In Stockton, Jarrod, Victoria and Audra watched tensely the train slowly pulled into the station. They nudged their way through the throng of people welcoming passengers alighting from the cars.

Nick sat with a vacant expression glued to the window, unaware that the train had come to a halt. The teeming platform gradually roused him from his apathy. He blinked some humor back into his dry eyes, drew in a deep breath and stood from his seat. As he followed the last passenger to the end of the wagon, he suddenly found himself at the grip of an icy clutch of dread. He stopped briefly to regain his composure before stepping onto the end balcony.

“Nick!” Victoria greeted smilingly, clenching him into a warm motherly embrace. Nick tried but couldn’t summon the strength to hug her back. “Welcome back.” She pulled away and sought out his traveling companion. “Where’s Heath?”

Nick kept his eyes downcast to avoid her stare. She placed her fingers underneath his chin to raise his head. “Where’s your brother?” she asked sternly, her glare whipping his already shattered soul.

Nick’s face puckered as tears threatened. His chest tightened when he tried to utter the dreaded words. “He’s…” his head turned to the tail of the train where two rail men were seen unloading the casket out of the boxcar.

Three pair of eyes traveled down the path of Nick’s stare to widen in horror at the plain wooden crate that held their loved one’s remains. Nick clamped his eyes shut to dam up the pool of tears flooding his eyes and gulped down the stinging lump forming in his throat. He bit his upper lip and, inhaling a shuddering breath, spoke solemnly of the explosion at the depot where Heath was picking up a special package. He glanced over Victoria’s shoulder at Jarrod, standing stock-still in the background with his arm around Audra’s shoulders. His reaction was of total shock.

Nick reached inside the saddlebag he held in his hand and pulled out Heath’s gun. “We found it next to the charred human remains.” He delicately placed the item in his distraught mother’s palm.

Her stare dwelled on the golden eagle plate that slowly prompted horrific images to dance before her eyes. She scrunched them together as her heart welled up with pain and, folding her fingers around the gun, she quavered, “Did he suffer?”

“I wasn’t actually there when it happened, but folks in town said the blast was such that…” he paused to sigh, “no, he couldn’t have. He didn’t know what hit him.”

“Nick, what caused the explosion?” Jarrod asked.

“They don’t know yet, and frankly I don’t really care. It’s not gonna bring him back.”

Audra buried her tear-bedewed face into Jarrod’s chest to stifle her sobs.

“Jarrod, did you come in the rig?”

“Yes Nick.”

“Good. Why don’t you take Mother and Audra back while I take care of the horses and the c…” his voice faltered at the word.

Jarrod nodded and stepped up to Victoria. “Come on, Mother. Let’s go home.” He folded his arm around her shoulders, squeezing it lightly, and held out his other arm for his sister.

With a heavy heart, Nick watched them disappear behind a corner. Once his grieving family out of sight, he walked over to the station manager’s office to fill out the required form before asking two men to help him load the casket in the back of the wagon.

Dr. Verner dropped by the Whitfield farm to check on his patient’s progress. In the past tormenting hours, Georgia had been Heath’s lifeline as he was dangerously tottering on the brink of the grave. He was clinging to her soft words, emboldening him to fight, to emerge from beneath the darkness. When it seemed he was losing his footing, she would cast him another line through a touch or a gentle whisper. She kept a constant vigil at his bedside, struggling against exhaustion.

Heath’s survival thus far had renewed the doctor’s belief in the power of prayers. The severity of his injuries dashed any hope for survival but there he was, breathing and gaining color. His sibilant respiration was evidence of congestive lungs and the slight fever indicated the onset of an infection. Aside from those, Verner still hadn’t ruled out the possibility of brain damage.

After applying fresh bandages over the wounds, the doctor returned to the living room with Jim, where he gave further instructions on how to care for the boy.

“So Doctor, what’s the verdict?”

“I still can’t pronounce myself. He did survive the first thirty hours, which in itself is an encouraging sign, but there are still the congestive lungs and the fever that worry me. I’ve cleaned the wounds the best I could but the fact that he remained out there untreated, infection might have set in the deeper tissue. And there’s the wheezing.”

“Are you thinking of pneumonia?”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that. You kept him bundled up?”

“Georgia had him smothered in blankets.”

“That’s good. The fact that he’s still unconscious could be explained by the extreme lost of blood that his body is trying to replenish.”

“But you don’t think it’s that.”

“I can’t be sure.” He sighed and walked to the door. “I’ll come back later this evening. In the meantime, try to get your wife to sleep. She won’t do that boy any good if she makes herself sick.”

“I’ll try.”

The doctor was crossing the threshold when Georgia suddenly breezed out of the bedroom. “Doctor, he’s waking up!” she informed excitedly.

Jim and Verner hurried into room.

“He moaned and moved his head,” she explained, flattening her hands together over her mouth in a silent prayer for her son to open his eyes.

Verner sat on the bed next to his patient and gingerly raised the eyelids to study the pupillary reflex. A tiny moan escaped Heath’s parched lips when the doctor gently applied his hand against the cheek, rubbing it lightly to nudge him awake. “Son, wake up.”

Heath’s heavy eyelids flickered, slowly parting. He squinted his discomfort at the blinding rays of the setting sun filtering through the window.

“Jim, would you draw the curtains, please?” the doctor asked.

Once the room was darkened, Heath was coaxed to make another effort at opening his sunken eyes. The doctor allowed his patient’s vacuous stare to briefly explore the room before he willed it back toward him. “Can you hear me?” he paused to gauge Heath’s reaction. “Can you understanding what I’m saying?” Heath’s vacant expression locked onto the stranger’s features, with only a few blinks breaking the stillness of his impassive stare. His wheezing triggered a bout of coughing that the doctor quickly calmed with a few sips of water. When the crisis passed, Verner eased Heath’s head back onto the pillow and resumed with his questions.

“Do you know your name?” When his question failed to get an answer, Verner beckoned Georgia closer to the bed. “Do you recognize this woman?”

Georgia bent over Heath and smiled. “Hi David. It’s mama.” She stroked his cheek hoping to elicit a flicker of a smile of acknowledgement.

Heath’s heavy lidded eyes closed, shortly followed by a frown.

“Are you in pain? Is it your shoulder? Your head?” The doctor queried.

When the only response came in a contorted face. Verner gently raised Heath’s head and pressed against the bandaged wound. The groan elicited by the touch told him he’d found the source of the young man’s ache. He stood from the bed and reached inside his medical bag for a flask of powdered aspirin. He trickled a few grains in a glass of water, diluting it with a tongue depressor.

“What’s that?” Georgia asked warily.

“Powdered aspirin.” He sat back on the bed and assisted Heath in drinking the medicine. “It will help ease the pain and hopefully reduce the fever.” He dabbed the droplets dribbling down Heath’s chin before he gently lowered his head onto the pillow. “There. He’ll sleep comfortably now.”

“Doctor, he acts as if he doesn’t know me.”

“It’s not an act, Georgia, he really doesn’t know who you are. Amnesia. I expected this much from the head wound.”

“Is it permanent?”

“Can’t say. We’ll know more in the next few days, if he pulls through.”

“What do you mean IF he pulls through,” Georgia exclaimed with indignation. “He survived the night. He’s awake.”

“Yes but we’re still dealing with an infection. I’ve managed to bring it under control by draining most of it but it might worsen as a result of dirt or bits of cloth that the bullet could have driven deep into the wound. If that happens, I’ll need to operate to remove the diseased tissue, but weak as he is right now, it’s unlikely he’ll survive.” He sighed. “But let’s not go there right now. Let’s just be thankful he’s holding his own.”

Verner vacated his seat for Georgia to sit by Heath. She cradled his hand in hers and brought it to her cheek.

“Doc, is that all there is to it…amnesia?” Jim probed, having noted the hint of concern in Verner’s eyes.

“I’m not sure, but I think we might be facing a bigger problem.”

In the hush of the night, Nick was plunged into a fitful sleep, hag-ridden by the same horrific images of the roaring fire. He could see Heath engulfed in flames, reaching out to him with arms outstretched, begging for his help.

Nick tossed and turned, his fists pummeling the mattress. Sweat poured out of him and his heart raced until a burning sensation on his arms jolted him awake. His eyes shot open and he bolted into a sitting position, screaming, “Nooooooooooo!”

He sat, frozen in fear. He took a few seconds to regulate his breathing before he eased himself back onto his pillow. He rubbed the haze out of his eyes, and then wiped the sweat off his face. He took a deep breath and rolled onto his side, hugging his pillow.

He heard a faint rap on the door. “Nicholas, are you okay?” came the muffled voice behind the door.

“Yeah. Just a bad dream. Sorry I woke you, Mother.”

She nudged the door open and walked in. She edged up to the bed and perched herself on the rim. “It might help you to talk about it. I’m a good listener.”

Nick inhaled deeply and rolled onto his back, a pained expression etched on his face. She leaned over him to stroke his clammy cheek. “I can’t close my eyes without seeing it. The fire, Heath screaming at me, begging me to help him.” He felt a tightening in his throat as he tried to restrain the tears threatening to gush out. “I should have been there with him.”

“So that I’d be bereaved of two sons?” Victoria answered with an indignant look that Nick could discern in the pale moonlight.

“If I’d ridden along with him like I was supposed to, maybe I could have prevented it.”

“How?”

“We would have gone to the saloon for a beer before picking up the package. He wouldn’t have been at the freight yard when it blew up, I’m sure of it.” His brows furrowed deeply as his face slowly twisted in pain. He raised a hand to cover his tear-suffused eyes.

“You listen to me, now,” Victoria spoke authoritatively. He dropped his hand to his chest and stared at the ceiling above to avoid her chilling glare. “I will not have you shoulder the blame for what happened, do you hear me?” She waited for his answer that came in a light shake of the head and a whimper. She clasped his shoulders with a forceful grip and joggled him. “Do you hear me?” she shouted.

Nick balked at the idea of yielding to her demand, one she made out of pure speculation, but nevertheless agreed with a nod.

“I know it hurts, sweetheart,” she soothed with a loving stroke across his forehead to smooth his hair back. “It’s okay to grieve, but not to shoulder any guilt for something you had no control over.”

Her heart bled at the sight of Nick bursting into tears. “I miss him, Mother.”

She pulled him to her and clenched him into a motherly embrace, rocking him softly, wishing to absorb all of his pain.

“I know. We all do,” she whispered on a mollifying tone while she stroked the back of his head. When the cries subsided into mere sobs, she gently pulled back and cupped his head in her hands, wiping the droplets streaking down his cheeks with her thumbs. She gazed into his tear-glistened eyes and offered, “Do you want me to stay with you a bit?”

“No.” He waved her off. “I’ll be fine. I just needed to let it out. “ He reached for her hand and gave it a light tug. “Thanks for the shoulder.”

“Anytime.” She bent forward to kiss him on the forehead and helped him slide under the covers. She knew the abscess hadn’t completely drained when she saw another wave of tears welling up in his eyes, one he attempted to conceal by batting his eyelids.

Her steps faltered as she neared the door. She glanced back at her grieving son whose pained eyes were now riveted to the window. She sighed as she began to mentally steel herself for the long and arduous journey back to normalcy.

At cockcrow the next morning, Georgia was up fixing breakfast for Jim before he left for town to meet with the lawyer in order to iron out the last details of his small acquisition.

“I tell you, Georgia, we’re gonna have ourselves a nice little hardware store.”

“I can’t wait. Maybe David can help you run it when he gets back on his feet.”

His chest tightened at her suggestion. “Did you look on him this morning?”

“Yes. He’s sleeping soundly. His fever’s down and his breathing’s less labored, she informed gleefully.

“That’s good,” he said, looking doubtful at Heath’s chances at a normal life. “The doctor did say he was coming by this morning to look in on him. I hope he can give us good news.” He took a sip of coffee, looking over the rim at Georgia to gauge her reaction at his comment.

With his back to him, she closed her eyes and sighed inwardly, exhaling her annoyance at her husband’s skepticism. “Of course it will be good news. I told you, his fever’s broken and the wheezing’s almost gone,” she spoke with a restrained anger, whisking the eggs vigorously.

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

She swirled round and glowered at him. “Then what exactly are you talking about?”

“Did you see his eyes?”

“What about them?”

He tapped a finger on his head. “He’s not in there, Georgia.”

“The doctor said it was amnesia. He will remember us in time.”

“It’s more than amnesia.”

She clamped her eyes shut and raised a hand as a warning not to pursue this futile conversation. “I don’t want to hear anymore negative thoughts. David is alive, that’s all that matters.”

Jim stared down at his coffee, twirling the half-emptied cup with his fingers. He swallowed in one gulp the remaining content, snatched his hat on the corner of the table, stood up and marched to the door. “I’ll be back in time for lunch,” he said coldly before he put his hat on his head and headed out.

On the way into Edgell, he crossed paths with Dr. Verner’s surrey. Both reined back their horses alongside their wagons. “Doctor, are you on your way to the house?”

“Yes. I wanted to visit with my miracle boy. How is he fairing this morning?”

“Georgia says his fever’s broken and that the breathing is better.”

“Those are good signs that his body’s fought the infection.”

Jim sighed, looking down at his feet as he pondered his next question.” There’s still the matter of….”

“I know,” Verner interrupted, reading into Jim’s thoughts. “I wired a colleague in Sacramento who specializes in brain disorders and gave me a few tips on how to approach the problem”

“Is it irreversible?”

“In most cases it is.” Jim sighed heavily and looked skywards to hide a tear threatening to trickle down the corner of his eye. “But let’s not be pessimistic. With time, patience and a hearty dose of love he can make a full recovery.”

“Are you sure?”

“Ninety-seven per cent sure,” Verner smiled reassuringly.

“Thanks Doctor. You just made my day. See ya!” he clicked his tongue and flicked the reins.

“See ya!”

Minutes later, Dr. Verner halted his horse in front of the Whitfield’s house. He grabbed his medical bag and headed up to the front door. Before he could knock, Georgia opened the door and invited him in.

“I came to check on David. I passed Jim on the way who said that his fever has broken?”

“Yes. He’s doing much better. He woke up ten minutes ago.”

She led him into David’s bedroom where he seated himself on the bed to take Heath’s pulse and feel his forehead. Heath’s back was propped comfortably against some pillows; his vacuous stare followed the doctor’s every move.

As Dr. Verner peeled the bandage off the shoulder wound, he smiled at the fading reddish discoloration and the scab forming over the sore. He rubbed the area with alcohol to cleanse it of any lingering infection before he applied a fresh square of gauze over the wound. He proceeded to examine the head gash, which, too, was healing nicely. He removed the bandage around his skull and eased his head back onto the pillows.

“David, can you hear me?” the doctor probed, staring deeply into his impassive eyes to elicit a reaction. He strained a smile at the young man, whose response came in the form of a heavy blink. He leaned closer to Heath’s face. “I know you can hear me but can’t understand what I’m saying.” He brushed his hand against Heath’s forehead. “Don’t worry. We’ll take it one step at the time. You’ll learn all over again.”

Georgia’s brows furrowed quizzically. “Learn all over again? Doctor, what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about aphasia, which is the loss of the ability to use or comprehend words resulting from brain damage. We still know very little about the condition since it was discovered a little over ten years ago.

“You mean he doesn’t understand what we’re saying?”

“That’s right. He’s like a child who has to learn all over.”

“Oh, my God,” she quavered, putting a hand over her mouth.

“Now Georgia, don’t despair. His case’s not hopeless. What we must do is keep him awake as often as possible. Make him learn and remember things by showing him pictures, favorite places, familiar sounds to jog his memory. His mind needs constant stimulation. Like I told Jim; with time, patience and a bit of luck, we’ll have David back to his old self,” he smiled reassuringly at the worried mother, a grin that masked a deeper concern of an unpredictable recovery.

At first light the next morning, Nick slipped on his working clothes and headed out to the barn to saddle Coco for a cleansing ride. He needed to purge himself of his demons before accompanying the family into town for the choice of coffin.

He was puzzled to see Charger out of his stall with Duke by his side examining his flanks.

“Something wrong with Charger?”

“I’m not sure, Nick. Come have a look at this.”

Nick stepped over to Duke. “Right here.” He drew Nick’s attention to a healing sore on the horse’s lower flank.

Nick brushed the tip of his fingers against the blood-crusted gash. “What d’you reckon did that?”

“My guess is spurs. He’s got one the same on the other side.”

“Spurs? Heath never used them, you know that!”

“I know, Nick. I was thinking perhaps someone else rode him.”

“Doubt it. Charger would’ve bucked him off.”

“Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t,” Duke answered offhandedly, making Nick bristle up at his insinuation.

“That horse was in Morganville when I got there,” Nick argued. “We found Heath’s gun in…” Nick’s voice faltered as the words caught in his throat. He sighed with aggravation. “Look, I don’t wanna talk about this now. I’ve got to take a ride before me and the family go into town to the undertaker. I need my wits about me.”

Duke gave Nick a sympathetic smile and a pat on the back. “Sure Nick, I understand. I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry. Sorry I brought it up.”

“S’kay Duke.”

“Want me to saddle Coco?”

“No thanks. I’ll do it myself. Give me sump’thin’ to do with my hands.” He went to Coco and backed him out of the stall. As he began bridling him he couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that Duke’s assumption was worth investigating.

Following the heartrending burial, Nick threw himself bodily into his ranch work, drudging relentlessly with might and main from dawn to dusk, hardly pausing for breaks that he feared could allow his mind to rove back on the events of Morganville. He wished to forget, bury the memory in the innermost recesses of his soul along with the pain. Thus far he had been successful at keeping his emotions at bay, warding off anything or anyone that he considered a potential catalyst for sparking off an emotional turmoil within him, hence the reason why the grief-laden man was rarely seen in town. He would delegate the responsibility of fetching supplies to the hands.

At nights, he would skip family gatherings before and after suppers, eating in quietness, remaining aloof of the topics of conversation. He had erected a solid steel armor around his heart, opening its door to his brother’s gently whispers, only. But so far, silence was the only voice that filled its walls.

A week had elapsed since the burial and on this Sunday, Nick opted for a ride on the range instead of joining the family for church. He wanted to avoid the never-ending procession of well-wishers and their often artificial sympathies.

He steered Coco towards the main iron gates and took off at a gallop. Victoria knew where he was heading as he left, and nurtured high hopes that somehow Heath would reach his woeful brother and alleviate his pain.

Feeling his heart tightened as he neared his brother’s final resting place, Nick spurred Coco at a full tilt up the hill, atop of which he dismounted and crumbled to his knees. Sobs racked his stiffened body as he wept his heart out with tears gushing out in a raging torrent. Nick had reached the end of his emotional tether waiting for Heath’s voice to caress his soul.

“Heath, where are you?” Nick bawled heavenwards, hands balled into tightly clenched fist with nails digging into his palms. “Why aren’t you listening? I need you. I need to hear your voice. Please give me a sign that you’re still here.” He lowered his eyes and clamped them shut, squeezing tears out that streamed down his cheeks. “Why can’t I hear you?”

He slowly opened his eyes that instantly took on a vacant look. Staring blankly into the distance, he heaved a shuddering breath before asking the dreaded question, “You hate me, don’t you? For not being there for you? For not preventing this tragedy?” He hugged his shivering body and began rocking back and forth. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he howled, convulsing with tears. “Please, come back! Don’t shut me out. Please!”

Late in the afternoon, Jarrod returned home, briefcase in hand, just as Victoria was coming down the stairs.

“Good evening, beautiful lady,” he greeted with a wonted kiss on her cheek.

She tucked her arm into his as the walked to the living room where Audra was sitting. “Are you making progress with your court case?”

“I’m happy to have worked on a Sunday or I might never have discovered the snag, which would have set me back considerably.” He put his briefcase down on the table and made his way to the bar. “I need to go to Sacramento in the morning. Mother, do you want a glass of sherry?”

“Yes please, thank you.”

Jarrod took the cork off the decanter, poured sherry into two liqueur glasses and handed one over to Victoria who was now sitting in her favorite armchair. “Is Nick in his room? I have a telegram for him.”

“I haven’t seen him yet. But I’m sure he’ll be here shortly.”

“Do you think he went to visit his grave?”

“I don’t know,” Victoria sighed.

“He’s been avoiding that place since the burial,” Audra pointed out.

“You know Mother, we’re going to have to do something about Nick. We can’t let him go on this way. He grinds himself to the core from sun up to sun down without respite; he avoids us and everyone in town, and his red-rimmed eyes and hollow cheeks are worrying me that he’s not getting enough sleep or feeding himself properly.”

“I know. I’m hoping to have a talk with him tonight. He still shoulders the blame for what happened to He…” she choked on the name, closing her eyes to retain a tear.

Jarrod laid a consoling hand on her shoulder. “Do you prefer I handle it myself?”

She nodded, placing a hand on top of Jarrod’s “No, I’ll do it.”

At that moment, the front door banged shut, followed by the jingle of familiar spurs heading to the grand staircase. With his eyes downcast, Nick tried to walk past the living room to stride upstairs, but Victoria stopped him in the foyer by gripping his arm. “Are you okay, Nick?”

“Yeah, yeah…fine,” he fibbed, burying his chin into his chest to avert from his mother’s stare.

She cupped his face and raised his head to meet his bloodshot eyes. “Nick?”

He took her hands into his and gave her a meaningful smile. “I had a long talk with him.”

“Oh?”

“Well, rather with myself,” he snorted in defeat as tears began pooling in his eyes. “I can’t reach him.”

She placed a hand against his heart. “He’s right here. Let him come to you.” She kissed him on the cheek and led him to the living room.

“Nick, I have a telegram for you.” Jarrod pulled out the message from out of his breast pocket and handed it over to his brother.

“Who is it from?”

“I haven’t opened it. All I know is that it’s from Morganville.”

Nick was tearing the envelope open when the name Morganville froze his fingers. He handed the telegram back to Jarrod. “You read it,” Nick said without looking up at Jarrod. He walked over to the bar to fix himself a tumblerful of whiskey that he quaffed before pouring himself a second.

“It’s from Sheriff Hanson. It says: ‘Asked town folk; no one heard or seen Johnny Pratt.’” Jarrod lifted his eyes from the telegram and looked at Nick with puzzlement. “What does that mean? Who’s Johnny Pratt?”

Nick took a gulp of whiskey and rested his arm against the fireplace mantle. “He’s a drifter me and Heath met at a trail stop. He rode with Heath to Morganville that morning while I stayed behind to help the roadhouse owner mend some fences. Said he was looking for a job. Just asked the sheriff if he’d seen him while I was there. He said sump’thin’ ‘bout asking ‘round town.”

“You never told us you and Heath had a traveling companion.”

“Was that important?”

“I’m curious as to the reason why no one’s heard of him in Morganville if you say he did accompany Heath over there?”

“Maybe he just decided to go straight through or he could have taken a different fork and headed to another town, I don’t know.” Nick scrambled for answers to give his inquisitive brother.

“We could try to locate this Pratt fella and ask him a few questions.”

“Like what? What he and Heath talked about on the trail?”

“Among other things.”

“What would that do? Will that bring Heath back?” Nick asked acerbly with a voice dripping with spite.

“Nick!”

“I’m sorry, Mother. I don’t wanna think about Pratt or that stinking town. I just…” Nick paused to inhale deeply in order to recover his composure. “I’m trying hard to forget, here.

The ensuing gloomy silence was slashed by the sound of shattering glass as Nick hurled his tumbler into the fireplace hearth before stomping out of the living room under the rueful stares of his stunned family.

“What do you think we ought to do, Mother?” Jarrod asked after recovering his poise.

“Perhaps Nick is right. We shouldn’t arouse painful memories for him. Now if it were under different circumstances, like had Heath been kidnapped, we would have to search everywhere, ask anyone who’d seen him last. But I this case, I see no purpose in locating the man. Nick said it: it won’t bring Heath back.

“I guess you’re right.”

Later that evening, Nick wandered out to the stables to bed down the horses for the night, when Charger stomped his rear hoof to draw Nick’s attention.

“What is it, boy?” Nick walked over to the restless horse and raked his fingers through his mane, giving him a few hearty pats on the neck before tilting his head down to the spur marks on the flank.

“It’s bugging you, isn’t it?” Duke observed as he steered his horse into the barn.

“Trying to figure out how he could have gotten those marks. Can’t be at the trail stop or Heath would’ve seen it. Maybe in Morganville but I didn’t pay any attention then for obvious reasons. Can’t be in the train car. And Heath would never have let anyone ride Charger unless...unless he couldn’t help it. That Pratt guy wore spurs.” Nick cast this ridiculous notion out of his mind by shaking his head. “Dammit! I promised myself I wouldn’t let this upset me anymore.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“Johnny Pratt, a drifter me and Heath met on the trail.”

“What’s he look like?”

Nick shrugged. “Ordinary.”

“Tall, short? Blond, dark? What color of eyes?”

“What difference does it make?”

“Just asking.”

Nick sighed. “I know I’m gonna seriously regret it but I need to know. Duke could you get Coco ready at dawn. I’m gonna take a little trip to Morganville.”

“That’s a two-day ride, Nick. Want me to tag along?”

“Nah! I’ll be aw right. Beside I need ya to handle the ranch while I’m gone.”

“You sure you’re up to this?”

“Not really, but if I don’t go it’s gonna eat me up.”

“What d’you expect to find?”

“I’m not rightly sure. Peace of mind, I guess.”

Two days later, as Nick was nearing Morganville, at the Whitfield place, Georgia was reading to Heath when Jim led Dr. Verner into the bedroom.

“I see you’re reading to him. Any reaction?”

“No,” she suspired with despair. “He doesn’t even look at me. He keeps staring out the window, barely blinking.”

“Have you been exercising his arms and legs everyday?”

“Yes, exactly like you taught us.”

Verner sat on the edge of the bed and gingerly tilted Heath’s head toward him. “David, look at me. You remember me, don’t you?

Heath’s brows furrowed lightly at the doctor’s question.

“That’s it. You’re beginning to understand. How are the injuries?”

Heath flinched when the doctor pressed against his shoulder wound. “Still a bit tender, but it’s healing nicely. Okay today we’re going to teach you a few words, starting with ‘yes’ and ‘no’ to make it easier to communicate. Okay…look at me, David: Y.E.S.” Verner waited for Heath to mouth the word before repeating it. “Y.E.S. That’s it, you can say it: Y.E.S.”

Heath’s brows furrowed deeply as he tried to mimic the doctor’s lip movement. “Y…ye…yesssssssssssss,” he droned out.

“Oh, my God!” Georgia squealed with delight before covering her mouth with both hands to curb her gushing emotions.

Equally overjoyed, Jim wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

“Again David. Say it: Y.E.S.”

“Yessssssssss.”

“Now, say : N.O. Say it: N.O.”

“N…n..n…noooooooooooooo.”

Dr. Verner beckoned Georgia to approach the bed. “Now here is your mama. Can you say: MA. MA.?”

Heath mouthed the words but no sound would come out.

“Come on David, you can do it: MA.MA.”

“Ma..ma…ma…ma.”

Overcome with elation, Georgia bent down to kiss her son on the forehead. Her tear-glistened eyes gazed into the still vacant baby blues that were trying to construe the meaning of her gleeful smile.

“Ick.”

“What?”

“Ic…ick.”

She turned to Dr. Verner with a quizzical look. “Ick? What does that mean?”

Equally stumped, Verner leaned closer to Heath.” David, what does ‘Ick’ mean?”

Heath stared impassively at him and drooled, “ Ma…maaaaaaaaaa. Ick.”

“Doctor?”

“Could mean any number of things. Possibly a weapon: stick, pick... Could very be the name of his assailant: Rick, Dick… Then again, I could be nothing of great significance.” He stood from the bed. “Continue to teach him words by pointing to the object or person. Make sure he remembers them by having him repeat the words over and over. I have to go to the Sanderson’s place. Mary Sanderson is having her baby. If everything goes well, I should drop by later this afternoon.”

“Do we try to find out what this ‘Ick’ means?” Jim asked.

“No, absolutely not! It might prove dangerous, especially if it’s linked to a painful memory. We’ll know in time.”

...Continued