Nick's presence in their world. Heath quickly moved away and started to grab his clothes from the closet. Victoria moved to him and touched his shoulder but the exhausted boy tensed to her touch.

"Heath," Victoria was suddenly more frightened their moment had been lost than she had been of Heath's strong hold on her arms, "let's pack a picnic. We'll get away from the ranch for the day. Can't we talk?"

Heath turned and started for the door, to be next in line for the bathroom, but stopped at his door frame without turning to face her, whispering, "I'm sorry, Mother. I'm sorry to have kept you from another night's sleep."

Victoria knew not to argue and proceeded to prepare herself for the day. While dressing, she was shocked at the large red marks on her wrists which were quickly turning black and blue. Victoria picked out one of her fall dress with the longest sleeves and went to join her family for breakfast.

Heath proved himself an expert at moving food around his plate without eating a bite. His weight had dropped over the summer, and now, his fall shirts and jacket hung from Heath's handsome frame. Jarrod and Nick teased him, Audra spent time baking him special treats, but only Victoria truly noted the enormous change in Heath's physical state. While the family bantered and shared their plans for the day, Heath quietly retreated from their world while piling, unpiling, spreading out, and then pushing together his uneaten breakfast.

"Mother," Jarrod requested, "would you please pass those wonderful strawberry preserves this way before Heath eats them all."

Victoria reached out and handed the bowl of sweet preserves to Audra. The family went on with their normal activities but Heath sat straight up in his chair. Victoria tried not to react and nonchalantly placed her hands in her lap but it was too late. Jarrod stopped in mid-sentence when he caught the look on Heath's face in his peripheral vision. Slowly, the rest of the family quieted and turned their attention to what grabbed Jarrod's focus.

Heath was unaware of his family's attention. He sat staring into his mother's eyes and trying desperately to take one breath followed by another. The young man began to shake and moved his hands underneath him in a failed effort for control which he used successfully in the past.

He whispered, "Mother, I'm sorry. I would never ... I could never. I love you."

Victoria attempted a smile and reached for Heath's shoulder but he bolted to his feet and ran out of the dining room. The entire family sat in stunned silence while using their ears to trace Heath's movement up the stairs, into his room, banging through a few drawers, down the front steps by twos, and finally, out the front door.

"AH, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!" Nick stood up and threw his napkin on the table in disgust. "WHAT'S UP WITH THAT BOY, NOW?"

Audra followed Nick out the front door but Jarrod stayed inside with Victoria. He slowly stood and walked around to his mother's side before reaching for her arm. As Jarrod pushed back the long sleeve of Victoria's dress, she pulled her arm from his grasp.

"Are you all right, Mother?"

"Yes," she stood up and accepted a hug, "I'm fine but Heath isn't. I don't know how to help him."

Before they could make it any further in their conversation Audra returned.

"Heath's gone and Nick is hotter than a hornet. I wouldn't want to be Heath when Nick catches up with him."

Jarrod squeezed his mother's shoulder and kissed her cheek. Without words, they both knew their fears of the past few months were coming true. Nick wasn't going to catch up with Heath ... No, not today. Heath Barkley was gone. For Victoria and Jarrod, their shared fear of Heath's leaving was now a reality. Their minds quickly moved on to wondering if his family could bring him home.

Victoria woke with a start, hearing Jarrod moving around in his room. She quickly made her way to his door and quietly knocked.

"Come in, Mother."

Victoria opened the door and they exchanged smiles. She walked over and sat on the bed next to Jarrod's half packed suitcase.

"Going somewhere, Jarrod?"

"Yes, I'm going sightseeing through the great land known as Texas. I won't be home for two or three weeks. I promise to send you telegrams every other day."

Jarrod walked over and pulled his mother into an embrace. Letting her tears flow silently, Victoria held on with all of her strength.

"Tell Heath how much I love him."

Jarrod smiled and kissed the top of his mother's head.

"I plan on telling him that and so much more."

"What if Heath beats you home?"

Jarrod eased his mother back onto the bed, gently offering, "You mean, what if I'm wrong?"

Victoria smiled but didn't answer.

"Heath is very logical ... Analytical in how he approaches the world plus, I've never known a braver person. I thought this through all night. When I put all the facts down, wrote out all of Heath's behaviors since McConnell's visit, and tried to think as he would ... It all became very clear."

"I see?"

Jarrod smiled, adding, "Heath is terribly troubled about someone or something that happened back in Carterson. Something in my bones tells me to look there first. Knowing Heath's habit of taking life head on, I think he's gone there to wrestle the demons from his mind."

"Thank you, Jarrod."

"No need to thank me, Mother. I want to go, need to go, and I intend to be successful."

"Please," Victoria stood up and gave him another hug, "be careful."

Jarrod smiled and pulled away so his mother could see the confidence he felt in his mission. "Don't worry, I'll be fine and we'll be back before you miss us."

They finished his packing in silence and Victoria walked him to the door when Ciego brought around the buggy. Jarrod was through the front gate, and on his way to Stockton, when Nick came down the stairs.

"Who was that?"

Victoria turned from watching Jarrod disappear into the horizon, answering, "Jarrod. He's off for the early train."

"I didn't know he had a trip planned."

"He didn't, Nick."

"What?"

Victoria smiled and shoed her middle son towards the dining room, answering, "I'll explain at breakfast, Nick."

Victoria turned to look through the open parlor doors on her way through the foyer. Tom's portrait met her gaze and froze her for a moment.

Quietly she closed her eyes and prayed. "Be with our boys, Thomas. Bring them home safe, whole, and healthy."

Five long days on the train. Heath wasn't sure he could stand being stuck in various railroad cars for that long. He already spent most of his time sitting on the stairs outside the back of the passenger car and didn't care when the conductors and other passengers made it obvious they felt the young cowboy a bit touched. Heath smiled, and pretended not to notice their stares, when he did come back inside.

After all, it was hard to argue with their assumptions. Heath was convinced he was insane. In fact, if his mother hadn't intervened a few nights before, Heath knew he would have given up his fight against this darkness, this insanity, which threatened to overwhelm him more and more each day. After six months of renewed fighting with his old Carterson demons, Heath was tired. Tired in a way he feared no one else on earth could understand. Tired to the point ending his life was starting to be an acceptable option.

Heath needed to try and sort out what was happening to him. Frankly, it had been so long since he slept soundly, Heath wasn't sure what were lucid thoughts and what were people, places, events, and horrors of his mind's creation. On a short rest stop in southern Arizona territory, Heath bought himself a notebook and a few pencils. Aunt Rachel tried to teach Heath to control his temper by taking a step back and thinking through what was happening around him. She also made Heath keep journals. He left them at her house and wasn't sure his mother, Leah, ever knew of their existence. The journals helped when he was a small boy, perhaps, they would help now.

There was difference between how Heath, the boy from Strawberry, and Heath, the man from Stockton, kept his journal. The boy was forced to write long paragraphs with attempts made at spelling and grammar. Heath, the blonde cowboy and member of the Barkley family, simply made lists. He would put down a year, starting back in 1863 when he joined the Union Army as a sharpshooter, and wrote lists of what happened to him. In the margins of his notebook, Heath listed stray thoughts, memories, dreams, nightmares, and anything he needed to find a place for when he was done making lists. The work kept him busy which made his time riding the rails much more tolerable. It was a good system.

Arriving in Garland, Texas, Heath wandered the streets for a while before he took a room at the hotel. There was a large Army Depot on the other side of the train tracks from the town. Heath stared and stared but the depot didn't jog any memories. Heath knew, from what others told him, he had been a patient for a few weeks at this Army Depot when Carterson was freed. He strained to remember but Heath didn't recognize anything familiar in the surroundings around the Army Depot or the town of Garland.

Once he was settled in his room, Heath wrote a letter to Victoria. A telegram would reach the ranch sooner but Heath didn't want to be followed and knew his family would travel to Texas even if he asked them not too. Suddenly, his mother's swollen, red, and bruised wrists swam to the front of the young man's memories. Heath jumped up and went for another long walk. Knowing he hurt Victoria was tearing the very soul from the young man.

He stopped into a Catholic church with it's front doors propped open. Exhausted, Heath sunk down into a pew in a dark side corner of the sanctuary. People came and went, candles were lit, confessions were voiced, and a few conversations occurred between various visitors but Heath merely sat taking in the peace within the church walls. When he felt stronger, the young man struggled back to the hotel.

Heath forgot to eat, again. He fell across the bed and drifted immediately into a restless sleep. Suddenly, he was transported back to a strange world. Heath was hurting, his entire body hurt to the point he could not discern what hurt since everything hurt. Someone was talking to him and helping him rinse his mouth. Hands cleansed him and treated the wounds covering his entire being. One man knelt beside him and ordered him to live. Heath remembered these words for the first time since that day in April, 1865. Heath finally remembered what it felt like immediately after being freed.

Heath let himself relax into the dream despite the pain. It was wonderful to remember those first Union soldiers and corpsmen. They were terribly concerned, kind, and for the first time in over a year, hands touched him without doing harm. Heath smiled and tried to see more. He wanted to remember the men who cared for him and once again see their faces but, suddenly, he heard screams. There was one voice amid the screams which always made Heath cringe.

The voice screeched, "You promised, Heath. You promised we would stay together."

Heath's dream quickly descended into the usual nightmares. The sweat poured from his body, his breathing became difficult, and his heart pounded against his ribs in an effort to free itself from his earthly body. Heath sat up and held his hand over his mouth to control a scream. He raced to the open window and gulped in air before sinking to the floor as his knees refused to hold him any longer.

Then they came. They always came. He hated them. It started with his hands, spread up his arms, across his shoulders, and finally, engulfed his entire being. Heath shook violently and clinched his teeth in an effort to keep quiet. He moved his back against the wall, pulled his knees to his chest, and hung on with all his strength until the violent attack passed. Finally, slumped on the floor, Heath stopped shaking.

This is the third floor, isn't it? Heath tried to imagine if a jump from the window would kill him or merely leave him a basket of broken bones for the Barkleys to come pick up and drag back to California.

"Stop!"

Heath thought of his mother, Hannah, Aunt Rachel, and more vividly of Victoria. What would he ever be able to say to them if he saw them on the other side? These women would never forgive his weakness.

"MY, GOD!" Heath sat up and gulped more air. "Nick would kill me if I died."

The thought of his brother brought Heath back to the present. He chugged down two glasses of water and washed before changing his clothes. It was very late or very early but it didn't matter to Heath, he was done attempting to rest. He moved to the desk and began another list.

Jarrod spoke to a few conductors and was certain the blonde cowboy who sat outside the car, and held only a one-way ticket to Garland, Texas, was his brother. Even though these revelations verified his hunch, Jarrod felt no joy. He had been certain of Heath's purpose but secretly hoped he was wrong. Jarrod felt a sense of deep sadness knowing Heath was more distraught than he, or Victoria, assumed. He was very careful to make the telegrams home positive knowing his mother shared his level of concern for Jarrod's youngest brother.

One day behind Heath. Jarrod was only one day behind his brother and would soon be joining him. Jarrod's mind drifted back to the day last spring when Heath's memories of Carterson seemed to overtake his life. It was immediately after Heath's former commanding officer made an unannounced visit to the ranch. Yes, this all seemed to start right after Major McConnell's visit.

Major McConnell was the picture of what a US Army Officer should be. He was at least 6'2"/200#, with thick dark hair and bright eyes. Thoughts of his handshake could still make Jarrod wince. The Major arrived with an escort last April on a beautifully clear and bright spring day. Nick and Heath were out riding fences but Victoria, Audra, and Jarrod were already home preparing for supper. The Major apologized profusely for stopping by but Victoria would not let him worry on this matter long. He also was not allowed to refuse an invitation to stay for supper.

As the group settled in and enjoyed a late afternoon chat the purpose for the Major's visit became clear. Major McConnell had been the commanding officer of the now famous sharpshooters company with the Second Corps of Grant's Army. Their reputation for razor sharp efficiency quickly spread throughout the Union Army. During the Battle of Chattanooga, General Rosecrans gave McConnell and his men truly suicidal orders which they carried out with utmost efficiency, and undoubtedly, turned the tide of battle. Problem was the unit lost over 50% of it's strength fulfilling their mission. The survivors were sent out west to recover and regroup but got caught in an ambush and most of the remaining men were taken captive.

Major McConnell was attempting to have the group recognized in some manner. He was working with a large group of military, former military, and civilian leaders to create a even larger memorial at the sight of the Chattanooga and Chickamauga battles. During an official trip to California, the Major was seeking assistance with his project.

"Your project sounds wonderful, Major."

"Yes, Major, this is outstanding work. I wish you had a longer stopover in Stockton planned. We would be glad to host a reception or do anything which might help you in your endeavor." Victoria was honestly glad to offer her assistance.

"Stockton is out of your way." Jarrod still had unanswered questions. "Do you mind terribly if I ask why you specifically decided to stop here."

"Not at all, Mr. Barkley." The Major bowed slightly to Jarrod, then replied, "I'm here to see Heath Thomson. Excuse me, Heath Barkley. He was one of my best sharpshooters and I couldn't pass up the chance to contact him while I was traveling California."

The room went completely silent. Heath never talked about the war. The only things his family knew were Heath joined the Union Army at only 14-years-of-age, sent his money home, never mentioned a company always saying "I was in the army" or "I was infantry," and Heath admitted being in Carterson for approximately a year but he would never discuss his internment.

Unlike his family, Jarrod knew of Heath's service, his grievous injuries, his medals won and then lost due to age ineligibility, but out of respect for Heath, these matters were kept to himself. Jarrod investigated Heath's background when the young man first walked onto the Barkley ranch and made his claim. Once Jarrod knew Heath, the records no longer mattered. The details had slipped from Jarrod's mind until McConnell arrived on the front porch.

"I'm sorry," the Major quickly sensed the shock in the room, "I assumed Heath would have shared his service record with you. Heath was an excellent sharpshooter and heavily decorated as such. Perhaps, I should wait for his attendance before we continue on the subject."

"Perhaps, Major," Victoria was deep in thought, "but if we wait for Heath, he will not allow the subject to be broached."

"Oh," the Major shifted in his seat, "I had no idea Heath felt this way about his years in the army. The only reason I knew his whereabouts was a note from a mutual friend Heath occasionally speaks to when he visits San Francisco. We haven't spoken since ... Since the horrid day I was wounded and most of my company taken captive, including Heath."

Victoria noted the distress in McConnell's voice and realized he had many reasons for visiting her son, and their ranch, which the Major hadn't felt comfortable sharing. She changed the conversation to an attempt to get the Major and his staff to stay overnight.

"Mother!"

Nick burst in and the tension in the room immediately dissipated.

"Nick," Victoria scolded, "we have company."

Nick Barkley offered the Major a hearty handshake while they were properly introduced. He announced Heath was an hour of so behind his brother finishing a chore. Nick quickly became engrossed in a long conversation with the Major. Nick was also a war veteran, and besides his own stories, was interested in hearing more about McConnell's famous company.

"What?"

Nick stared around the room when Major McConnell insisted on keeping the conversation centered on Nick's stories. When the Major refused to discuss his sharpshooters once more, Nick made a comment about the pride he expected the Major to feel in the incredible men he led.

"We aren't being fair to the Major, Nick," Jarrod interjected, "I'm sure Major McConnell is proud of his company but when he found out Heath doesn't discuss his time within their company, I agree it would be best if we left McConnell's Sharpshooters for later when Heath is home."

Nick laughed and gulped a shot of whiskey. "Are you trying to tell me our Heath, at 14, was with McConnell's sharpshooter company?"

Nick made the comment as a joke and was shocked when he took in the eyes of those around the room.

"I didn't know. We didn't know, Major. I mean, Heath has never said."

The Major helped Nick relax. "Yes, your family was explaining Heath's silence to me before you arrived. I feel, out of respect for Heath's wishes, it would be better if we stuck to your war stories."

"Yes," Nick poured another drink, "of course, you are correct."

The train lurched to a halt for a brief rest stop and to take on water. Jarrod shook himself from his memories of Major McConnell's visit and moved outside for a walk. The fresh air would clear his head. Jarrod didn't need to review the past, he needed to think of a plan, a way to help Heath. He stared up at the crisp sky with it's bright stars.

Quietly, Jarrod mumbled to himself, as if saying a prayer, "What would you do, Father? I need your help. Heath needs your help. What would you do?

Health grabbed a small breakfast and bought supplies before heading out of town on his newly rented horse. Not surprisingly, he didn't need to ask directions, instinctively the young man knew the way around the Army Depot then, he rode a bit further east along the railroad tracks. The fall weather made for a pleasant ride but Heath didn't notice. Luckily, he rented a gentle horse with good familiarity of the local geography. They ambled safely along the few miles between town and the abandoned prison camp. Along the way, Heath's mind wrestled with his many demons and the horse watched the roads.

Riding over a short rise, Heath's jumbled thoughts, daydreams, and flashbacks suddenly stopped. There were no markers, no trail signs, and no obvious reason for a traveler to notice the flat patch of ground straight ahead. The army leveled the entire camp as soon as all the prisoners were removed then, during the next seven years, Mother Nature had hidden any manmade markers. Heath's heart was in his throat, his chest tight, and a cold sweat beaded up on his skin as his eyes searched the area seeing what others could not. Heath Barkley stared down at Carterson Prison, CSA.

There was a line of trees to the north of the railroad tracks, Heath headed to them staying parallel of Carterson's former boundaries. He let the horse help him pick their way through the overgrown underbrush until they reached the white picket fencing. Directly in front of Heath lay more than 10,000 of his prison comrades and to his right loomed only the ghosts of the former camp. The rows of markers seemed to stretch for miles. Somewhere deep inside of the young man, the fact the army kept the cemetery well cared for registered but, outwardly, Heath could only stare.

Heath dismounted and let the horse wander back towards the wood line and greener grass. He walked close to the picket fence but found himself unable to enter the sacred ground beyond. Not comprehending what was happening to him, Heath sunk to the ground and lay staring at the wonderfully blue sky gently unfolding over his head. He was not sad, not frightened, nor was he confused but Heath did feel a strange sense of complete numbness engulfing him and liked the sensation. He instantly decided not to fight. For the first time in months, Heath mind was at peace while finally seeing what he thought was his reality with perfect clarity.

The young man's remaining strength began to leave him. He reached up and grabbed hold of the small piece of fence directly to his left. Heath clung to the fence and didn't need to sit up to see the rows of markers inside. As if he was sliding off the softest of pillows into the comfort of the world's most wonderful mattress, Heath closed his eyes and fell into a sound and dreamless sleep.

Heath mumbled to the sky as he drifted away, "I'm home."

"I STILL DON'T UNDERSTAND WHY JARROD WOULD THINK HEATH WANTED TO GO BACK TO TEXAS. HEATH DIDN'T EXACTLY HAVE A GRAND TIME ON HIS FIRST VISIT!"

Victoria sighed and pushed her dinner around the plate one more time. Nick hadn't let up since the morning Jarrod left. Audra was over at the Anderson's helping Millie with their new twins which left Victoria alone to endure Nick's rages. She knew he handled his worry about Jarrod and Heath in his own way but Victoria wasn't sure how much more she could take.

"Mrs. Barkley." Silas entered the dining room.

"Yes, Silas?" Victoria looked up hoping Silas needed to call her away.

"Mr. Taylor delivered this telegram. I thought I should bring it right in."

"Thank you, Silas."

Victoria patted Silas' hand as he handed her the envelope and rolled his eyes towards Nick.

"WHAT IS IT, MOTHER? IS IT FROM JARROD?"

"Give me a moment, Nick. I haven't had a chance to even open the envelope." Victoria tore into the envelope and smiled, noting, "Yes, it is from Jarrod."

Nick leap from his chair and ran around to read the telegram from behind his mother's shoulder.

"Jarrod is sure Heath is only one day in front of him. He is also sure Heath is on his way to Garland, Texas. In fact," Victoria took in the information from the telegram and rechecked the time on the nearest clock, "Jarrod should have arrived in Garland almost half-an-hour ago."

"GOOD! HE CAN SLAP SOME SENSE INTO HEATH AND THEY CAN GET ON HOME!"

Victoria pushed back her chair and stomped away from her boisterous son. Normally, she didn't let Nick get to her but Victoria was too worried about Jarrod and Heath to have much energy left for Nick. Nick followed her from the dining room. They settled into the study and Nick stirred the fire to take a slight chill out of the room.

"I'm sorry I upset you, Mother. I know you're worried."

Victoria nodded and stared into the fire trying to gather her thoughts. Nick got up and poured them both double shots of whiskey then returned while keeping his silence. They sat for a few moments before Nick decided to speak.

"I'm worried too, Mother. Truthfully, I would be more worried if Heath wasn't trying to do something to help himself. Those dreams were getting out of hand. I don't think he's had a good night's rest for months. Plus, his mind was all scattered. I couldn't leave him alone. Heath kept forgetting what he was supposed to be doing."

Victoria didn't look at Nick but nodded her head thinking back on the extent of Heath's distress before he walked out of the house.

"A few times, I didn't tell you this, Mother, and maybe I should have, Heath would take catnaps when we took breaks. He woke up terribly sad but he wouldn't talk. The last few weeks, Heath started to have dreams, I guess that's what they were but he wasn't even sleeping."

Victoria turned and took in the concern, sadness, and love in Nick's eyes.

"What do you mean, Nick? I'm afraid I don't understand."

Nick shook his head and took a deep breath, quietly replying, "I'm not sure I understand either. Heath would definitely travel away. I mean, mentally away. It was getting dangerous and I had to stay with him every second. A few times, I got mad and yelled or shook him."

"Yes, Nick. Tell me, please."

"Well, before Heath's eyes refocused, I'd swear he had to look around to see where he was. There was pure terror in his eyes until Heath figured out it was me and we were on the ranch together. Heath wouldn't talk about any of it but a few times, when he came back, Heath would hold onto my arm or shirt so tight. So terribly tight, Mother."

Nick swirled his whiskey around and took a long drink.

"I'm sorry I've been yelling and carrying on, Mother. I've never been more worried about anyone in all my days. If there was something physically wrong with Heath, I could understand, it wouldn't frighten me like this does."

Victoria turned in her seat while reaching out for Nick to hold her hand. She thought her words through carefully before sharing them.

"Nick, there is something physically wrong with Heath. He is sick but not in a way we understand like a gunshot wound, broken leg, or influenza. Heath is sick inside, deep down inside. I'm frightened too."

Nick looked up and shared a weak smile.

"I don't envy, Jarrod."

"Why not, My Dear?"

Nick leaned forward, whispering, "He is going a very long way from home to catch up with Heath. When he gets there, how will Jarrod know what to do? I wouldn't have the slightest idea how to help Heath."

Victoria smiled and wiped a tear from her check, reassuringly replying, "Yes, you would, Nicholas. You would help Heath face that damn beast, Carterson. You would gladly share your strength and then, you would do what any of us would in the same situation."

Nick cocked his head anxious for Victoria to finish.

"You would simply make sure Heath knows we love him. We love him and we want him to come HOME!"

Nick nodded and they both sank back into their chairs. Waiting for telegrams and mail during the next few days was going to be terribly difficult. Luckily, Victoria and Nick now understood their need to share their honest feelings, fears, and thoughts. This fact would help them pass the time with less friction and more of a sense of purpose.

Jarrod wasn't surprised Garland, Texas, wasn't much more than a train stop with a large Army Depot. Dallas was an enormous town and having it nearby must reduce the need for services in downtown Garland. He walked to the hotel and quickly took note of the room assigned to Heath when he checked in. The desk clerk was too busy with a broken pipe to take note of the double Barkley registrations. He flung down a bent pipe cleaner and handed Jarrod his key.

The tired traveler quickly unpacked, freshened up, and ate the cold lunch he had delivered to his room. Before the server left, Jarrod requested a saddlebag full of food be prepared and left at the front desk. Something inside Jarrod made him sure Heath was nearby. He was also sure Heath was tired, hungry, and thirsty. It had been months since anyone in the family could truly say Heath was taking good care of himself. He left his room and headed straight down the hall for Heath's assigned dwelling.

Jarrod wasn't surprised when there was no answer at Heath's door but he found the door unlocked. Heath obviously hadn't spent much time in the room and barely unpacked his belongings. Jarrod quickly wrote a note and left it on the Heath's desk in case he and his younger brother crossed paths. Without intentionally looking, the lawyer's eye caught the open notebook full of lists, names, dates, and wonderfully drawn sketches. Jarrod should have known Heath could draw, since his wood carving and drafting skills were excellent, but like the rest of their family, he never really paid attention to this side of Heath's personality.

Jarrod sank down in the desk chair and paged through the notebook. On one hand, he felt like a thief looking through something which was obviously very personal but, on the other hand, the lifelike drawings and familiar hand across the pages magnetized Jarrod to the notebook. Many of the drawings were disturbing then, suddenly, there would be a picture of a magnificent horse, a familiar Stockton face, or a wonderful landscape. Jarrod tried to piece together what was flying through Heath's mind as he worked his way through the pages of the notebook.

He quickly decided there was no way to hide the fact he intruded on Heath's private property. In fact, Jarrod couldn't wait to try and discuss some of the images and lists he found in the notebook with his youngest brother. He tucked the notebook under his arm and left Heath's room. The lawyer inside Jarrod was thrilled to have a piece of material with such important information to work from. He smiled knowing Heath shared his love of lists plus, a tendency to be analytical in stressful situations. Somehow, Jarrod knew finding the notebook was going to be a key in his ability to help Heath.

Jarrod picked up the full saddlebags and headed for the livery. The midday traffic in Garland was actually a bit heavier than he would have guessed when he arrived earlier but the Army Depot was obviously much larger than Jarrod estimated.

"Good afternoon, Sir."

"Good afternoon. May I help you?"

The livery owner gladly shook hands and offered a kind smile. He was an older gentleman with a kind face, white hair, and a semi-toothless smile.

"Jarrod Barkley. Stockton, California."

"Howard Mars. Nice to meet you, Mr. Barkley. In fact, aren't you the second Mr. Barkley in town?"

Jarrod returned the man's smile and nodded.

"My youngest brother, Heath, arrived yesterday."

"Yes, I rented him a nice bay this morning. He paid for three days."

"I'd like to join him and rent a horse, if you have one available?"

"Sure, Mr. Barkley. Cal!" Mr. Mars called to his assistant, "Saddle up Willow for Mr. Barkley, thanks."

"Any chance my brother said where he was headed?"

Mr. Mars looked Jarrod over and smiled.

"No, Mr. Barkley, but then, he didn't need too."

Jarrod was truly stumped by this comment and cocked his head while waiting for more information.

"He was one of them. One of the prisoners at Carterson. Wasn't he?"

Jarrod shook his head and now was really intrigued.

"They all have the same far away look, bad health, and dark, dark, circles under their eyes. None of them ever asks for directions. I guess you never forget where a place like Carterson is located."

Jarrod stood silenced by Mr. Mars' observations.

"The wife and I moved here five years ago. We missed the days when the camp was open but the stories around town are more than enough for me to stomach. Except for the massive cemetery, which is up the tree line from where the camp rested, you can't tell Carterson ever existed out there to the east of the Army Depot. It is strange how those poor men wander back. Too bad about all the 'cides up there."

"Cides?"

Mr. Mars wasn't smiling anymore. Cal brought the horse to Jarrod's side and relieved him of the saddlebags and tied them to Willow's saddle.

"I thought you would know. Being you obviously followed your brother here."

"Mr. Mars, you are painting a terribly disturbing picture. I'm amazed you recognize Carterson survivors, stunned the survivors are making the pilgrimage back, and worried about what you are insinuating regarding 'cides.' Now, please, enlighten me?"

"Thanks, Cal." Mr. Mars walked out front with Jarrod, quietly answering, "The Army truly should do something to help these poor men. I guess Carterson simply can't be erased from your soul. The survivors come through town looking like ghosts. Everybody knows exactly who they are and we let them be. A good portion of the men have become violent when the Reverend or others have tried to intervene. The remainder of the men simply look like life has left them completely empty. Like your brother, Mr. Barkley, he looked terribly worn as if life was too much of a battle.

"A good many of the men ride off to the camp and don't come back. The Army notifies the families and some come for the bodies but I've been surprised how many folks simply let their loved ones be added to the old Carterson graveyard. Maybe they figure that's were the poor fellas truly wanted to be, with their campmates."

Mr. Mars noted the pallor to Jarrod's face and his obvious distress.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Barkley. I wish the Army would put out information on the troubles of the former POWs at Carterson. Maybe some of them could be saved if the government warned their families."

Jarrod shook Mr. Mars hand and mounted the gentle horse.

"Oh, Mr. Mars, I forgot to pay you."

Mr. Mars raised his hand and was smiling once more, responding, "You can pay me when you bring Willow back, Mr. Barkley, along with the bay your brother rented."

"Thank you, Mr. Mars."

"Good luck, Mr. Barkley."

Jarrod rode through town, around the large Army Depot, then followed the trail beside the railroad tracks as it turned to the east away from Garland. Remembering Mr. Mars' words, he kept his eye on the northern tree line and watched for any signs of the former camp or the cemetery. He rode over a small rise and stopped. Jarrod was stunned by the sights before him. In his wildest dreams of finally seeing where the infamous Carterson had been, Jarrod never even came close to the real sights which greeted him.

The former camp was gone and the area completely overgrown but there were wooden planks near the train tracks which must have been used when loading and unloading prisoners and supplies. Then, there were a few enormous, flat, and overgrown acres of land which stretched from the tracks to the far north tree line. From the north tree line to the horizon, as far as the eye could see, Jarrod took in row after row after row of white army issue headstones. The white markers continued well over the next rise, past Jarrod's vision line, and gave the impression they might go on forever.

Jarrod sat stunned and humbled by the sights before him. Slowly, he became aware of not only the sights before him but Jarrod began to feel the spirit of the acreage directly in front of him. There was absolute silence except for a slight breeze wrestling the tall grass which only added to the sense of awe in the air. Jarrod instantly knew he stumbled upon a sacred place. He turned his horse to the northern tree line with no intention of riding through the former camp itself. The humbled man would ride along the tree line and try to find Heath.

He leaned over and took the reins of the bay Heath must of rented. The horse was wondering freely among the cool trees and ample grass. Jarrod's first thought had been to get down and walk but Heath must have arrived at the former prison hours before him and the horse could have walked far from its rider. He tethered the horse to his saddle and continued along the tree line searching desperately for any sign of his younger sibling.

Jarrod stopped at the top of the long white picket fence which surrounded the cemetery. If Heath was somewhere inside among the markers it could take days to find him. The silence of the cemetery stopped him from simply calling out for his brother. A sense of desperation, and fear, Jarrod had never known began to spread through his being. His mind was flooded with Mr. Mars' words and he feared Heath might be another statistic, another 'cide.'

Suddenly, Jarrod's gaze caught a glimpse of blue amid the stark white fencing. Could it be? He left the horses tethered by the tree line and rushed down the outside of the fence. The blue spot between the white fence and the long green grass began to come into focus. It was someone's arm, an unmoving arm, Jarrod was certain it was his brother's arm. Heath's favorite shirts were blue and Jarrod had no reason to believe his brother wouldn't have packed his blue shirts for this trip.

Terror gripped Jarrod's chest and made his legs feel weak. To combat these feelings, the lawyer broke out into a mad dash for the blue target his eyes were completely focused upon. Twenty paces from the spot where the arm hung between two fence slats, Jarrod stopped dead in his tracks.

"Heath?"

It wasn't a yell because Jarrod was out of breath, frightened, and hesitant. His voice crossed the air more like a pleading question. He began to walk forward, slowly, since his call went unanswered. He stood still once more when he could completely see Heath's still form lying in the grass with his hand tightly clinging to the white fencing. Jarrod took a few deep breaths and moved closer.

Unable to speak, and never more frightened in his entire life, Jarrod swung around and sank to his knees next to his brother's limp form. The tall grass swayed in and out of his vision while Heath remained terribly still. Heath was known as the family's lightest sleeper and seemed to have an uncanny ability to be aware of his surroundings at all times. Jarrod fought off his mind's worst thoughts leaning in to see and touch his brother's face.

"Heath?" Jarrod prayed as he softly touched Heath's cheek then closed his eyes in gratitude for the warmth he felt there.

Heath took a deep breath and moved his legs but seemed in an almost anesthetized state.

"Heath, its Jarrod. Please, Brother Heath, try to wake up."

Heath stirred and slowly opened his azure blue eyes. He stared at the sky, the fence, and finally, Jarrod. Pulling his arm from between the fence slats, Heath moved his hand in and out of a fist to indicate his arm was asleep.

"Jarrod?"

Jarrod couldn't control his emotions any longer. He reached down and pulled his blonde brother into a bear hug. Heath didn't fight him and slowly brought his arms up to weakly return Jarrod's embrace.

"Jarrod, where are we? What's wrong?"

"It doesn't matter," Jarrod clung to his brother and found himself rocking back and forth on his knees, "you're all right. I found you and you are all right."

Heath pulled away, stared into Jarrod's sharply blue eyes, and then moved back before slowly gazing around at where they were.

"My God!" Heath muttered before using his hands to rub his face hard and then look around again.

Jarrod moved closer and sat down in the grass next to Heath with his back against the white fence.

"I thought I dreamt this, Jarrod. Now, I know I've lost my mind. Are we really in ... In Texas?"

Jarrod noted Heath's sidestep of where they were and decided they needed to start facing the facts together that very moment.

"You aren't dreaming, Heath. We are sitting right next to the Carterson Prison Cemetery outside of Garland, Texas."

Heath looked through the fence and then closed his eyes as if he was in pain.

Jarrod put his hand on Heath's shoulder, firmly stating, "You are not insane, Heath".

Heath dropped his head to his chest and shook it in disagreement but it was obvious the younger man had no intention of speaking again. Jarrod allowed his brother a few moments to gather himself and then assisted him back up to where the horses were tethered. He was surprised as they moved along and Heath needed Jarrod to support more and more of his weight. Jarrod took the blanket from Heath's gear and spread it under a shade tree with a full view of the cemetery and the land below them. Jarrod leaned Heath against the tree and let him rest while setting out the food but did insist Heath take a few large drinks from the canteen.

Heath gazed around completely baffled by what was happening to him. His mind was numb, his body was weak, and it was taking all the strength he could muster to merely keep his eyes open. He watched Jarrod walk back and forth from the horses. The state Heath found himself in should frighten him but it didn't. It didn't because of Jarrod's presence. Finally, Heath didn't think he could fight any longer.

"Oh, NO, you don't, Little Brother!"

Jarrod sat down hard next to Heath allowing their shoulders to bump.

"You're not drifting away and leaving me alone until I get something in your stomach."

Heath couldn't reopen his eyes and let his head fall hard against the tree behind him. He couldn't move or think. Jarrod used a knife to quickly push away the crust on a piece of apple pie then, scooped a small portion of the soft insides up and forced them in Heath's mouth.

"FIGHT, HEATH! FIGHT!"

Heath took a deep breath. He felt Jarrod next to him and worked hard chewing the sweet food. When Heath managed to swallow, Jarrod shoved another bite in his mouth. They did this for what seemed an eternity to Heath but was only a few minutes and six small bites of pie insides to Jarrod. Sensing Heath would choke if he forced anything more in his mouth, Jarrod settled for a few more gulps of water. Instantly, Heath's breathing became heavy and regular. Jarrod sat and watched his brother sleep with his peripheral vision taking in the rows of white grave markers.

"Too close, Brother Heath. This was too close."

He leaned forward and pushed some stray hair from near Heath's eye. Jarrod smiled and thought to himself "You sleep, Brother Heath. Sleep as long as you need. I'm here and I'm not going away." Jarrod made himself comfortable on the blanket, spread out the remaining food for himself, and settled in for a long quiet afternoon. He looked around and took in the atmosphere surrounding them before opening Heath's notebook. Jarrod was going to busy himself doing what he did best. He was going to do research, think through his options, and put together a plan to make his brother well.

Jarrod let Heath rest until the sun began to set and a chill permeated the air. Heath remembered his brother helping him mount his horse but nothing much more until Jarrod woke him, once more, and insisted he sit up in bed to eat supper. Heath still felt exhausted, numb, but also felt a great sense of relief. Thanks to Jarrod's kind presence, the young man didn't have to fight and could simply let his oldest brother take care of him.

"Thank you, Jarrod." Heath accepted his brother's assistance to sit up and move back against the pile of pillows before taking the spoon from Jarrod while making sure he made eye contact.

This simple verbalization of his gratitude was all the blonde cowboy could manage. He used the rest of his strength to spoon a few mouthfuls of chicken soup into his mouth. The soup felt good in Heath's stomach but he still couldn't work up enough energy to finish the bowl.

"Heath," Jarrod didn't argue and moved the tray away from his brother's lap, "take your time. I'm going to be right here. Sleep as much as you need."

Heath didn't reopen his eyes when Jarrod nudged him and helped him slide back down into the bed. Immediately, hearing Heath's breathing indicate the younger man was sleeping, made Jarrod feel good. The notebook was giving Jarrod a small glimpse into the depth of his brother's exhaustion and the need to treat Heath as he would any other injured person. His brother might not have a wound to treat, a fever to bring down, or a broken bone to care for but Heath was injured in a far deeper sense. Jarrod was beginning to wonder how the entire family could have missed seeing his pain before this crisis engulfed the young man.

He made himself comfortable in the cot Jarrod had the hotel personnel place at the bottom of Heath's bed. There was no reason to keep the other room since Jarrod didn't intend to leave Heath alone. The only time he left the sleeping man was to quickly send a telegram to their family in Stockton. Jarrod had no intention of leaving Heath again.

The dulled lamp light gave an eerie glow to their room. Jarrod woke up slowly and wondered what aroused him. The room was cold but Heath always slept with a window cracked and his brother left the hotel window cracked for him. He reached to pull the covers closer but suddenly became aware the temperature of the room was not what pulled him from a deep sleep.

"Heath?"

Jarrod quickly moved from the cot towards the sound of heavy breathing. He didn't look towards the bed automatically sensing his younger brother was no longer sleeping there. Jarrod found Heath curled up in a ball on the floor beneath the window, covered in sweat, and shaking uncontrollably.

He moved back to the bed and pulled off the quilt. Returning to the crippled man, Jarrod wrapped the quilt around him and then moved away to find some warmth for himself. He sat down and waited for Heath's body to stop shaking. It seemed an eternity before Heath gained any control of himself or knowledge of his surroundings.

"I'm sorry, Jarrod."

Heath used the strength he could muster to push himself into an upright position with his back against the wall. Jarrod was a few feet from him. His older brother sat directly across from Heath with his back resting against the empty bed. They sat for a while as Heath continued to gain control of himself and his breathing.

"Wait a minute," Jarrod reached and pushed Heath back down when he tried to rise, "you aren't going anywhere, Heath."

"I'm okay and you need some sleep. I'll sit here by the window while you go back to bed."

"No," Jarrod leaned forward and spoke sternly, "we are going to talk about what just happened here. I want you to tell me what happened."

Heath started to think about arguing but silence seemed an better option.

"You are sick, Heath. Very sick and the only way to get better is to talk to someone. I'm here and we have all the time in the world. Start talking."

Heath pulled the quilt tightly across his body. He suddenly felt extremely cold but Jarrod's body language and tone convinced him it was going to be a long night. Heath rested his head back on the wall and stared at the ceiling. Could Jarrod be right? Would Heath feel better if he talked or would it only muddle his mind further. Should he trust Jarrod?

"It was just another one of my crazy dreams, Jarrod. Nothing to get all riled about."

Jarrod didn't answer for a long moment.

"Heath," Jarrod's voice was no longer stern, "your dreams aren't crazy and neither are you. I'm not saying one late night talk will stop all your nightmares, change the defensive habits you learned at Carterson such as not enjoying being surprised, or even settle your mind about all the experiences your life has offered thus far. All I'm saying is talking about what's happened since Major McConnell's visit last spring sent you into this crisis might disarm whatever is bothering you at this moment. It will take years of talking and continued effort from you to overcome all the other horrors you've endured."

Heath didn't answer but Jarrod somehow knew his younger brother was merely thinking his words through and not giving him the silent treatment. He settled back against the bed and silently called on his father, their father, for direction. The moment of contemplation helped and Jarrod felt relaxed in his confrontation with Heath. He settled in to wait out Heath's silence.

"I don't understand what's happened to me since the Major's visit, Jarrod. How do I talk about something I don't understand?"

Jarrod smiled and quietly replied, "Just talk, Heath. We'll figure it out as we go."

Heath began slowly by talking about his feelings when he saw McConnell again after so many years. He talked about how his former commander's visit reminded him of those early war feelings which surged through Heath knowing he was judged good enough to be a part of a crack sharpshooter outfit.

Heath remembered concentrating on his mission. Then, without warning or explanation, the boy's surroundings became too confused, he was too tired, and shock set in too fast for Heath to react to witnessing his company, his friends, being sacrificed on Lookout Mountain. Most of the trip, to and through New Mexico, was lost to him forever after the experiences Heath suffered in Tennessee.

Jarrod sat silent and completely captured by his brother's words. Heath revealed that, despite what his family and others presumed, he consciously remembered very little of his experiences between the ambush in New Mexico and waking up after some surgery on his back in an Union Army Hospital in California. The rest came to him in bits and pieces through dreams, nightmares, or unforeseen memories when Heath least expected them.

"When I've tried to sort out how I felt about Major McConnell, my mind simply won't function. I figured it was best to not think about him, or my feelings, but you sure are right, Jarrod."

Heath remained silent so Jarrod prompted him. "Thanks, Heath, but right about what?"

Heath smiled for the first time in days, replying, "Something about seeing McConnell, after eight long years, did seem to mix me up, my mind I mean. Do you think I'm jealous?"

"Of what or who?"

"Major McConnell."

"Okay, what if you are? Why?"

"Because he was our commander. McConnell was supposed to take care of us. He was supposed to get us home. Because ..."

Jarrod leaned forward as Heath's voice quieted and he seemed to be deeper in thought.

"Because?"

Heath closed his eyes and took a deep breath, whispering, "Because he didn't go to Carterson and I did."

Jarrod didn't say anything. What was there to say? Perhaps Heath had tripped over something that was bothering him but it was also a fact of history and there was no way to change it.

"Nobody ever defines my service during the war by my outfit. I guess I don't either. I define my years in the US Army by my eleven months in Carterson. Funny, Major McConnell is the only man I've known since April, 1865, who thinks of me as other than a former POW. To the Major, I am a former sharpshooter. How I wish that was all I was or am. I guess he got me thinking."

They sat for a time while Heath's mind spun off towards places, faces, and battles he hadn't remembered for years. Jarrod sat and thought through the words they shared. The cold night air, dimly lit lamp, and their covers spread out around them on the floor made for a strange picture but neither man cared.

"Tell me about Carterson, Heath. What do you remember?"

"Not much, really. I wouldn't lie to you about that, Jarrod."

"What do you dream about?"

"I dream mostly faces. Some are friends, some are the guards, and some I couldn't place if my life depended on it. I do distinctly remember Matt Bentell and the two head guards but seeing them with clarity seems to make them less frightening to me. God, I truly hate them. I don't care if it is a sin."

Jarrod knew the last part of Heath's statement was meant not only for his ears but was offered for the entire Barkley family to hear. He let it ride, quickly deciding to readdress the Barkley's relationship with their lumber camp supervisor at another time. One thing was for certain during this moment he was sharing with his youngest brother, Jarrod would no longer support efforts to send Heath to work with Bentell at the camp nor would he again accept Matt Bentell's presence in their Stockton home.

Heath continued to share bits, pieces, and aberrations from his scattered memories of Carterson. Jarrod silently listened, occasionally shed a tear, and allowed Heath to rid himself of the venom these trapped experiences had been releasing into his soul. The sky was close to allowing the first glimpses of light brighten its edges when Heath's voice fell silent. Jarrod watched as his brother seemed to, once again, be drained of every inch of his strength.

"We can't let this conversation end until you tell me about Jimmy, Heath."

"Jimmy?"

"Yes," Jarrod eased across and laid his hand on Heath's knee, "I want to know about Jimmy."

The mere mention of the name robbed Jarrod's blonde brother of his remaining energy. Heath closed his eyes and appeared to sink into the wall. Jarrod moved closer and helped his brother lay down on the floor with his back remaining against the wall. Heath's breathing began to get ragged and his mind swam out of control. Jarrod wrapped Heath tight in the quilt, pulled his covers around his tired form, and stayed close.

"Jimmy," Jarrod whispered, "tell me about your friend, Jimmy."

Heath fought for control but wasn't panicked somehow knowing Jarrod was keeping his promise. Jarrod was close and wouldn't leave. Heath rubbed his face hard with his right hand and let his hand rest back down on Jarrod's shoulder. Time seemed to stop leaving the men frozen.

"OH, GOD," Heath moaned and then shuttered, "I PROMISED!"

Jarrod waited knowing Heath was no longer in the room but traveling back in time with his thoughts. He used these moments to calm himself. Heath's reaction to the mention of Jimmy's name frightened him and Jarrod wondered if he had done the correct thing. Time they had and only time would give Jarrod his answers.

"I promised," Heath barely whispered, "Jimmy, I promised. Oh, Sweet Jesus, I promised I wouldn't leave."

Jarrod froze completely. Forcing Heath towards this particular memory could either help his brother heal or send Heath into another world forever. Jarrod put his arm around Heath's back and held on tight. The shakes began their vicious work on Heath's tired form. Their conversation was over.

Victoria managed to remain polite with Sally Morgan and Mamie Long. They were picking up their mail when she arrived at the telegraph office in Stockton.

"My goodness, Victoria," Sally chirped, "you must have left the ranch before sunrise to make it into Stockton this early. I hope what you are hoping to find is in Floyd's office."

Victoria smiled and nodded to Floyd Peterson, the telegraph and postal office manager. He quietly moved to the Barkley mail slot and added the contents to the telegraph which arrived the evening before. Victoria smiled and once more nodded her gratitude but had no intention of stopping to talk. Sally and Mamie were some of the worst gossips in Stockton and Victoria had no intention of wasting time with them.

"Victoria," Mamie stepped close and tried to watch over her shoulder as the woman started to open her telegram, "is everything all right?"

Victoria stopped and didn't open the message although every inch of her soul longed to read the contents. She slowed down her movements and turned to face the two women with a smile on her face. Nonchalantly, Victoria dropped the entire pile of correspondence into her shopping basket as if she truly didn't care about the items.

"I'm fine," Victoria started for the door, "I have missed Audra while she stayed with Millie Anderson. She had a grand time helping with those new twins but I'm anxious to have her home. I'm on my way there this morning which should explain my early start."

The women were stopped dead in their tracks. Victoria thought of the perfect excuse since they both knew how close Victoria Barkley was to all of her children. By the time they regrouped, and thought of new questions, Victoria was back up in her buggy, quickly offered a wave, and headed straight out of town.

A few miles from town, Victoria stopped the buggy in a favorite spot. She looked around and saw no other riders on the road. Feeling alone, and safe, she pulled the basket up on the seat next to her and ripped open the telegram from Jarrod. A heartfelt smile rose to cover her face as she took in his words and felt relief sink into her for the first time since Jarrod rode away from the ranch. The telegraph message was short but wonderful.

HEATH IS SAFE. WE WILL BE STAYING IN GARLAND. WILL TELEGRAPH OUR TRAVEL PLANS WHEN KNOWN. ALL IS WELL.

LOVE, JARROD

Victoria closed her eyes in prayer but her mind refused to concentrate. She kept seeing the words "HEATH IS SAFE." Jarrod knew her well and placed this part of the message first for many reasons. To ease her mind and reassure their mother not to travel or let anyone else travel to Texas. Jarrod was taking care of things and "HEATH IS SAFE."

She reread the message one more time and then took some deep breaths. Victoria took a moment to flip through the mail before heading back to the ranch. Her hands stopped instantly when Victoria's eyes recognized Heath's handwriting across an envelope addressed only to her. She put the rest of the papers down and quickly tore into Heath's letter.

Dear Mother,

I know I do not deserve your forgiveness but continue to beg your forgiveness. I will never recover from the knowledge that I hurt you. I cannot forgive myself for the weakness I've allowed to overtake me. I hope your wrists are healing and will never forget the horrid marks my own hands left on one I cherish beyond measure.

I am presently in Garland, Texas. I tell you this but, in the same breath, must ask you not to share this information with anyone else in our family. Please, do not allow anyone to follow me or spend their time attempting to bring me home. I am not worthy of our home.

Mother, I don't know what is wrong with me. Whatever is bothering me is somehow centered near this place, a few miles east, at the site of Carterson. It is terribly deep and refuses to let go of my mind. I have become a hindrance to the ranch's efficiency since Nick must stay by my side at all times to prevent my hurting others or myself. I cannot live like this and Nick should not be asked to live like this either.

Being here in Garland, reminds me of one of many why questions in my life. Why did I survive when thousands of my comrades did not? I will never know the answer to this question. I do know I've spent years avoiding this question and can no longer do so. These past six months have left me defeated, exhausted, and confused.

I have passionately prayed for God to strike me down. My prayers have, thus far, gone unanswered. My mind is terribly fogged but perhaps He has led me to this place.

I do not remember leaving Carterson the first time. My immediate energies were used up recovering my physical health. I took no time to consider what happened to me, my friends, or how I felt about our imprisonment. Over the past six months, the spirits from Carterson have taken over my very being. I no longer know how to fight or if I should. I question God's wisdom in allowing me to leave this place the first time.

God alone knows when we will see each other again. Please, forgive me. I am no good to anyone, including myself, at the present time. I must find my way home.

I love you, Mother. Heath

Victoria's first reaction was one of immediate relief. She was relieved Jarrod was with her obviously dangerously distraught son, Heath. Victoria was also grateful Heath's letter found her attention after the telegram arrived assuring her the two men were safe and together far away in Texas. She went back to the ranch after a brief visit with Audra and the Andersons. She placed Heath's letter in her personal Bible to be read, reread, and read over and over leaving Victoria feeling closer to her youngest son than she ever dreamt possible.

Jarrod left Heath behind at the opening in the white picket fence. Heath's oldest brother decided he must get well despite the horrors and pain. For the Barkley brothers, there was no going back. Jarrod made a decision to push his younger sibling forward into uncharted territory. Watching the convulsive shaking, which was strong enough to rattle Jarrod's teeth, while holding his brother convinced Jarrod to take bold steps in forcing Heath to remember.

Back in the hotel room, Heath froze Jarrod out and seemed truly incapable of revealing any more information concerning Carterson or the friend so often mentioned in Heath's lists, Jimmy. Until a hour after sunrise, the two men sat on the floor together while Heath's breathing raged, his skin became wet and clammy, and his entire body shook incessantly. In the end, Heath was unable to share any more of his demons with Jarrod. The brothers cleaned up, dressed, and left the hotel in silence. Remounted on their rented horses, they rode to the former prison camp without needing to discuss the plan for their day.

They tethered their mounts in the northern tree line and headed for one of the intermittent openings in the picket fence. Jarrod casually strolled through the gate but Heath stood frozen outside. Jarrod left Heath behind and proceeded to walk past row after row of white headstones all carrying the same message "US ARMY UNKNOWN". He peeked back at Heath seeing the younger man slowly sink to the ground. Jarrod walked for an hour among the sad scene then, returned to his brother's side.

"Can you talk about it?"

Jarrod sat down next to his pale sibling. Heath was sitting Indian style in the tall grass with his eyes closed and his back to the cemetery. Jarrod settled in to wait for his often silent brother to speak.

"I should be buried in there with them, Jarrod. This sounds crazy but I can't go in the cemetery. If I walk into the cemetery, I will never walk out whole. It is something way down here ..."

Jarrod didn't reply as he watched Heath run his hand over his sternum.

Heath sat for a while then glared at Jarrod. "You shouldn't have come. I was supposed to come here by myself. I was supposed to ..."

Heath lowered his head into his hands. He was distraught but not emotional. Jarrod sensed Heath was angry with his presence.

"Well, I'm glad I am here. I'm sure I was meant to be here. This isn't your home anymore, Heath. Carterson is not and was not to be your final resting place."

Heath raised an eyebrow and stared over at his sibling. Jarrod's knowledge of Heath's thoughts gave him cause to attempt to reorganize and clear his mind.

"I'm going for a walk." Jarrod stood up and then, squatted down to put his face in Heath's, sternly added, "I'm here for as long as it takes. You, Heath Morgan Thomson BARKLEY, are leaving with me when I get back on a train heading west from this horrid place. When you are ready, we are going HOME. I have no intention of letting this place, these spirits, or your mind steal you from our family."

Jarrod stomped off and Heath collapsed back into the grass to stare at the sky. He closed his eyes and could hear the sounds of camp. He held on to his wrists sensing the ropes which held him to the whipping post tightening on him once more. Heath's flashbacks had been growing in clarity and length for months now but this was absolutely real to him. Heath rolled on his side feeling his scars turn to open wounds across his back, hips, buttocks, and thighs. The pain was unbearable.

He closed his eyes tighter but the darkness did not reduce the intensity of the flashback.. Heath's breathing began to fail him and he searched his mind for an escape. They were coming. He hated them. Oh, please, make them stop.

"Hang on, Boy. Make yourself well. Rest back now, believe in tomorrow, and let yourself heal. I got ya. You are safe now, Boy."

Heath shot up into an upright position. He hadn't heard the man's voice since ... Well, he didn't know. It was when he was sick, deathly ill, near the end of his time at Carterson. Yes, that was it. The kind man with the low voice. A voice similar to Nick's. Where was the kind man? Surely he was close.

Heath searched around for the man behind the voice. He stood still looking around. There, over there, there was a man. No one else anywhere to be seen. The man with the voice had helped and Heath sensed the man would help, again. He ran with all the strength he could pull together..

"Heath?"

Jarrod turned in time to catch Heath as he collapsed in his arms.

"Where's the man?"

"What man?"

Heath was covered in sweat and looking around with a dazed haze in his eyes. Jarrod suddenly realized, Heath was in some sort of semi-conscious state. He stayed close when his brother sat back up on his knees and frantically searched the cemetery with his eyes.

"He's gone." Heath lowered his chin to his chest.

Jarrod reached out and touched Heath's shoulder. Heath looked up through refocused eyes and searched Jarrod's eyes seeing only kindness, care, and love.

"I'm sorry, Jarrod. I heard the man. The man who helped me before."

Heath paused for a moment realizing how insane this conversation must sound to Jarrod.

"I need help, Jarrod. Oh, God, I'm afraid and I need help."

Jarrod reached over and pulled Heath close. They held on as Heath finally dropped any thought of fighting to keep Jarrod away. The door was open but should Jarrod walk in. Jarrod and Heath sat for a long time while the younger man gathered himself. Finally, he looked around and was stunned to realize they were in the middle of the cemetery. He turned and put his hand on the closest white marker. Heath rubbed it gently and closed his eyes in prayer.

"I don't know," Heath finally whispered, "I don't know why God picked me."

Jarrod thought for a moment, whispering his response, "We aren't to know God's plans. I'm glad, Heath. I'm so terribly glad you lived."

Heath opened his eyes and found Jarrod's. They shared a small smile.

"Walk with me?"

Jarrod nodded and they found their way to the lower corner of the cemetery. It took four long days for the brothers to walk the rows at Carterson's cemetery. Jarrod proudly stood by his brother's side as Heath paid respects to each man left behind in this place of terror, disease, and shame. Each step, each good-bye, and each tear strengthened the men and helped Jarrod convince Heath he could learn to live once more.

They were packed and ready for the morning train. It was early evening but Jarrod sank into the cot and immediately fell into a deep sleep. Their days in Carterson cemetery had been mentally and physically exhausting. Riding back late this afternoon, Jarrod finally sensed Heath was truly riding by his side and not leaving his spirit back inside the forever running white picket fences of Carterson.

Heath was resting by the open window and smiled when he heard Jarrod's familiar heavy breathing fill their room. He thought about trying to sleep himself but the nightmares were still with him and probably would be forever. Heath reviewed the work he would need to do in order to gain control of the wounds from Carterson and go on with his life.

The Army cared for his physical wounds but had not addressed what happens to a man, a boy, when he is put into a situation such as Carterson. Heath knew the scars of combat were somewhere deep inside him also but they never had a chance to surface because Carterson overwhelmed them, too. Strange how the mind chooses to hold on to some matters yet, can leave a man making excuses for forgetting an important birthday or anniversary.

Heath smiled and shook his head. The air coming in the window began to carry a chill and he settled further into his chair. Heath drifted off ... Or did he? It was time to leave, wasn't it? He rewalked every inch of the Carterson cemetery with Jarrod in his mind. Over the past four days, Heath personally touched and paid respects at each white marker. Hadn't he done what he could? Didn't he ...

Heath Barkley stood and quietly left the room. It wasn't time for him to return to Stockton. There was something else ... Something more. Whatever was bothering Heath was buried deep in his memories and would not set him free. If he left Garland without facing this thing, this monster, inside him ... Heath mounted his horse and rode into the darkness.

Heath rode over the now familiar rise. The full moon gently glowed across the haunted landscape before him. He rode to the usual spot and began to turn his horse north towards the tree line. Suddenly he stopped and knew this was not the path he must travel this night, his last night at Carterson.

Jarrod would never know what disturbed his exhausted slumber. He woke up and immediately dressed never questioning what he needed to do. The livery was closed for the night so he paid twenty dollars to the bartender for the use of a horse. Without hesitation, Jarrod turned east and rode out of town. The fear and apprehension Jarrod felt, when he first arrived in Garland searching for Heath, returned to his chest and fought for control of his thoughts. Would he be in time?

Jarrod was never so glad for a full moon in all his days. He urged the horse into a gallop and found himself in silent prayer each foot of the way back to camp. Before the last rise in the road, Jarrod began to turn his mount towards the tree line fully expecting to find his brother back in the cemetery.

He rode hard for their familiar spot but panicked when he didn't find Heath's horse tethered anywhere in sight. Jarrod began to ride south along the white picket fence while straining to see his brother's form anywhere inside the cemetery. Suddenly, something caught his side vision and Jarrod realized Heath's horse was wandering towards him from down in the large empty area south of the cemetery.

Jarrod tied the horses to the white fence and began to find his way down into the vast flat space below. The moonlight glinted off the brown dirt and intermittent clumps of weeds. He looked ahead and noticed the bright shine as the moonlight danced off the railroad tracks on the far side of the empty field. Was Heath here? How would he find him? Suddenly, a flash of moonlight reflected off a bit of metal somewhere to Jarrod's left. He turned and carefully jogged ahead.

Heath held his colt in his lap between both of his hands. Strange how a cold metal object could command supreme power over men and beasts. He slid a finger across the handle's familiar etching of a Barkley brand, moved his right fingers around the hammer and trigger, and finally, Heath thought about what to do. Hannah would insist Heath was dooming himself to eternal damnation but what was this Hell he already suffered while playing at being alive. Besides, bastards have a questionable afterlife status. Heath smiled and thought about all the possibilities folks enjoyed spitting into his face over the years.

"NO." Heath dropped that line of thought.

If those people were right that would mean his mother, Leah Thomson, wasn't in Heaven. If God ever put a woman who deserved to go to Heaven on earth, it was Heath's mother. Heath turned his thoughts to the God of Hannah, Aunt Rachel, and his mother. A kind Father, a loving God, and a Supreme Being with love enough for all, good or bad, legitimate or bastard, strong or worn down by life's various batterings. The religious stories kinder people offered flooded Heath's mind. Stories which included a God who loved all His children no matter their earthly mistakes, misunderstandings, and sins.

He lowered his head and stared at the gun in his lap. Heath thought about how easy death would be. No more nightmares, no more flashbacks, no more shakes, and best of all no more guilt. Yes, guilt and sorrow so strong his bones ached. Guilt Heath felt knowing he was here, alive, sitting in the dirt, staring at the full moon, and the fences were gone. Heath could get up and walk back out. He could move away from this acre of evil land which used to be Carterson. Heath could leave ... Couldn't he?

He felt the gun in his hands. Tears began down his cheeks which confused him. Shouldn't Heath be glad to go? Wasn't it easier for everyone all around? Lord knows the Barkleys didn't mean to take on a crazy man, blood relative or not. His body suddenly became too heavy for him to manage and Heath fell back in the dirt unable to feel, move, or think.

"Hang on, Boy. Make yourself well. Rest back now, believe in tomorrow, and let yourself heal. I got ya. You are safe now, Boy."

Heath slowly became aware of the kind voice, a presence, a man beside him. The man washed his face with cool water and cooed comforting words. He tried to find the man's face with his eyes but found the energy to do so elusive. Heath didn't fight falling deeper into the trance of total, complete, and utter defeat.

Jarrod stopped a few feet from Heath and took some deep breaths. Moving forward slowly, he dropped to his knees at his brother's side.

"Thank, God!"

Jarrod removed the colt revolver from Heath's limp hand and laid it aside with sincere gratitude his brother hadn't used it. He stoked Heath's cheek and watched him lay motionless. The boy was staring at the sky as if he saw someone or something invisible to Jarrod. Heath didn't seem frightened or upset so Jarrod ran back to the horses for blankets and water. He rushed back and began to care for is brother.

"You're going to be fine, Heath. Let yourself heal. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere."

Heath was hearing many voices but one began to pull him towards it. He felt the cool cloth swab his face and tried desperately to move.

"Here, here ... You rest. I'm right beside you."

Heath felt someone push his shoulders down and pull a blanket up surrounding him with warmth. He finally began to focus and found Jarrod's concerned face hovering over him.

"Jarrod?"

"Yes, Brother Heath, I'm right here."

Heath took the hand his brother offered, whispering, "I thought you were ..."

"Who? Tell me who you see."

Heath closed his eyes and saw the man's face. It was a kind face. A face covered with tears. It was the face of the man who saved him. Heath sat straight up as he clearly remembered a part of his past previously thought lost to him forever. Jarrod watched his brother smile as Heath enjoyed the face in his mind.

"I remember, Jarrod. I remember the Sergeant who saved me. He washed my face and talked real quiet to me. The Sergeant picked me up and carried me. The big, burly, Union Sergeant said 'Hang on, Boy. Make yourself well. Rest back now, believe in tomorrow, and let yourself heal. I got ya. You are safe now, Boy.'"

Heath instantly dropped his smile. He stood up and turned away from Jarrod towards the rows of white markers. The Sergeant's voice brought Heath back that day, after he decided it was okay to stop fighting ... It was all right to die. The face, the voice, and the kindness of the large man convinced the young boy not to leave and to continue to fight. Heath closed his eyes and took in a large deep breath. It was a good face. A kind US Army Sergeant dressed in blue sent to help liberate Carterson saved Heath's life that day so long ago. Heath's smile returned as he remembered the rows of blue uniforms filing through the front gate and many other long forgotten memories.

Jarrod stood up and joined him. His heart sailed when he noted the clear focus in his brother's eyes.

"I'm sorry, Jarrod. Sorry, I dragged you out here in the middle of the night."

"I'm not sorry, not one bit sorry."

Heath turned surprised with Jarrod's remarks. Jarrod put his arm around Heath's shoulder.

"I told you we'd stay until you were ready to go home. Tonight, tomorrow, it does not matter, I'm going to stay here until you are ready."

Heath nodded his head in appreciation and took one last look up the rise to the endless rows of markers. He turned and looked back to where the former prison's front gates used to be ... Gates which remained clearly visible to Heath.

"I'll be ready in a minute, Jarrod."

Jarrod stood and watched as Heath squared is shoulders, stood straight, and walked slowly but with certainty down through the empty field. His younger brother headed towards the railroad tracks then turned west walking on for a good half mile before stopping. Jarrod jogged up and retrieved the horses. He rode to Heath's side after the younger man turned around and seemed to be taking in some great accomplishment which Jarrod failed to understand.

Jarrod held out the reins to Heath's horse, whispering, "Ready?"

Heath smiled and nodded his head. The young man mounted and they rode silently back to town. The brothers had just enough time to grab their things and make the train. A train Heath insisted he was ready to board.

Jarrod woke with a start having had a bad dream of his own. The train was clicking along and Heath was once more not in his seat. He stood up and shook off his nightmare then headed for the stairs outside the passenger car where Jarrod knew to find his younger brother.

Heath was staring at the countryside but had the notebook Jarrod bought him for the trip secured in his lap. He glanced up at Jarrod and smiled. Jarrod took a seat on the platform and reached for the notebook. Heath and Jarrod agreed it was going to take a lifetime of work to keep Heath's mind on an even keel. The younger man agreed to keep the notebooks and share their contents plus, his thoughts, feelings, and dreams. Jarrod promised to listen and share his own life experiences.

Jarrod gazed down at the portrait Heath had been working on all day. He had tried to capture the face on multiple pages but scratched many out and started over. On the last page, Jarrod found two wonderful pictures. One was four very young men, soldiers, smiling as they gathered around in a group. The other picture was of one of the men from the group, a close up of his face. None of the men resembled the burly old army sergeant from Heath's Carterson memories. Jarrod smiled when he immediately recognized one of the smiling soldiers was a very young Heath Thomson.

"Jimmy took care of me. James Dabney was from up in the Redlands area, north of San Francisco. Jimmy seemed old to me but he was only about the age I am now. I met him right after basic training when the army was pulling together McConnell's company. It was me, Jimmy, Davey, and Noah. We did everything, went everywhere, and spent every moment together. It was great fun until we were deployed and then everything was deadly serious.

"We lost Noah on Lookout Mountain and Davey just before we were captured up in New Mexico. Jimmy took me under his wing when the Rebs marched us miles through the desert with no food or water. I had been sick with the runs for a week or two before that march and I still can't figure how Jimmy got me through. By the time we reached Carterson, I was more dead than alive.

"Jimmy was frightened to be left alone. All through our internment, I promised Jimmy I would stay with him. We'd always stay together. I reckon it was that promise, and Jimmy's care, which gave me the strength to hold on many days when I would have preferred to close my eyes and give up."

Heath glanced back at Jarrod and smiled. Jarrod felt his gaze and looked up from the pictures before him. He had been running his fingers on the sketch of the youngster from Strawberry who was far too young to be so far from home.

"For the first week, or maybe two, Jimmy stayed right by my side and took care of me." Heath returned his gaze to the distant horizon. "Over the next eleven months, it was Jimmy and me. When he got wiped, I took care of him, and when I got strung up, it was Jimmy who pulled me through."

"You promised to stay with me, Heath. You promised." Jimmy's voice screeched across Heath's mind.

Heath Barkley was not asleep and had no where to run to escape his demon. Heath leaned over and rested his head on the wall of the train car. There was no more denying whose voice had been haunting him for all these years and trying to overtake his soul these past six months. It was Jimmy. James Dabney wanted Heath to fulfill his promise and stay at Carterson with him. Heath started to feel the strength drain from his body.

Jarrod sensed the moment. He closed the notebook and leaned forward to give Heath his strength by touching the boy's shoulder. Heath accepted the gesture and took some deep breaths before continuing.

"By the end, we were both in really bad shape. The Rebs never had any food or decent water for themselves so the prisoners didn't get anything. Spring of '65 was unusually warm and dry in Texas. Jimmy and I spent those last few days crawling around camp in search of shade."

They sat quiet for a good ten minutes while Heath worked to control the shakes which threatened to take over and never let go. Finally, he turned and leveled his gaze towards Jarrod.

"We didn't talk about it but we both knew it was time. I looked into Jimmy's eyes and smiled before telling him we fought a good fight and he nodded to me. We leaned back on the guard's outhouse which wasn't even giving us shade any more. I remember taking a deep breath, looking up at the clear blue sky, and giving up. I willed myself to the sky. It was so easy, terribly refreshing. Incredibly easy after all those months of fighting to stay alive.

"Instantly, I felt myself let go. The pain stopped and I was floating."

Heath looked down at his shoes and rubbed his face. He was amazed at the clarity of these long lost memories rushing into his mind. Jarrod stayed by his brother's side completely silenced by the noble story Heath was trusting him to hear.

After a few deep breaths, Heath continued, "I have no idea how long we rested there after deciding it was time to let go. It could have been one minute, five minutes, a day, a month, or a year. I didn't care.

"Then I felt someone close to me. I thought it was an angel and tried to open my eyes but they were locked shut. The person was saying something and I remember thinking I must be dead because he wasn't yelling at me or hurting me in any way. Instead, he was wiping my face with a cool cloth. It felt wonderful."

Heath stopped and let his head drop down. He wasn't sad, simply numb. Numb and tired. The tired which had been assailing him these long months. A tired which made Heath aware of every bone in his body because they all ached for peace and rest.

Jarrod moved beside Heath, quietly asking, "What happened, Heath? Tell me what happened."

Heath kept his head down and his eyes closed, whispering, "The Sergeant picked me up and carried me away from Jimmy. I left Jimmy. Jimmy had to find his way to the other side alone while the sergeant carried me to the ambulance. I remember starting to realize the man carrying me wasn't an angel and I didn't want to leave Jimmy. I opened my eyes then, tried to turn or fight, but my body wouldn't assist me. When the Sergeant laid me down in the ambulance, he told me to live, ordered me. Then he did the strangest thing, Jarrod."

Heath lifted his eyes and Jarrod could see the confusion the memory was creating.

"He kissed my forehead, Jarrod. The man was the biggest old army sergeant you could ever meet. I saw his tears, felt them on my skin, and he gave me the most sincere kiss right here on my head."

Heath lifted his hand and gently rubbed his forehead.

"I didn't understand it but it felt good. I let myself fall asleep and don't remember anything until a month later in California." Heath's eyes grew misty, he choked out, "I left Jimmy there all alone, Jarrod. I promised, Jimmy, and I broke my promise."

Jarrod pulled Heath close and held on tight. He felt the shakes torturing his brother's body.

Heath whispered, "I'm sorry. Jarrod. I'm so, so, sorry I left Jimmy there."

"I know, Heath," Jarrod whispered in his ear, "I know you feel bad you left Jimmy but you didn't let Jimmy down. Jimmy would be proud of you and of the life you've built. Your friend, Jimmy, simply wasn't as strong as you."

Heath leaned back against the car wall and looked deep into Jarrod face.

"Heath, you were a fifteen-year-old boy, your mind and your body were stronger. YOU were stronger! Yes, you were stronger than your friend, Jimmy. You didn't do anything wrong when you listened to the Army Sergeant by deciding to live and hope for tomorrow."

They arrived home the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. Heath and Jarrod shared only the story they agreed to reveal on their train ride back to Stockton. Audra, Nick, and Victoria didn't care the men seemed to be guarding their Texas experience. The family was simply grateful to be back together and ready to celebrate the holidays as a whole unit.

Victoria stayed up and talked into the night with Jarrod. They discussed the long road Heath had before him. It was not an easy path back to his mental and physical health. They agreed it was a road the entire Barkley family would gladly walk with him. Victoria smiled hearing the pride in Jarrod's words as he spoke of Heath.

Audra, Nick, and Heath turned in hours before their mother quietly walked up the stairs. Victoria knew from Jarrod's kiss, he intended to stay up and stare at the fire for a long time. She left her oldest son to think through and organize his thoughts about all the events in Texas. Jarrod needed to do this and would feel better once he settled things in his mind.

Instead of slipping into bed, she strolled back down the hall to her youngest son's room. Heath was sitting on the floor by the window and Victoria automatically moved to his side assuming the young man had endured another nightmare.

"Mother?"

Victoria smiled and brushed her hand through his blonde hair before taking a seat next to him on the floor.

"Are you ..."

"I"m fine, Mother. If you look up just the right way," Heath's arm pointed the way for her eyes, he whispered, "you can see the North Star clear as can be."

Victoria didn't look at the star. She focused her attention on Heath's face and saw peace for the first time in months. She rubbed his cheek before sliding close as he wrapped a strong arm around her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Mother."

"Sorry, Sweetheart? What do you have to be sorry about?"

"Well, I certainly did show up here with a lot more baggage than even I knew about."

Victoria didn't answer. She jokingly put an elbow into Heath's ribs and then smiled. Heath held tight to Victoria and swallowed hard.

"Have I told you recently how proud I am of you, Heath Barkley? How proud your father would be. It's true, don't turn your head away from me."

Heath turned back, nodded, and held Victoria tighter. They sat in silence and enjoyed being together. There would be other nights when they were together after one of Heath's nightmares but for tonight they enjoyed being at peace.

Jarrod sank down into his favorite chair with a shot of their best whiskey. He stared into the fire taking in the joy he felt being home. His eyes slowly moved to take in the portrait of Tom Barkley before him. Heath was sick but with his family's love, and time, Jarrod felt sure the young man would grow stronger. Heath needed time to recover from all the years he was forced to fight through life without giving himself a chance to assimilate the many experiences from his youth.

"Heath really is something special, Father."

Jarrod raised his glass in a toast then downed the shot.

FYI: Most victims of PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) suffer and fight symptoms of their disease for the rest of their lives. PTSD can effect any physical or mental trauma victim but has generally been associated with combat veterans. (Trauma examples = car accidents, rape, domestic violence, armed burglary, combat duty, etc.)

As of 1992, US military records show 58,000 of our service men/women were killed during the Vietnam War. The records also show, between 1975-1992, an additional 50,000 Vietnam veteran's deaths can be directly related to their being victims of PTSD.

PTSD is documented through the medical records, personal journals, letters, and scientific studies of it's military victims. Records confirming the existence of PTSD have been found dating from the Revolutionary War through the recent peace mission in Bosnia.

If you, or someone you, know suffers from this disease, please, seek help. You are not alone. There are new treatments available and most victims can be saved.

Copyright L.E.Connell, November, 1999. Revised May, 2001.