(Sequel to The Crown Conspiracy)
by Layla
Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the TV program
"Big Valley" are the creations of Four Star/Republic Pictures and
have been used without permission. No
copyright infringement is intended by the author. The ideas expressed in this story are copyrighted to the author.
“If you want to kick the tiger in his ass, you’d better
have a plan for dealing with his teeth.”
- Tom Clancy
Chapter
1
Jarrod tapped Heath on the shoulder and motioned over to
Nick. He was making his way along the
bountiful hors d’ oeuvre table. His
brothers watched in amusement as he piled his small plate precariously high
with an assortment of finger food. Nick
didn’t notice his brothers ease up behind him as he made it to the end of the
table. Just as Nick turned around,
Heath deftly took the plate out of his hand without toppling the little
mountain of food.
“Boy howdy, Nick.
You ought to be in a circus doing balancing acts! Thanks, Big Brother.” Heath started eating off the top of the pile
and offered Jarrod a sampling.
Nick glared at them.
“Yeah, it’s just like you two to let me do all the work!”
“We’re trying to save you work, Nick!” Heath said between
mouthfuls.
“That’s right.” Jarrod added. “We’re not sure Dr. Merar would approve of you carrying around
such a heavy plate.”
“Uh-huh. Well,
Heath here needs to learn to fix his own plate and don’t you have a speech to
make?” Nick said pointedly to Jarrod.
Jarrod smiled.
“All in good time, Brother Nick.
I’m going to give the folks a little time to enjoy themselves and
socialize before the formal announcement.”
“You oughta be mingling with the crowd too, Nick.” Heath
offered. “You might just start a new
hairstyle fad with that reverse Mohawk of yours!”
“That ain’t funny, Heath!”
“Not if you don’t think so.” Heath smirked.
“Gimme my plate back, Boy!” Nick growled. “Before you end up starting a ‘no front
teeth’ fad!”
Jarrod chuckled and wagged his finger at his younger
brothers. “You boys play nice! Now if you’ll both excuse me, I see someone
I want to speak to.”
Jarrod worked his way through the crowd to the middle-aged
woman in the company of a silver-haired man.
“Nettie!”
Nettie Sample’s eyes lit up. “Oh, Jarrod!” she exclaimed as the two embraced warmly.
“It’s good to have you back in the valley, Nettie. This is where you belong.”
“Thank you, Jarrod.
Your telegram arrived while I was still visiting with my sister in Utah
before returning to Virginia. I’m glad
I left behind her address! I decided to
return as soon as I received the telegram saying how promising the appeal was
going. It does feel right, Jarrod. I believe this is what Frank would have
wanted. Abe has been a big help in
getting me and the children resettled.”
“That’s very neighborly of you, Abe.” Jarrod shook his old friend’s hand. “As always, it’s good to see you too.”
“Thank you, Jarrod.”
Abe smiled: a genuine smile Jarrod had not seen in recent weeks. “Our farms adjoin so it’s been no trouble at
all to help Nettie and the children out.
Actually, they’ve been real good company for me. So you might just say it’s been my
pleasure.”
Nettie dropped her eyes and smiled sheepishly.
“Looks like you’ve got all the help you need, Nettie. But if there is anything we can do for you,
please let Mother or myself know. I
heard Mother say she was planning on stopping by in a day or so.”
“Thank you, Jarrod.
We are working our way over to speak with her now.”
“Wonderful.” Jarrod kissed her cheek lightly and shook Abe’s
hand again. “Well, I suppose it is
about time for my announcement.”
Jarrod strode over to the small platform that had been
erected at the far-end of the room with a smile on his face. He liked the way Nettie had said ‘we’ and
‘our’. It held the hint of a sweet
beginning. She and Abe had much in
common. They were both good-hearted,
hardworking, salt-of-the-earth people.
Perhaps this was the dawn of a brighter day for them both.
The string quartet ceased playing when Jarrod walked onto
the platform. The musicians stepped off
the platform and left the stage to the host.
Every eye in the room was riveted on the handsome lawyer.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! On behalf of the Barkley family I would like
to welcome you all to our home this evening.
As you all know, for the last several weeks I have been in Sacramento
working diligently to resolve the land claim dispute between yourselves and the
Coastal and Western Railroad.”
Jarrod pulled a folded document from his coat pocket. “Before I read this final ruling, I believe
it is appropriate that we take a moment to remember. We should remember and honor those who gave their lives for this
just cause. These individuals made the
supreme and ultimate sacrifice. For
when a man or woman sacrifices their life, they sacrifice all that they are,
all that they would have been, all that they love, all that they have, and all
the promise and fulfillment that the future held for them. Each life was precious!”
Jarrod’s eyes misted as he declared solemnly. “We must never forget those who died! Those who died six years ago: Nathan
Green. Jack Larabie. George Latimer. Louis Raines. Paul
Steele. Joshua Polk. Duffy Vaughn. Luke Widmer. Vernon
Stiles. Dwayne Parker. Henry Sample. And… Thomas J. Barkley.
Those who died defending the Sample’s farm: Alton Stubbs. Dennis
Jones. Jeffrey Smith. John Martin. Kent Greeley. Frank
Sample. And those who died most
recently: Otis Carter. Clement Morrison. Eliza Worth. Abraham
Worth, Jr. Let us observe a moment of
silence in honor of these fine individuals – may God rest their souls.”
Every head in the room was bowed. Some praying. Others were weeping silently.
Each remembered those who had died in their own way.
Jarrod’s voice finally brought the crowd back to the
present moment. “Now, without further
ado, I will get on to the reason you were all invited here this evening. As you know, I filed an appeal with the
appellate court and Judge Matheson reviewed my brief. He offered Coastal and Western the option of settling the dispute
in arbitration. Judge Matheson more
than hinted that his court would not be for sale at any price and that if the
full appeal were to proceed, the body of evidence was heavily weighted in favor
of the farmers. The railroad’s lawyer,
Abner Kirkland, agreed to arbitration on behalf of Coastal and Western. The judge acted as arbiter and the terms of
the settlement are as follows…”
Jarrod unfolded the legal document. “I’ll skip all the ‘whereas’ and
‘wherefores’ and get to the heart of the matter. The disputed Coastal and Western Railroad grant lands were found
to have been legally purchased by and the sole property of the farmers!”
The room erupted in applause. Loud whoops of joy rattled the chandelier and caromed off the
walls. There were tears of joy as
neighbor embraced neighbor in celebration.
“Just a minute!”
Jarrod raised his hand to quiet the audience. “The judge also found that it is the overriding interest of the
citizenry to have a route of public passage between the state’s cities. Therefore, the railroad has been granted a
legal right-of-way that will consist of a twenty-foot wide strip of land for
its use to lay tracks through the valley to Los Angeles. Railroad surveyors will plot the route and
those of you who are affected will be compensated for your strip of land at
fair market value.”
“Sounds good to me!” one of the farmers shouted. “Los Angeles will be one more large market
where we can sell our produce and fruits!”
“Then this means it is really over, Jarrod?” Siegfried Swenson could hardly believe his
ears.
“Yes, Sieg. It’s
really over!” said the man of the hour as he stepped down into the exuberant
throng.
Later, Jarrod slipped over to the French doors that opened
into the garden. He wanted to step out
under the stars for just a moment and reflect on what this day would have meant
to his father. Jarrod noticed a punch
glass sitting on the railing and then spied his youngest brother standing alone
near the gazebo. He strolled out into
the garden and stood beside the blond.
“I found I could use a bit of air myself, Brother
Heath. I saw you getting mobbed a bit
yourself in there.”
“Yeah.” Heath sighed.
“Folks kept coming around wanting to thank me for stopping that gang of
outlaws. I’m not used to that kind of
attention. I figured if I stepped out
here, they’d join that flock around you.”
“Congratulations are one thing…” Jarrod mused. “But then the talk turned into practically
drafting me to run for the State Senate!”
“Well, there’s one way to beat a draft…” Heath drawled.
“What’s that?”
Jarrod eyed his brother suspiciously.
“Volunteer.” Heath
smiled.
“So you think I’d make a good politician?”
“No. I think you’d
make a good Senator because your guiding principles are far above partisan
politics. They are as timeless as those
stars up there. You will always do what
is good and just.”
There were times when Heath said or did something that was
so like Tom Barkley that it was almost like being in his presence again. Every member of the family had experienced
it. This was one of those times and its
intensity left Jarrod speechless.
After a few minutes, Heath spoke. “We’d better get back inside and make an
appearance. Or at least you’d
better! They may be in there planning
out your whole campaign right now.”
They walked back toward the house. “What you need is a catchy campaign slogan!”
Heath teased. “Something like
‘Tippecanoe and Jarrod too!’ ‘A Pappy
in every pot!’ or…”
Jarrod laughed and slapped his little brother on the
back. “If I ever decide to run for
office, Brother Heath, I’ll definitely put you in charge of that area!”
Heath picked up his punch glass as they walked past the
railing and took a swallow. He coughed
as it burned going down.
“Are you okay?” Jarrod asked.
“Yeah.” Heath said as he took another swallow and
grimaced. “Tastes like somebody spiked
the punch with some kind of stump-hole whiskey.”
The swarthy-skinned, raven-haired man watched the blond
put the glass to his lips from his unseen hiding place. Carlo Lucci bared his teeth as his
disfigured face twisted into the grotesque semblance of a smile.
Chapter
2
It had been a wonderful evening. Judging from the high spirits of everyone in the room, it could
hardly have gone better. Even the news
that Coastal and Western had been granted a right-of-way had not diminished the
jubilation. Relief, that the costly
years long struggle had finally ended, permeated the room.
Victoria spent nearly an hour working her way through the
delighted throng. Neighbor after
neighbor voiced their appreciation for the Barkley family’s support and
sacrifice in the long and difficult battle.
Victoria smiled radiantly at the praise expressed for her
eldest son’s legal expertise. In the
end, the Rule of Law and justice had prevailed in no small measure because of
Jarrod’s dogged perseverance. It came
as no surprise to Victoria that these same people would want a man like her son
to represent their interests in Sacramento.
When Jarrod had chosen Law as a profession, Tom had
predicted that events might one day lead Jarrod into the arena of public
service.
“Politicians who will pander to the people while seeking
only to further their own self-interests and careers are a dime a dozen. People are just naturally drawn to the kind
of man who will steadfastly champion what is right! Mark my word; Jarrod will prove himself to be that kind of man in
the courtroom. That is the kind of man
everyone wants representing them, be it in the courtroom or in their government.” Tom’s words of long ago were indeed proving
prophetic.
Victoria had mixed feelings about Jarrod’s entry into
politics. Election to public office
would mean even more time spent away from home and family. Of course, Victoria would leave the ultimate
decision to Jarrod. She would be
supportive whichever path he chose to take.
Victoria smiled as she watched her eldest and youngest
sons slip back into the room. It was no
surprise to her that Heath would have sought to escape the crowd for a while in
the solitude of the garden. It was his
habit to remain on the peripheries of social gatherings and the attention shown
to him by the grateful farmers would have been quite discomforting. And despite Jarrod’s out-going personality
and ease with people, she understood his need for a moment of solitary
reflection tonight as well.
Victoria’s eyes welled with pride. The torch had been passed from the father to
his three sons and each in his own way had proven himself a worthy
successor. She strolled over to her
sons.
“Jarrod, given the hour and the long rides ahead of them
tonight, our guests are about ready to make their leave. Would you like to join me in the foyer to
wish them a ‘goodnight’?”
“I’d be honored to, Lovely Lady! That is, of course, unless Heath wants to do the honors.” Jarrod couldn’t help but throw in a little
good-natured jibe.
Heath just rolled his eyes.
“When Heath hosts a party, then it will be his duty to see
to his guests.” Victoria said as she gently let her youngest son off the hook.
“Thanks, Mother.” Heath smiled. “After all, it’s Jarrod who’s gonna need experience working
crowds. Too bad there are no babies
here he could practice kissing.”
“And you can occupy yourself working on my campaign
slogan!” Jarrod chuckled as he offered Victoria his arm and led her to the
foyer.
As the crowd was dissipating, Nick strolled over to stand
by his blond brother’s side.
“Quite a night, wouldn’t you say?”
Heath didn’t answer right away, but appeared more intent
on tugging at his collar with his index and middle fingers.
“What’s the matter, Boy?
Got your tie too tight?” Nick’s
brow furrowed. “Or should I say MY
tie? You just be sure and put that tie
right back where you got it! It’s one
of my favorites. I swear, between you and
Jarrod…”
“Does it seem hot in here to you, Nick?” Heath turned to face his brother. His voice seemed a bit raspy and there was
no mistaking the flush that had spread over Heath’s cheeks.
“Not particularly.” Nick eyed his brother
suspiciously. “What’s wrong? You feeling okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
Heath tugged at the collar again.
“I guess… I guess I just need to get out of this suit. I think I’ll head on upstairs, Nick.”
“Alright.” Nick said.
“I’ll come up and see you as soon as the last of the guests leave.”
“To see if I’m really okay, Nurse Nick?”
“No, Little Brother, to get my tie!” Nick teased.
Heath smiled.
“I’ll save you the trouble and leave it on your bed.”
Nick watched his brother climb the stairs. That’s just fine Boy, he thought, but I plan
to check on you anyway!
When the last of the guests had departed for home,
Victoria and Jarrod walked into the parlor arm-in-arm. Victoria thought it odd that Nick was alone.
“Did Heath go upstairs already?”
“Yes, Mother. He
said something about needing to get out of his suit.”
Victoria smiled.
“Well, your brother is not one to stay in formal attire any longer than
is absolutely necessary.”
Nick shook his head.
“I suppose… It just seemed to be
something more than just that. I figure
I’ll go look in on him.”
Victoria’s senses went on heightened alert. “What do you mean ‘something more’? Is Heath ill? He seemed fine earlier.”
Nick seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to Heath. Victoria could not rationally explain it,
but she wasn’t about to disregard it either.
“Well…” Nick replied.
“He acted like the room was getting uncomfortably hot all of a
sudden. It seemed comfortable in here
to me. The thing was it looked like he
was getting all flushed. That’s why I
thought I’d check on him.”
Victoria held up her hand. “I’ll check on him myself right now. He’d better not be trying to hide a fever!” She turned with the satin skirt of her gown
in hand and hurried from the room.
Jarrod let out a low whistle. “Brother Heath is going to have to learn there are some things
you never try to get past Mother! Think
we ought to go on up and intercede on his behalf?”
“Not just yet, Jarrod.
I say let’s leave him to Mother for just five minutes. It’ll serve him right for making fun of my
hair!”
The bemused looks on the brothers’ faces turned to
bewilderment and shock as they heard their mother’s panicked cries from the top
of the stairs.
“JARROD!
NICK! Come quickly! Please!” Victoria cried frantically and
rushed back into Heath’s room.
The brothers raced up the stairs possessed with the
dreadful certainty that something was terribly wrong. Despite his recent convalescence, Nick bolted up the stairway
with Jarrod into their brother’s room.
The sight before them momentarily stopped them both cold.
Heath lay on his side on the floor near the foot of his
bed. His coat and shirt had been torn
off and were strewn on the bedroom floor.
Heath’s back was to the door and Victoria was on her knees in front of
him.
“Heath?
Heath?” One hand cupped his face
as her other shook his shoulder.
Heath lay as still as a stone.
Looking at his mother’s stricken face, the
incomprehensible thought raced through Jarrod’s mind that Heath was dead.
Nick was the first to break through the shock of the scene
and rush to his brother’s side. Nick
went to his knees and pulled Heath into his arms. Holding his limp brother, Nick laid a hand on Heath’s chest and
felt for his heartbeat. Nick held his
breath and tried to still the trembling in his own fingertips. He sighed with relief as he felt the rapid
staccato pounding.
“Heath!” Nick whispered hoarsely through the tightness
clutching at his throat. Heath writhed
in his arms and drew a deep gasping breath.
His eyes were open, but glazed, with pupils so dilated that his blue
irises had transformed into two round black pools.
“Let’s get him on the bed, Nick.” Jarrod said. “Then I’ll ride out and catch Dr.
Merar. He was one of the last guests to
leave the party tonight.”
Nick and Jarrod carefully lifted their brother and moved
him onto his bed. Heath didn’t
stir.
Jarrod started for the door. “Dr. Merar can’t have gotten far.” he tried to assure his mother.
Victoria shifted her gaze from her ailing son for a
moment. “Bring Howard back quickly!”
she implored.
“I will, Mother!”
Jarrod rushed out to retrieve the doctor.
Silas appeared in the doorway. “Mrs. Barkley? What can I
be getting that the doctor might need?” he asked haltingly, casting a worried
eye toward the young man he had taken into his own heart.
“Get a basin of cold water and some cloths, Silas!”
Victoria instructed.
“That’s all I know to do until Howard gets here.” Victoria
said helplessly to Nick as she felt Heath’s forehead again.
“He’s burning up!”
She shook her head in confusion.
“I just don’t understand this, Nick.
He seemed perfectly fine a half hour ago.”
“I know, Mother. I
know.” Nick felt equally confused and
helpless.
“The doc will be here soon and turn whatever this thing is
around.” Nick tried to sound confident
to comfort his mother, but both sensed this unknown malady was stealing Heath
away with amazing speed.
Silas returned with the basin of water and the
cloths. Victoria and Nick began to
bathe Heath’s face, neck and upper body with the cold water. The temperature of his hot, flushed, dry
skin seemed to be rising by the minute.
It began with the faintest of tremors. Victoria and Nick watched helplessly as
every muscle beneath Heath’s skin began to twitch erratically as if something
alien and sinister crawled just beneath the surface. An uncontrolled, uncoordinated wave of muscle contractions swept
over Heath’s body.
“Oh my God…” Victoria breathed just as her son was about
to be swept away in the fury of a full-blown convulsion.
In an instant, Nick was on top of Heath, as if to put him
in a tight wrestling hold. Nick wrapped
his arms around his brother to pin Heath’s arms to his sides. Nick could feel his brother writhe and buck
beneath him as the various muscles contracted violently and then relaxed
involuntarily. Nick used his own body
weight to keep his brother from flailing wildly and hurting himself further
while in the grips of the convulsion.
For several agonizing minutes, all Nick could do was hold
on tight. Like a mirror image of its
own beginning, the convulsion ran its course and receded back into the former
faint tremors. Nick felt his brother’s
body finally relax and go still beneath him.
Too still.
Chapter
3
Nick released his hold on Heath and pushed himself to a
seated position on the edge of the bed.
He was relieved to see the rise and fall of his brother’s chest. The violent convulsion had made Heath’s
breathing pattern irregular and uncertain.
The breaths came uneven and shallow, but for now at least they were there.
“Let’s keep trying to cool him, Nick.” Victoria took up the fight with the cold
cloths again. Had the high fever caused
Heath to convulse? She did not know,
but she silently wondered if he could survive another.
Victoria listened to her middle son’s one-sided
conversation. Nick tended to talk in
times of anxiety and stress while his blond brother was just the opposite.
“Come on, Boy… you can beat this thing! Doc’s gonna be here soon. Just hang on, Heath!”
The sound of the front door closing and hurried footsteps
coming up the stairway was a relief to them both.
Dr. Merar entered the room opening his black bag as he
neared the bed. Jarrod was at his
heels. The doctor placed the bag on the
nightstand and removed his stethoscope and watch. Victoria and Nick stepped back out of the way.
“Jarrod tells me Heath became ill just after the party
ended. Let’s see what we’ve got.”
“That’s right, Howard.
Heath’s temperature is terribly high and he just convulsed!” Victoria’s voice was filled with concern and
her gray eyes were clouded with dread and confusion.
Howard timed Heath’s rapid pulse with his watch. He slipped the watch into his pocket and
listened for a moment to his patient’s shallow breathing through the
stethoscope. The doctor then felt the
burning forehead and finally lifted Heath’s eyelids with his thumbs.
“My Lord…” the doctor’s eyes widened with sudden shock and
recognition. He was certain enough of
the diagnosis to begin moving quickly and barking out orders.
“Jarrod! Nick! Sit Heath up! Victoria, put an empty basin in his lap!” The doctor rummaged through his bag and
pulled out a brown bottle.
Jarrod and Nick held Heath steady as Dr. Merar tipped his
head back and forced several large swallows of the medicine down the limp
blond.
Dr. Merar replaced the cork in the medicine bottle. “Syrup of Ipecac.” he said solemnly. “Lean him forward when he starts to retch!”
Nick and Jarrod leaned Heath forward as the Ipecac began
to produce its desired effect. Heath’s
stomach muscles seemed to contract more forcefully with every breath until he
vomited the contents of his stomach into the basin. Even after his stomach was empty, Heath continued to dry heave
until the effect of the emetic had run its course. Victoria plumped Heath’s pillows as Jarrod and Nick laid him
back.
“The only question now is whether he expelled enough of
the poison in time.” Dr. Merar sighed as he placed the half-empty bottle back
in his bag.
“POISON?” Nick’s
incredulous voice posed the question first.
“Are you certain, Howard?” Victoria could hardly believe
the diagnosis either.
“I estimate Heath ingested the poison during the last hour
or so.” Dr. Merar stated emphatically.
“Ingested?” Nick
shook his head. “How can that be? Heath has this stunt he likes to pull on me
at parties. As soon as I fix a plate,
or cut myself a piece of cake, he swoops in and takes it! He did it tonight and started eating my
food. But the thing is, this time I
took it back from him. Doc, I ate off
that plate, too! He never bothered to
fix one for himself once Jarrod began his speech.”
Jarrod thought back on how Heath enjoyed aggravating Nick
with this particular ploy. “Nick’s
right, Howard. Heath offered me a
sampling off Nick’s plate as well.”
“That doesn’t alter my diagnosis, Jarrod.” Howard glanced down at his patient. “This particular poison has a classic
presentation. Even though I’ve only
read of it in medical texts, I would know datura poisoning anywhere. There are only a few poisons with such
well-documented and sordid histories.
Shakespeare alluded to datura, as did Homer. Its leaves and berries are quite toxic and can cause delirium,
convulsions and death. That’s exactly
what the Scots ‘prescribed’ for the Danish army that invaded their
homeland. At a truce meeting, the
Scottish hosts gave the Danes the juice of datura berries mixed with wine. The invaders were nearly exterminated! Why even our own common name – jimson weed –
is a corruption of ‘Jamestown weed’, so named after British soldiers sent to
Jamestown to quell Bacon’s Rebellion failed after being fed the leaves of the
plant. Those who survived were terribly
ill for about a week and claimed afterward to have no memory of that entire
period.”
“Then it is survivable?” Victoria asked hopefully.
Dr. Merar nodded.
“Yes, Victoria, it is. But as I
said before, it depends on the dose left in Heath’s body.” The doctor cautioned them. “As little as one-half teaspoon of crushed
seeds is enough to cause complete delirium followed by days of disorientation
and loss of equilibrium. Even a smaller
dose than that will cause an illness that is quite miserable! ‘Dry as a bone, red as a beet, hot as a
hare, blind as a bat, and mad as a hatter.’
Datura has even inspired a little saying that describes its effects on
the victim.”
“Blind?” Jarrod’s eyes widened in surprise.
“If Heath survives, the effects will only be temporary.”
Howard said as he again removed the stethoscope from his bag.
“If he survives?
Doc, isn’t there something else you can do?” Nick’s voice had softened and his eyes were pleading.
“No, Nick.” the doctor said gently. “Timely use of the Ipecac was the only
hope.”
Howard listened again to Heath’s rapid heartbeat and then
listened carefully over Heath’s abdomen.
He frowned and shook his head.
“What is it, Howard?”
Victoria caught the doctor’s concerned look.
“Nothing.” he said softly.
Victoria placed her hand over her chest. “For a moment there I thought you had heard
something…”
“No, Victoria.” Howard interrupted. “I meant I heard nothing! That’s another side effect of this damnable
poison. It can paralyze the gut and
effectively halt its own elimination. I
was afraid of this. That is why I said
whatever we didn’t get out of Heath with the Ipecac will run its course now.”
Howard replaced his stethoscope, snapped the bag shut and
turned to face the worried family.
“All I can do now is try to prepare you for what lies
ahead. Remember that little
saying? ‘Dry as a bone.’ Heath’s mouth and throat will become parched
and dry. He will be extremely thirsty,
but it will be very difficult for him to swallow or speak. But you must get fluids in him as best you
can, even if it is only a few drops at a time!
‘Red as a beet’ and ‘hot as a hare.’
Have Silas keep cold cloths and ice at the ready in this room. Keeping Heath’s temperature down will be a
battle, but it must be done or he may experience another convulsion. ‘Blind as a bat.’ Heath won’t be able to focus on you at all and light will be very
painful to his eyes in their dilated state.
You must keep the lights dimmed in this room. The darkness may also keep him less agitated. I haven’t told you the worst. ‘Mad as a hatter.’ Datura causes complete delirium and hallucinations of the worst
sort. This is followed by days of
disorientation. I suggest you tie him
down once the hallucinations begin. As
miserable as this will be for Heath, it’s going to be terrible for you all as
well.”
The doctor placed a comforting hand on Victoria’s
shoulder. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” he
said gently. “Since we don’t know how
Heath came to be exposed to the datura and there were many other guests here
tonight, I’d better head back to town.
My services may be needed elsewhere.”
Victoria squared her small shoulders. “Thank you, Howard.”
“I’ll see Howard out.” Jarrod offered. “And I’ll tell Silas to bring the things
we’ll be needing up here.”
Jarrod and Dr. Merar walked in silence to the front
door. Jarrod opened the door for the
doctor to make his leave. Howard donned
his hat and turned to Jarrod, his brown eyes sympathetic.
“Jarrod, when I told your mother that these hallucinations
are of the worst sort, I meant just that!
The accounts I’ve read describe them as visual or auditory or both. They are violent, tormented hallucinations. No one knows why, but visions of insects are
common. I suggest that you tie Heath
down securely, Jarrod, spread-eagle to the bedposts. Do it for his safety as well as Victoria’s.”
Chapter
4
As the doctor departed into the night, Jarrod closed the
door and cast a worried eye toward the upstairs bedroom.
“Silas!”
“Yes, Mr. Jarrod!”
Silas hurried out from the kitchen.
“We’ll need a steady supply of ice and cold water in
Heath’s room tonight.”
“Right away, Mr. Jarrod!”
Silas turned to hurry off on his errand.
“Wait, Silas.
Bring four long strips of strong cloth as well.” Jarrod knew Dr. Merar’s unpleasant
recommendation was in his brother’s best interest.
“Yes, sir!”
Jarrod turned and trudged up the stairs wearily. The evening that had begun with such joy and
optimism had quickly turned into a nightmare.
Jarrod hesitated in the doorway and took in the scene with sadness.
Victoria was refilling a basin with fresh cold water from
a pitcher. Nick sat on the edge of
Heath’s bed attempting to coax a sip of water past the blond’s lips. The flush of Heath’s skin had intensified in
the short time Jarrod had been outside the room and he knew the fever inside
his younger brother must be raging higher as well.
* * * * * * * *
In the “holding cell” there was neither ventilation nor a
window. There were at least three
prisoners for each square yard of floor space when Heath was shoved in. It was here that he would wait his turn to
be “questioned”. The prisoners’ body
heat and breathing raised the temperature well above 100 degrees Fahrenheit in
the tightly packed cell. The Carterson
guards were in no hurry. The men had been
fed a salty gruel that morning and would get neither water nor fresh air.
Heath learned firsthand the depravity that was Carterson
when he saw the results on his fellow prisoners. If someone was hauled out for interrogation, someone else was
thrown back in: beaten up, bloody and broken.
The appearance and stories of these broken men were more persuasive than
any threat from the guards.
What did they
expect to learn from him? He knew
nothing of the Union Army’s next move.
But Bentell must believe he had information that could be valuable to
the Confederacy. And that’s all that
really mattered.
“If you got any information, just tell them, Boy!” a
broken man whispered before Heath was led away.
“You can’t get new teeth!” one who had already lost them
nodded to him.
“Hang on to your health, Boy. You just might survive this camp and see your mama again.”
another with common sense urged him.
You don’t understand, Heath wanted to tell them. Only my conscience and my spirit are
precious to me now. It is only the
unbroken in spirit that will truly survive Carterson no matter what shape the
body is in. Heath knew their intentions
were good. The older men only wanted to
see the young boy spared the physical cruelties they had suffered.
Heath had learned from those who had suffered that they
might whip the skin off a man’s back till it bled and then oil it with
turpentine. Or they could give you a
salt-water douche in the throat and leave you in the box for a day to be
tormented by heat and thirst. This was
obviously what the Confederate guard holding the glass to his lips had in mind
for him.
Heath saw his chance and he took it.
* * * * * * * *
The scene that unfolded before him momentarily stunned
Jarrod. Heath’s left hand moved with
surprising quickness as he knocked the glass from Nick’s grasp.
“Wha…?” Nick’s
eyes instinctively followed the short flight of the glass until it shattered in
pieces on the floor.
Victoria spun around at the sound of shattering glass just
in time to witness Heath’s hands closing around Nick’s throat in a vise-like
grip. “HEATH! NO!” she screamed.
The sudden attack sent Nick sprawling to the floor on his
back. The blond’s grip didn’t slacken
for an instant as he landed straddle his brother’s midsection. Nick grabbed his brother’s wrists in a vain
attempt to break the chokehold.
Jarrod jumped into the struggle. “Heath, let go… Let go!”
Jarrod groaned as he pried loose a strong right hand from Nick’s throat. Nick had not gotten the left under control
before Heath had ripped open the front of Nick’s crisp white dress shirt. They pinned Heath against the side of the
bed. The blond’s head slumped to his
chest. The short struggle had exhausted
him.
“Heath, it’s me.” Nick whispered hoarsely. “I was just trying to give you a drink of…”
Heath lifted his chin from his heaving chest and looked
right through Nick. Heath’s widely
dilated pupils could bring nothing into focus, but the image of the cruel
Carterson guard was sharp and clear in his mind. Heath’s face contorted in rage.
“You’d force brine down my throat and leave me to cook in that box!” he
rasped. “I won’t tell you
anything. You or Ben…” The blond head
slumped again.
It was then that Silas appeared in the doorway with the
necessary items.
“Help us get him back on the bed, Silas.” Jarrod
ordered. “Bring those ties!”
The three men laid the once again limp blond in the center
of the bed. They tethered Heath
securely by his wrists and ankles to the four posts of the bed. He stirred just as they finished the task
and tugged weakly at his restraints.
“Gonna… whip me… now?” Heath slurred as he sought to focus
on Nick’s face. “Car… son… scum…” The
hollowed out eyes closed again.
Jarrod laid a comforting hand on his brother’s back. “Are you alright, Nick?”
“Yeah.” Nick
nodded and took a long shuddering breath.
His wounded hazel eyes never left his stricken brother.
“Nicholas.” Victoria said gently. “Why don’t you go change your clothes?”
Nick fingered his torn shirt absently. “Alright.” He said simply and left the room.
Victoria sensed the conflicting emotions within
Jarrod. “Go ahead.” she said. “Heath can’t break those ties and Silas is
here with me.” She gestured to the
houseman cleaning up the broken glass.
Nick stood beside his bed in the spacious, ornate
bedroom. He had removed his tuxedo
jacket when something on the bed caught his eye. The borrowed tie lay folded neatly on his pillow.
“Looks like you landed on some of that broken glass,
Brother Nick.” Jarrod said softly, noting scattered small crimson stains on the
back of Nick’s shirt.
“I hadn’t noticed.” Nick said as he reached out and
tenderly stroked the navy blue tie. “He
borrowed this to wear tonight. I told
him to put it right back where he got it.
Returning this tie was probably the last thing he did before that poison
hit him.”
“He’s not himself, Nick.
You heard what Dr. Merar said.”
Nick waved his hand in exasperation. “I know he can’t really see me, Jarrod! I understand that he’s gonna be
delirious… I just thought that
somewhere, somewhere deep down he’d know me.
Feel me. Here.” Nick’s hand came to rest over his heart.
“Nick, he may not recognize any of us, even Mother. It’s going to be hardest on her to see Heath
in the grips of some terrible hallucination and be unable to comfort him.” Jarrod took a deep breath. “But Heath is going to pull through… and
we’ll get through this as well. Nick,
we’ll get our brother back!”
Nick gave his brother a nod and a half-smile.
“Come on then.” Jarrod said. “Grab another shirt and let’s go to the bathroom. I’ll put some liniment on those cuts.”
* * * * * * * *
The desert was furnace hot. His head pounded from the heat of the relentless sun and his
flesh felt as if it were on fire. Heath
tried to move and became aware of the bindings that held him fast. Four stakes had been driven deep into the
desert floor and he was pinioned spread-eagle between them.
How had he come to be here like this? The landscape appeared desolate and sparse,
primitive, as if men had never disturbed it.
But someone had…
Yumas! His mind
reeled as the recollection returned.
The short cut across the desert to the silver strike. Gil left.
Willie was dead. The Yumas must
have come back and left him here to die like this for trespassing their
territory.
It was hard to believe that anyone could make their home
in this desert. Heath’s thirst was
intense. His lips were dried and
cracked. Fatigue and carelessness had
led to his capture.
The dry wind moved grains of sand along the parched,
cracked desert floor. The world of
insects and reptiles that can live within the sand and craggy rock jungle
sprang to life. They mocked him with
their freedom, leaving a labyrinth of lacey trails and tiny etchings around
him.
Heath became aware of other movement. The glare of the hot sun burning his eyes
made him squint. But he had seen
her! Yes, he was sure it was a woman. A Yuma woman hovered over him, touching his
body.
Heath’s breathing quickened and he squeezed his eyes
shut. What was the Yuma doing? His mind fought to make sense of her
activities. Heath’s concentration
seemed to falter from exhaustion and pain.
Yes, there was pain: a deep, burning pain in his belly.
In that moment he knew!
His mind reeled again as the memory surged into his consciousness.
He’d found the body of an unfortunate prospector while
scouting Apaches for a wagon train. The
man had been staked out just like Heath was.
The prospector had a three-inch incision on his bare stomach. The Apache had reached in with a finger,
pulled out a bit of intestine and then slid a small stick under the exposed
loop of bowel to make sure it didn’t slip back into the abdomen. A tasty morsel for a coyote or carrion bird
to begin its feast on while the prospector watched.
“Nooooo!” Heath
could hear the echo of his own scream ricocheting off a thousand desert walls
and canyons.
* * * * * * * *
Jarrod and Nick
were making their way back to Heath’s room when they heard his anguished cry.
“Mother, what’s wrong?” Nick asked as they burst into the
room.
Victoria shook her head.
“I don’t know. I was laying some
cold cloths across his chest and stomach when suddenly…”
“You… get away… from me… and stay away!” Heath growled slowly, his voice strained
from the intensity of his emotion.
Victoria’s eyes welled with tears. “Heath, I’ve got to… I have to keep your fever down.”
He never heard her words.
Chapter
5
Dr. Merar rapped on the door of the Barkley mansion early
the following morning. The doctor had
asked Sheriff Fred Madden to ride out to the ranch with him.
There was no doubt in the doctor’s mind that a crime had
been committed the previous evening.
Howard Merar returned to his office after treating Heath and scoured
every medical text in his library for information on datura poisoning. His research revealed the poison took effect
fairly quickly following its ingestion.
Someone had poisoned Heath during the party. There were no other calls for the doctor’s services during the night. It was apparent that Heath was the sole
victim of the crime. What crime? This morning the doctor would know the
answer: murder or attempted murder.
Silas answered the door.
Concern and fatigue seemed to have deepened the creases in his
face. There were dark circles beneath
the caring, walnut-colored eyes.
“Good morning, Doctor.
Morning, Sheriff Madden. Please
come in.”
“How is my patient?”
“About the same, Dr. Merar. That boy had a bad night!”
Howard breathed a sigh of relief. At least he still had a patient. “I expected that he would, Silas. Would you please take the Sheriff into the
study? We will both need to speak with
the family after I examine Heath.”
“Silas tells me that it’s been a long night.” Howard Merar only had to look at the faces
of the weary family to know that it had been.
“You can say that again!” Nick said.
“I’d consider that something of an understatement,
Howard.” Jarrod added.
“Good morning, Howard.”
Victoria rose slowly from the chair beside Heath’s bed.
The long night had taken the greatest toll on her. She had looked absolutely radiant at last
evening’s celebration but now her face was shadowed with pain. Victoria had worked tirelessly throughout
the night to keep Heath’s fever down.
The pain in her heart was far worse than the ache of her tired
muscles. She had watched her son battle
the demons of his terrible hallucinations throughout the night. No sooner than Heath would drift off in
exhaustion from one torment, he would jolt awake in the throes of another
horrific vision.
Heath had just drifted off and was resting quietly for the
moment. Victoria hoped Howard’s
examination would not awaken him.
The doctor placed his black bag on the bedside table and
removed his stethoscope. He laid the
stethoscope on the bed beside Heath and pulled out his gold pocket watch. Dr. Merar slipped two fingers under the
cloth restraint, timed Heath’s pulse, and returned the watch to his
pocket. He lifted the cool cloth off
Heath’s forehead and replaced it with the palm of his hand. As the doctor lifted Heath’s eyelids with
his thumb, Heath moaned and turned his head away.
Nick held his breath for a moment and glanced over at
Jarrod. Jarrod stood with his arms
folded on his chest. When his eyes met
Nick’s, he just shrugged and crossed his fingers.
Dr. Merar listened over Heath’s chest with the stethoscope
and then moved it down over his abdomen.
Howard hung the stethoscope around his neck and pressed his fingers
firmly into Heath’s belly. As soon as
the doctor began to palpate his abdomen, Heath’s body stiffened and his eyes
flew open.
* * * * * * * *
“You’re the boy
who liked the box so much, ain’t ya?”
The Carterson guard’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Well, we got another one we want you to
visit.”
The other three guards laughed wickedly. The four guards gripped Heath by his wrists
and ankles and carried him toward the box.
In the dark, wooden crate was a bed of old blankets where
hundreds, maybe even thousands, of bedbugs had been allowed to multiply.
Heath tried to twist out of the grip of the prison guards,
but it was useless. The guards stripped
him of his shirt and shoved him into the box.
“Go on in and meet our friends!”
Immediately the hungry bedbugs assaulted Heath, crawling
onto him from the walls or falling off the ceiling. Thousands of tiny teeth sank into his flesh.
At first Heath waged war with them furiously. He wrung and twisted his body in an attempt
to crush them beneath him or against the walls. After several minutes he weakened and let them drink his blood.
“Please…” Heath’s agonized eyes searched the four guards’
faces for some hint of sympathy, some sign of humanity.
“Please,” he whispered, “let me out of here.”
* * * * * * * *
Dr. Merar watched his first datura hallucination with a
morbid fascination.
“Have they all been this bad?” he asked.
Victoria had covered her face with her hands.
“This bad or worse.”
Nick’s tone was matter-of-fact.
“I tried to warn you.
But I must say, even knowing what to expect doesn’t make it any easier
to watch.”
Howard grasped Victoria’s small wrists and pulled her
hands away from her face. He took them
gently in his own and looked into her moist gray eyes.
“Victoria, I do have some very good news for you this
morning.” he said. “In every case of
datura poisoning that I’ve read about, if the patient survived the first twelve
hours, he went on to recover completely.”
Victoria squeezed her eyes shut and said a silent
prayer. “And thank you, too,
Howard.” The tears that streamed down
Victoria’s cheeks were tears of relief.
“How much longer will he hallucinate, Doc?”
“The worst of the hallucinations are over after the first
twenty-four to forty-eight hours, Nick.
His fever should begin to abate over the same time frame. Remember that the British soldiers I told
you about were ill for six or seven days.
I didn’t hear any bowel sounds this morning, so Heath’s gut is still
paralyzed. Once more of the poison is
out of his system and that problem is resolved, I’ll allow him to be given some
sedation. That will give him a rest and
give everyone else one as well.”
“Then we’ll just hunker down for a long week.” Nick said.
“I’m afraid so.”
The doctor shook his head. “A
little ‘tincture of time’ is the only cure for what ails Heath.”
The doctor packed his stethoscope back in his bag. “Fred Madden is waiting downstairs.” he
said. “I felt it best to bring him out
to the ranch with me this morning in case…” The doctor paused.
“Heath had died from the poison.” Victoria finished the thought.
“Yes, Victoria.” Howard said. “I am quite certain that Heath was deliberately poisoned by
someone at the party. There were no
other victims.”
“No!”
The faces of close friends and neighbors who had attended
the celebration flashed through Victoria’s mind. Their accolades and words of heartfelt appreciation echoed in her
mind. Her mind could not conceive that
any of the farmers could do this thing.
Hurt her son? Hurt them
all? Not after all the Barkley family
had sacrificed and risked for them!
Victoria sank slowly back into the chair, her small
shoulders slumped. “Who could do such a
thing?” Her voice cracked with emotion.
“That’s what I hope Fred will be able to find out. I’ll be back in the morning, Victoria.”
Victoria remained at Heath’s side while Nick and Jarrod
accompanied Dr. Merar down the stairway.
Chapter
6
Sheriff Madden rose from the deep leather chair when the
Barkley brothers and Dr. Merar entered the study.
“Thanks for coming out, Fred.” Jarrod said.
“I just wish it wasn’t under these circumstances,
Jarrod. Morning, Nick.” The sheriff nodded a greeting. “The doc filled me in on the way out
here. How’s Heath this morning?”
“Howard says we still have some hard days ahead but that
Heath is going to recover.”
“Glad to hear it.”
The sheriff turned his attention to Dr. Merar. “So what’s the verdict, Doc?
Are you still convinced Heath was poisoned?”
“More than ever!” the doctor stated emphatically.
“Are you sure he couldn’t have gotten into something out
on the range earlier in the day?”
“Fred, I told you I am certain of the poison Heath was
exposed to. Datura takes effect in
approximately one hour.”
“Then that means…” Fred hesitated.
“I know what it means.”
The doctor said sadly.
“Alright, then.”
The sheriff took a deep breath.
“Did either of you boys see anything suspicious at the party last
night? Was anybody acting strangely
around Heath?”
Nick shook his head.
“I didn’t see one thing out of line all night.”
Nick’s voice was tinged with bitter irony. “This whole thing doesn’t make any sense to
me! Every man and woman at that party
last night was a friend. The Barkleys
fought for those people! Heath wasn’t
in this Valley twenty-four hours before he stood shoulder to shoulder with
those men and fought against the railroad.
Hell, he practically wiped out that gang of outlaws single-handed. They were all over him last night, thanking
him for what he had done…” Nick snorted sarcastically. “He got so uncomfortable with all the
attention that he excused himself to get a glass of punch and snuck outside for
a while.”
“Nick, that’s it!”
Jarrod snapped his fingers. An
analytical mind was working feverishly behind his cool blue eyes. “Nick, did you drink any punch last night?”
“Sure, I did.” Nick shrugged.
“Was it spiked?”
“No, Jarrod. You
know there’s an unspoken rule about Barkley parties. No one spikes our punch except me! And I didn’t…”
“I walked outside while Heath was in the garden.” Jarrod was pacing the study now. “He had left his punch glass sitting on the
railing. We stood out by the gazebo and
talked a while. When we walked back to
the house, he picked up the glass and took a couple of swallows. I remember him coughing and grimacing as if
it tasted bitter. Heath told me he
thought the punch had been spiked.”
“The time interval would fit.” Howard said.
“If Heath left his glass outside on the railing then
someone other than the folks inside the house could have slipped something into
it.” Nick observed.
“That’s exactly what I’m thinking, Nick. None of those farmers has any reason to want
Heath dead. But leaving his glass
unattended outside could have given someone else the opportunity to poison
it. Someone with a motive.”
“Do you have any idea who that would be?” Fred asked.
“As a matter of fact, I do!”
Jarrod had everyone’s full attention. “Nick just provided us with the answer,
gentlemen. Heath has given only one man
reason to hate him since his arrival to the Valley.”
“Crown.” Nick breathed the name with contempt.
“Why would Crown risk murdering Heath now?” Fred asked
reasonably. “Coastal and Western has
what it wanted. The railroad can now go
through the Valley to Los Angeles.”
“Perhaps this isn’t about the railroad anymore. Perhaps this is personal.” A pensive expression came over Jarrod’s
face. “Nick said Heath ‘practically
wiped out’ that gang of outlaws. As I
recall, there was one member of the gang that escaped.”
“That’s right, Jarrod.” Fred said. “Billy and I picked up his trail leaving
that burned out cabin, but we lost it on the ridge.”
“Headed back toward Stockton?”
“I guess from where we lost the tracks he could have
been.”
“Heath thought the missing gang member had been injured in
the explosion. Then he saw an injured
man in Crown’s private railcar when it left Stockton.” Jarrod said.
“Yeah,” Nick added.
“Heath told me the man’s face was completely covered in bandages.”
“I didn’t treat anyone for burns.” Howard said.
“Crown would have never allowed the man to be treated in
Stockton. My guess is Crown has access
to a very discreet physician in San Francisco.
Someone who is already ethically compromised.” Jarrod mused.
Dr. Merar pondered what he knew of his various colleagues
in San Francisco for a moment. “I know
just the man Crown would use.” he said.
“The name is Dr. David Allen.
He’s a disgrace to the entire profession. Rumor has it that he’s nothing more than a licensed opium
dealer. He gives out narcotics like candy
and once his patients are hooked, they must pay his price to get more.”
“Howard, do you think this Dr. Allen would sell narcotic
to a perfectly healthy San Francisco police detective?” Jarrod smiled as a plan was coming together
in his mind.
Dr. Merar smiled back.
“As long as the detective didn’t show his badge… and showed Allen the
money instead.”
“You plan to entrap this crooked doctor, arrest him and
then squeeze him for information?” Fred asked.
“And if you can find the injured man and tie him to Crown…”
“I’ll kill Crown with my bare hands.” Nick seethed through
gritted teeth.
“You won’t have to, Nick.” Jarrod said. “If I can directly link Crown to that gang
of murderers, the State will do it for you.
If I leave now with Fred and Howard, I can be on the ten a.m. train to
San Francisco.”
Jarrod hesitated as he eyed Nick with concern. The long laceration on the crown of Nick’s
head was not completely healed. But the
bruising around the injury had faded from black-and-blue to a faint greenish
yellow. The strip of hair that Dr.
Merar had shaved away was starting to grow back in. But with Audra still in Boston, that would leave only Mother and
Nick to…
“Go, Jarrod!” Nick
had read his mind. “I’ll explain
everything to Mother. We’ll be fine.”
Chapter
7
Victoria had learned in the past twenty-four hours to be
thankful for even the smallest blessing, the smallest sign of encouragement.
This was one such moment of respite. Heath was allowing her to give him water
from the cup she held without resistance.
He sipped the cup slowly and it was taking him quite a while to finish
it. Victoria didn’t mind at all as she
patiently helped him to empty the cup.
One cup of water without a fight.
Victoria stroked his face with loving tenderness. “That was very good, Son.” she said.
Heath stared at the ceiling, impassive to her
ministrations.
Victoria relished in this moment that he was letting her
touch him. Heath’s pulse had not
jumped, his breathing was steady, and not a tremor had passed through his
muscular body.
“Hey, did he finish that whole cup?” Nick asked as he
strode through the bedroom door.
“He certainly did!”
Victoria turned and smiled at her middle son. Nick placed an arm around her shoulders as they both took
pleasure in the small victory.
* * * * * * * *
“Philip?” Heath’s voice was hoarse. “Where are you?”
The entire unit was pinned down under the withering blaze
of Confederate firepower. Heath and the
other boy had taken refuge behind a small earthen embankment.
They hunched down together, immobilized by the hail of
bullets whizzing over their heads. The
day was hot, but Heath knew it would be suicide to dash for the cover of the
nearby trees.
The scorching sun tore through his tan and burned Heath’s
body. Heath had lost his canteen in the
confusion of the battle. Philip had
been willing to share his water.
Philip was a new recruit.
This was the first real action the sixteen year-old had seen. Heath was already a seasoned veteran.
“Don’t panic.” Heath reminded him. “Just be still and keep your head down. Reinforcements are on the way.”
Now the boy was gone!
A cannonball gouged a large hole in the earth not twenty
feet from where Heath lay. A dirt and
dust-filled shower rained down on him.
“Philip, get down!
The Rebs have brought in heavy artillery!” Heath cried.
There was the flash and explosion of the distant row of
Confederate cannons. The air whined as
the balls flew toward their targets.
“Philip!” Heath
caught sight of the terrified boy running erratically across the
battlefield. Heath jumped up. He had to catch the boy and get him to
cover.
As Heath tried to overtake his young friend, death rained
down from the sky.
Cries and screams erupted all around him. Torn bodies and guns with bayonets flew into
the air. The battlefield was strewn
with the broken and bloody bodies of Union infantrymen, torn apart and
scattered like debris.
As the dust began to clear, Heath caught sight of
Philip. He lay on the ground twisted
and bloody, his face contorted with his final pain.
Heath felt sickened by the stench of death that was
everywhere. He knelt by Philip’s side
and wept at the senselessness and tragedy of it all.
* * * * * * * *
“He’s back in the
war again.” Victoria shook her head sadly.
“I know, Mother.” Nick said gently.
Victoria’s heart had broken each time she witnessed Heath
reliving some traumatic experience in his mind. Many of the horrific scenes seemed to have arisen out of the
wartime era.
“He was just a boy!” she said. “I’d give everything I own to have had him living safely with us
here at the ranch.”
“I know you would.”
Nick pulled her into a closer embrace.
“You look tired, Mother. You’ve
taken your shift and Jarrod’s. I’m
going to take over now.” He placed a
kiss on her silver hair.
“I’ve been wondering how things are going in San
Francisco.”
“Me, too. Maybe
we’ll get a telegram from Jarrod tomorrow.
I know one thing though…” Nick said with confidence. “If there’s anybody who can get to the
bottom of this, it’s Jarrod!”
Victoria reached over and ran her fingers through Heath’s
hair. “It’s about time to replace the
cooling cloths.”
“I can handle it, Mother.”
“Alright, Nicholas, I’ll go. But call me if you need anything or begin to get a headache.”
“My head is fine, Mother.
Go get some rest.”
* * * * * * * *
Carlo Lucci had continued to keep a secret watch on the
house. He knew from the doctor’s
comings and goings and no sign of an upcoming funeral that the bastard had
survived the poisoning.
Two things that Lucci kept on his person at all times were
a stiletto knife and a vial containing a lethal dose of poison.
He had originally planned to slip his stiletto between the
blond’s ribs. But the events at the
cabin had led him to be wary of the muscular cowboy. Even caught off-guard and unarmed, the blond may have proven to
be a formidable opponent.
When the opportunity had presented itself to use the
poison instead, Carlo seized it. There
was nothing better than a clean kill with no risk to himself.
It was an unfortunate turn of events that the town doctor
was in attendance at the party. But it
would only be a temporary setback.
Carlo reached into his jacket and caressed the stiletto’s
handle.
Carlo Lucci took a measure of satisfaction in the fact
that while the previous confrontation with Heath Barkley had left Carlo
permanently scarred, the next encounter would leave the bastard permanently
dead.
Tomorrow night!
Chapter
8
Dr. Merar was pleased to see signs of progress in his
patient. Heath’s temperature was coming
down and his dilated pupils were showing a tiny rim of blue.
“Good!” Howard said as he finished listening over Heath’s
abdomen. “I’m beginning to hear some
rumbles and gurgling in there.” He
patted Heath’s stomach.
“By tomorrow morning the hallucination phase should be
over.” the doctor stated.
“Howard, I recall you saying that the victims of this
particular poison had no memory of their hallucinations.”
“That’s correct, Victoria. Heath will have complete amnesia of the entire period of the
poisoning. He will not remember the
final stage of the illness either. It
is what’s referred to as the ‘disorientation and loss of equilibrium phase’. This phase will last for three or four days
and then Heath will be back to his old self.
Just think of it like a prolonged period of alcohol intoxication.”
Nick smiled. “So
Doc, you’re saying that for the next three or four days, my little brother is
going to be several sheets to the wind?”
“Yes, Nick, and probably the blankets and pillowcases
too. I certainly hope this boy tends to
be a ‘happy’ drunk.”
The doctor pulled a bottle out of his bag. “In any event, I am satisfied enough with
Heath’s improvement that I am comfortable with giving him sedation. If Heath begins to have another
hallucination, give him two tablespoons of this medicine. He needs a night of undisturbed rest more
than anything else right now.”
The doctor snapped the black bag shut. “See you folks in a couple of days.”
* * * * * * * *
Carlo Lucci stood obscured among the trees beyond the
front gates of the Barkley mansion. He
watched the doctor’s buggy exit through the gates and head back to town.
Lucci sneered.
This would be the last time the bastard would need a doctor’s
services. It would be the undertaker
the Barkley family would be sending for come morning. If things went as planned, dawn would find Carlo well along on
his journey east.
This was the first and only time Carlo had defied a direct
order from Jacob Crown. After a doctor
had treated Carlo’s burns, Jonathan Hoak had left him alone to recover in some
two-bit hotel. Hoak had also left Lucci
with ample cash and explicit instructions from Crown to return to New York
City. And return he would, right after
he fulfilled his vow of vengeance.
In some perverted way, Carlo was glad Heath Barkley had
survived the poison. His one regret had
been that the bastard had not known death was coming or from whence it came.
Lucci wanted the bastard to look on his face as Lucci
drove the stiletto into his heart. The
last thing Heath Barkley would ever see would be Carlo’s grotesque face:
twisted in ecstasy as he savored the blond’s pain and reveled in his passing.
* * * * * * * *
Faintly Heath could hear the distant rhythmic rumblings of
the mountain. She groaned and shuddered
as she prepared to close the deep wound that had been chiseled in her side.
He had worked the mines long enough to immediately
recognize the sound. The low droning
rumble grew ever louder as Heath grabbed the lantern and dashed for the mine
entrance. He dropped the lantern when
his eyes caught the sun’s illumination streaming down the mineshaft. He thought for a moment he’d make it out
until the tunnel’s ceiling suddenly collapsed in a heap of rock and splintered
timbers.
When the primal rumblings had subsided, Heath found that
he was pinned beneath the debris. His eyes
ached, opened wide to penetrate the darkness.
“Help! Mine
cave-in! Help me!” He called to no one
there.
Heath could smell the pungent rocks and he reached out to
touch the mine’s damp walls. The
totality of the darkness lay so thick about him that Heath could feel it. A cool draft passed over him, blowing a
silken cobweb across his face. The
mountain bled drops of its own blood into his mouth.
Heath could sense some presence other than himself just
before he drifted off into an abyss of nothingness.
* * * * * * * *
“I’m glad that we
could spare him the horror of that one.” Victoria said as she sat the spoon and
the medicine bottle on the bedside table.
“I know, Mother.”
Nick took a deep breath. “He’s
out of that rotten mineshaft now. I
hope the doc was right, and this will be the last hallucination.” Nick stroked his sleeping brother’s
hair. “Looks like he’s out for the
night, but I’m gonna sit with him anyway.
Why don’t you go on to bed and get some sleep, Mother?”
Victoria felt the waning heat in the blond’s cheeks and
then turned to Nick. She kissed him on
the cheek. “Good night, Son.”
“Good night, Mother.” Nick said.
* * * * * * * *
The night turned chilly, as the last of the sun’s warmth
was gone. Carlo Lucci lurked in the
darkness, his back pressed against the Barkley’s barn.
Lucci had thoroughly cased the house the night
before. On the front of the house, he
had noted the faint smudge of light coming from a second-story window for two
consecutive nights. Heath Barkley’s
room, no doubt. Carlo could just
imagine the family keeping their all-night vigils. Keeping the lamps dim so as not to hurt the bastard’s eyes.
While Lucci had seen light emanating from other rooms on
the front of the mansion, the windows that he watched now on the rear side had
remained dark. It was an unoccupied
room, he reasoned, and almost directly across from the bastard’s room.
Carlo chuckled softly.
Luck was definitely with him tonight!
The empty second-floor room had large windows that opened out to a small
balcony. A sturdy trellis stood against
the mansion’s wall just beyond the balcony.
He would use the trellis to climb up to the little balcony. For a career criminal like Carlo Lucci,
getting into the room from there would present no problem. Once there he would crack the door open ever
so slightly and wait in the darkness, wait for his chance to be alone with the
bastard.
Lucci had seen the lawyer leave the previous morning. That leaves only the two, he thought. They would tend to the bastard in
shifts. But they’d have to eat; they’d
have to relieve themselves. They
wouldn’t be with the bastard every minute.
Lucci would be hiding in the darkness, watching and
listening for whoever stayed with the bastard tonight to leave even for a few
minutes.
Even a few minutes were longer than he’d need.
* * * * * * * *
Nick pulled his stocking feet down off Heath’s bed, stood
up from his chair, and stretched wearily.
He slipped a single finger beneath each of Heath’s restraints to make
sure they were just loose enough to allow blood circulation.
The room was cool.
No fire had been lit in the fireplace because of Heath’s high
temperature. Heath was still sleeping
soundly, so Nick decided to go get an extra blanket from his own room. He thought it unlikely that Heath might
awaken and need him, but Nick decided to leave Heath’s bedroom door wide open
anyway.
Nick padded quietly down the hall to his bedroom. He picked up the blanket that lay folded on
the end of his bed. Nick turned to
leave when his eyes came to rest on the navy blue tie lying on his dresser. He dropped the blanket on the floor as he
was suddenly overcome by a frantic impulse to return to Heath’s side.
After this night, Nick would never cease to believe in his
mysteriously forewarning instinct in regard to Heath.
* * * * * * * *
How nice of them to have the bastard tied spread-eagle on
the bed, Carlo Lucci thought. How easy
this would make things. His long,
narrow, sharp-tipped stiletto was perfect for the job.
Carlo would stab Heath near the top of his abdomen, just
below the sternum, with the handle almost flat against Heath’s stomach at an
extreme angle. He would shove the
stiletto leftward to the hilt and wiggle it.
The stiletto would make just a small entry slit, but it would do great
damage to the heart. He wouldn’t even
have to worry about going between ribs.
There only remained one final detail. Lucci realized it was wisdom to simply do
the deed as quickly as possible and slip back into the night. But Lucci wanted the bastard to see him. Carlo would lock stares with the bastard one
last time. He would watch the life leave
those arrogant sky-blue eyes. Heath
Barkley’s final vision would be of Carlo Lucci’s grotesquely scarred face and
cobra-like obsidian eyes.
Lucci glanced back at the open door. He saw no one and heard nothing. He grabbed the bastard’s shoulder and shook
him. Heath did not respond. Lucci shook Heath even harder without
response. Open your eyes bastard,
Lucci’s mind screamed! He slapped
Heath’s cheek as hard as he dared.
Heath moaned softly and began to stir.
Chapter
9
Nick moved with cat-like quickness to Heath’s door. His hazel eyes filled with a terrible rage.
A man stood over his brother’s bed. The left side of his face was horribly
disfigured from burns. The scars
extended from his temple down across the cheek all the way to the jaw line. The scar’s contraction pulled up the upper
lip and bared the man’s teeth. The dim
lamplight played on the long stiletto as if a drop of water slid down its
blade.
Nick’s two long strides and leap were a blur as he drove
Lucci into the floor like a tiger on its prey.
He hit Lucci with the full force of his body and both men rolled across
the floor. Out of the tangle, Nick was
on his feet first but Lucci had managed to keep his knife in hand.
Lucci scrambled to his feet while keeping the tip of the stiletto
pointed at his muscular adversary.
Carlo had only killed by surprise or cunning, never in hand-to-hand
combat. Even though it was Carlo who
was armed, he saw no fear in the hazel eyes.
There was a predatory gleam in the eyes of the man who stalked him,
poised to attack. The dark assassin had
become the hunted.
Carlo slashed wildly at the dark-haired cowboy. Moving with the nimbleness of a big cat,
Nick evaded the gleaming blade as it slashed the air inches from his
chest.
Carlo felt an iron grip on the hand that held the knife,
even as he felt another close on his throat.
Carlo strained against the relentless pressure from the powerful arms as
suddenly his feet went out from under him when Nick hooked his leg around him.
As both men went down, Nick drove Carlo’s own knife deep
into his heart. Carlo gasped his last
breath, his vision narrowing to a dim and closing hole that encased only the
face of Nick Barkley.
“Nick! I heard a
commotion…” Victoria stopped mid-sentence.
Nick stood over the body of a man who lay face-up with a knife embedded
in his chest.
Heath! Victoria’s
frantic eyes drank in the sight of him.
He slept peacefully with not even a dream penetrating his world.
* * * * * * * *
Nick stepped out to the banister when he heard the front
door close.
“JARROD!”
Jarrod stood in the foyer, briefcase in hand, in the
presence of a tall dark-haired stranger.
He looked up to the second-floor and smiled. “Good morning, Brother Nick!”
Victoria hurried out of Heath’s room and joined Nick.
“Good morning, Mother!”
“Jarrod! It’s so
good to have you home! And I see you’ve
brought a visitor.” Victoria took
Nick’s arm and they hurried down the stairway.
Jarrod embraced his mother and gave her a tender kiss on
the cheek. He shook Nick’s hand warmly.
“Mother, Nick, this is Michael Davis from the San
Francisco District Attorney’s Office.
He traveled to Stockton with me to hand over some depositions to Judge
Sullivan.”
“Welcome to our home, Mr. Davis.” Victoria said as she
offered her hand.
“Thank you, Mrs. Barkley.” Mike Davis shook her hand and then shook Nick’s extended hand as
well.
Jarrod’s expression became grave. “We now know the identity of the final
member of the outlaw gang. His name is
Carlo Lucci.”
“His name WAS Carlo Lucci.” Nick’s voice was hard-edged.
“What?” Jarrod and
Mike Davis looked at Nick in surprise.
“He broke in the house last night and tried to kill
Heath. Don’t worry…” Nick added quickly
when he saw Jarrod’s eyes widen with apprehension. “Heath is fine. I killed
that monster before he got the chance to hurt Heath any more than he already
had.”
Jarrod let out the breath he had unconsciously been
holding. “Let’s step into the
gunroom. There is some other news that
I want to share with you both.”
“Would anyone care for a drink?” Nick asked as they
gathered in the gunroom. The others
declined and Nick strolled to the bar to pour one for himself.
There was a thinly concealed excitement in Jarrod’s
demeanor and everyone remained standing as he spoke.
“My trip to San Francisco was more fruitful than I dared
hope. Dr. Merar’s tip led us straight
to the corrupt doctor who had treated Carlo Lucci. The San Francisco Police detectives did not have to apply much
pressure on him before he identified Jonathan Hoak as the man who accompanied
Lucci. An arrest warrant was issued for
Hoak and he was arrested the same evening.”
“My office gave Hoak the option of being charged as an
accomplice to the murders or telling everything he knew and getting the lesser
charges of accessory before and after the fact.” Mike Davis said. “We ended up wringing information out of
Hoak like water from a wet rag!”
“Then Hoak admitted that it was Jacob Crown who hired that
gang of murderers?” Nick slammed his
drained shot glass down on the bar.
“He did indeed, Nick.” Jarrod said. “You were right all along.”
“There’s more.”
Jarrod looked at Nick and then fastened on his mother’s gray eyes. “Jonathan Hoak also admitted to being
present when Crown hired Father’s assassin.”
He saw her body begin to tremble and tears began to well in her
expressive eyes.
Jarrod took her hand.
“The statute of limitations for murder never runs out. In Law, there exists a principle that is
embodied in the phrase: ‘qui facit per alium, facit per se’ – he who does a
thing by the agency of another, does it himself. Judge Sullivan is reading over the depositions that Mike
delivered to him. By this afternoon,
the judge will have issued indictments for multiple counts of murder against
Jacob Crown, beginning with Father’s!”
Nick gazed heavenward and raised clenched fists. Victoria collapsed against Jarrod’s
chest. He held her tenderly as she
cried tears of release.
For years after her husband’s murder, Victoria had
hated. She had hated with a passion and
intensity that threatened to consume her very soul. Her hate had not been for the man who pulled the trigger. No, that man was long dead. The overwhelming hatred was reserved for the
man who was ultimately responsible for the crime: Jacob Crown! It had seemed as though Tom Barkley’s
murderer would continue to live in opulence unpunished, beyond the reach of the
law. She finally accepted that not all
who deserve judgment and condemnation receive it. At least, not in this world.
One day, Jacob Crown would stand before a Judge who could not be bought,
who was all knowing and perfect in His judgments. This realization freed her of that consuming hatred. And yet, there had been a portion of her
grief that could find no closure.
“Thank you, Son.” Victoria whispered in his ear as she
regained her composure.
“You’re welcome, Mother!”
Jarrod’s own eyes were moist. He
wiped the lingering tears from her cheeks with his thumbs.
“What about Jacob Crown?”
Nick asked.
“Jacob Crown is traveling back from St. Louis to
California as we speak.” Mike said.
“When I have those warrants in hand, I’ll have him arrested as soon as
he crosses the state line! Of course,
he’ll be tried here in Stockton where the murders occurred.”
“But you wouldn’t necessarily have to arrest Crown as soon
as he crossed the state line, would you Mike?”
“What are you getting at, Jarrod?” Mike asked.
“I understand that Crown is returning for a celebration
the Coastal and Western Railroad Board of Directors are throwing in his honor
at Hannibal Jordan’s mansion.”
Mike Davis smiled.
“You are a wicked man, Counselor!
I guess that’s why I like working with you so much.”
“That’s one plan I can get behind, too, Jarrod!” Nick
beamed.
“Then it’s settled.”
Jarrod smiled with satisfaction as well. “How is Heath, Mother?” he asked.
“He’s sleeping.” Victoria said. “But Howard believes the hallucinations are all behind him and
Heath is now going into the final stage of the illness.”
“Drunk as a skunk for three or four days.” Nick added and
shook his head. “The rest of this week
is gonna be anything but dull.”
“Mike, if you’ll excuse us. I want to go see my brother.”
Jarrod took his mother’s arm and escorted her up the
stairway. All three paused for a moment
of grateful reflection as they watched the blond resting quietly on the bed.
Nick lifted the damp cloth and felt of Heath’s
forehead. “Hey!” He broke into a
smile. “I think his temperature is back
to normal.”
Heath opened his eyes slowly. They were blue again.
“Mornin.” He blinked drowsily.
“Do you know who I am?” Nick asked.
“Course I do, Nick.”
I ain’t that drunk, Heath thought.
“Only man I ever saw with a reverse Mohawk.”
“You got no room to be talking, Boy. Your hair looks like it’s been combed with a
pillow.” Nick grumbled good-naturedly.
Heath blinked again and brought another familiar face into
focus.
“Pappy!” He raised
one eyebrow. “Boy howdy, I told ya that
punch was spiked!”
Jarrod moved closer to his younger brother and reached out
and tousled the blond hair.
“It certainly was, Brother Heath.”
When Heath was back to normal, the family would tell him
the true nature of the events that had transpired. All the terrible details that Heath thankfully would not recall,
they would never share with him.
“Throw your hat in the ring, Jarrod. I got your campaign slogan.”
Jarrod knew he’d probably regret it, but he asked
anyway. “Which is?”
“Vote for Jarrod Barkley. Attorney-At-Law. Finest two
people if there ever was one!”
“Ah… well… ah, maybe we could work on that a little more,
Heath.”
“Sounded good to me.” Nick deadpanned.
“Good morning, Mother.”
Heath’s eyes twinkled with delight when she stepped into view.
Victoria cupped Heath’s face in her hands and gazed
lovingly into his eyes.
“Good morning, Sweetheart.”
“I’m a little bit drunk.” he whispered a confession.
“I love you anyway, Heath Barkley.” She whispered back and brushed his lips with
a tender kiss.
Heath tried to give his mother a hug and realized that his
arms were bound. “What’s this?” He looked over the four-point bindings in
confusion.
Heath relaxed his head back into the pillow and
smiled. “Nick! Turn me loose, Big Brother! I promise I’ll never steal another bow-tie!”
Jarrod chuckled at the sincerity of the blond’s
declaration. “I’ve never heard a guilty
party sound more genuinely remorseful, Nick.”
Nick started to loose the bindings and then he stepped
back and crossed his arms. He grinned
at Jarrod and winked.
“I’ll only let you go, Little Brother, if you promise you
won’t make fun of my hair!”
“I won’t make fun of my hair!” Heath repeated with
beguiling blue eyes and a crooked smile.
For a man used to all the trappings of wealth and power,
the Stockton jail was a rude awakening.
The damning testimony of Heath Barkley and Jonathan Hoak
left the outcome of the trial in little doubt.
Not one politician or Coastal and Western official attended the
trial. The renegade railroad baron was
abandoned by all to his fate.
The ruthless man that had been so callous and merciless in
regard to the lives of others pleaded for the mercy of the Court to spare his
own. As he was led to the scaffold,
Crown revealed the depth of his own cowardice.
Jacob Crown died, the people of the Valley said, in the
way that he deserved.
Horribly.