One Short Sleep

Chapters 1-6

by JanissaB

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.

To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware.
(William Cullen Bryant, “Thanatopsis”)

Chapter 1

He didn’t think anything of it at first. It was just one of those things, an irritation, not a real problem. He learned years before to ignore such things. If you got all excited about most of them, all it’d do was slow you down.

So it surprised him that October day in the south pasture, when Nick reined in and scowled at him. “What’s with all the hackin’?”

Heath stared at him. “Huh?”

The scowl got bigger. “You been coughin’ like that all day. You puny?”

“Me? Puny? Nope. Feel all right.” Although it was partly a lie, because he did feel a tiny bit puny. But not so’s it would cut into his work. No sir, not so much.

“Why don’t you go on home? Cut on out early. I can see to this, no reason you have to.”

It was unexpectedly generous, and as so many times before with Nick, it annoyed Heath a little. “No reason I gotta cut out early,” he shot back, before a cough interrupted him.

“That’s what I mean. Hackin’.” Nick snorted. “Go on, go home. I’ll be there myself soon enough. Go get Mother to make one of her poultices.”

Heath wrinkled his nose. “Ain’t that bad.”

“Better let her be the judge of that. ‘Less you’d rather see Doc Merar.”

The thought of calling out the town doctor for this tickle in his chest was absurd. Heath eased Charger down to a walk, and then a halt. “You sure? Nick, I feel fine. Just got a damn cold or somethin’. That’s all.”

But Nick wasn’t stopping, too; instead he was riding on, and Heath regarded his brother’s obstinate back for a moment before slowly reining his horse back the direction they’d come.

And truth was, once he was back at the house and alone in his room, he did feel a little bit peaked. More than he’d realized out there with work on his mind. But he’d felt a hundred times worse than this before, and lived to tell the tale. Be fine in the morning.

He told Victoria that, when she knocked a few minutes later, wondering at his early return.

“How does your chest feel?” she asked, an elegant frown wrinkling her brow. “It’s early yet, but you could be taking cold.”

“I’m all right, Mother. I promise.” Under her calm stare he paused, and then shrugged. “Been coughin’ some. I reckon I probably took cold, s’true.”

“I’ll make a mustard poultice.” Victoria looked positively elated at the prospect, only frowning when Heath shook his head vigorously.

“Mother, I tell you, I don’t need it. Ain’t no -- I mean, I’m not that sick. Just a little puny, that’s all. Be right as rain by tomorrow, you wait and see. Save your poultices for someone who’s really sick.”

He softened the words with a game smile, but Victoria, while diverted from her home remedies, didn’t look much mollified. Especially not after a brief coughing spell cut short his excuses.

“Heath Barkley, that sounds just awful. How long have you felt like this?”

He scooted over to let her sit next to him on the bed. Absurdly, that felt awful good. Nothing like a mother, even when she did make the stinkiest godawful poultices this side of the Divide. “Dunno. Day or two, I reckon. I’ll be fine. May just sleep a little. Always said rest cures most ills.”

“Perhaps.” She looked sincerely unconvinced. “But if you’re not better tomorrow, I’m sending for the doctor. No,” she added, raising an imperious hand when he drew breath to object. “I’ve made up my mind, Heath. That’s all there is to it. Now you get some rest, and I’ll bring you up some supper after a little while.”

Heath stared at his knees. “Ain’t that hungry,” he muttered.

“Nonsense. When you smell Silas’s cooking you’ll tell me you’re starving, and why did I wait so long.”

He grinned and shook his head, and tried not to appreciate her gentle hand on his hair before she left.

He surprised himself by sleeping hard, and awoke to see Victoria and Audra both in his room, bustling around setting up a tray with what smelled like stew, and fresh bread. He thought about telling them he didn’t need the mother-hen treatment, but decided against it, seeing Victoria’s set features.

“You sit up, Heath, that’s it.”

“Aw, Mother.” He rolled his eyes while she tucked a napkin under his chin. “Next thing you know you’ll be givin’ me a pacifier.”

“Indulge me,” she replied calmly. The tray went over his lap, and he eyed the brimming bowl of stew with interest. “Now you eat up. You need your strength.”

Picking up a spoon Heath nodded. “You ladies best clear on out. Don’t want to be catchin’ this, whatever it is.”

“Don’t worry about that.” But Heath noted a quick look between mother and daughter, and Audra scooted out. “I’ll be back up in a little while to check on you, darling.” Victoria patted his arm. “You finish all that before I get back.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Alone in his room, he set to, feeling a little sheepish for eating in bed. And in spite of the savory smell and even better taste, his hunger was quick to disappear. He pushed listlessly at the remaining half-bowl, and gave some thought to hiding it in the chamber pot. No, he was a man grown, if he didn’t feel like eating, well, then, he’d just not eat.

Nick came calling before his mother’s return. “So you’re puny after all,” he boomed, placing his fists on his hips. “Knew it.”

“Ain’t that bad.” Heath set his spoon down and leaned back. “Just restin’.”

“Don’t look so bad. If I didn’t know you better I’d say you were just lookin’ to get out of work.” Heath drew an indignant breath and Nick grinned. “Just foolin’. Mother make that poultice yet?”

“Not yet. Thank God.”

That got him a loud spate of laughter. “Just you wait, boy. This time tomorrow, you’ll smell so bad, aren’t gonna have any visitors for a week.”

“Ain’t gonna be in bed a week. Just –“ The tickle caught him in mid-word, and he coughed, making a face at the tightness in his chest.

“See? Just the thought, got you all choked up.” But Nick’s teasing expression had softened. “Sounding a little rough there, brother. Maybe you better take that week after all.”

Heath waved a hand dismissively. “Just need a day or two, most likely.” He fought down the urge to cough again. “Be all right.”

“Only if you rest,” came Victoria’s stern voice from the doorway.

“Howdy, Mother.” Nick walked over to kiss her cheek. “What’s the verdict? Think he’ll live?”

“Oh, of course he’ll live.” Victoria snorted and smacked Nick’s arm. “But all this talking is making him cough, so you just leave him be, Nick. Go down and have some supper.”

“Mmm. Don’t have to tell me twice.” Nick grinned. “See you in the morning, Heath. Get some rest.”

Heath nodded, feeling ridiculous, and then looked at Victoria.

“You didn’t finish,” she said critically.

“Ran out of room, I expect.”

“Hmph. Well, I suppose that’ll do.” Her expression softened. “Feel any better?”

He thought about lying, and then gave it up as a lost cause. “Not all that much. I’ll be fine in the morning, though.”

“And if you’re not, you’ll stay in that bed, young man. I don’t like the sound of that cough.”

“No, ma’am.”

Victoria bustled around, picking up the tray, and paused at the end of the bed. “You wake me if you need anything in the night, all right? If you start to feel worse.”

Heath nodded tiredly. “I will, Mother. I promise.”

“Good night, dear.”

“Night.”

It was ridiculously early, but the moment she closed the door he felt his eyelids drooping. Probably the food; made him sleepy. He remembered to turn out the lamp before pulling up the covers and closing his eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

He awoke to darkness, and the clammy feel of sheets sticking to his skin. Had a fever and already broke it, he thought muzzily, sitting up. A harsh cough jolted him for his effort, and when the spate was done he felt dizzy and too hot. But it seemed the act of breathing was all it took to keep the coughs coming, hard deep coughing that stiffened his whole body, hardly letting up long enough for him to gasp some air before wracking him all over again.

He didn’t see the door open, but then there was soft lamplight, and Victoria, ghostly in her white dressing gown. “Sit up, Heath,” she said in a low voice, setting the lamp on the table. “Come on.”

He was never sure how long she sat with him, but it was a while, he knew that much. Seemed as if the coughing would never stop, and he was cold now, soaked with sweat. His chest hurt, a deep sharp pain, bringing involuntary tears to his eyes.

Victoria said something to someone Heath couldn’t see, and presently there was tea, wonderfully hot and smelling like honey. “Drink a little, darling. It will soothe your throat.”

The tea helped tamp down the coughing, enough that he could pull the quilt over himself and start to warm up a bit. Victoria plumped pillows behind him, and murmured, “You need to sit up like this. You’ll cough worse if you lie flat.”

It wasn’t anything he didn’t already know, but it felt good to hear her say it all the same. He let her position him right, and gave her a tired smile. “Thanks,” he whispered in a raspy voice. “Sorry I woke you.”

“Don’t you worry about that. You get some sleep if you can. I’ll send for Dr. Merar first thing in the morning.”

He gazed at her indistinct face, nodding while she smoothed the damp hair from his forehead. “Yes’m.”

His eyes slid closed before she took the lamp away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Heath’s ailing?”

Victoria glanced at Jarrod’s looming form before pulling Heath’s door almost shut behind her. “A cold, I think, but it’s settled in his chest.” She held the lamp so that she could more readily make out her oldest son. “We’ll need to fetch the doctor in the morning.”

“I’ll take care of that, Mother. You get some rest.”

“All right.”

Back in her own bedroom, Victoria lay unmoving, gazing up at the pattern of moonlight on the ceiling. Difficult to see any of her children sick, but just as much so with Heath, it seemed. Not a son of her flesh, but certainly of spirit, and holding him while he coughed that terrible booming cough, she had remembered past vigils, other children, younger and much-loved. Two who had not survived. And Jarrod’s terrible bout with influenza, when he was four, and Nick with whooping cough. It was the same disease that had taken one of his infant sisters, and diphtheria had claimed another sister not yet out of diapers.

She hated feeling helpless. And nothing made her feel so helpless as illness. So little could be done, even today, with so many modern advances in medicine. Certainly the sick were better off today than in her own youth. But a cold could become much more, and quickly, and influenza was a dreadful disease. She prayed this was only a chest cold, and didn’t become something no one could fight except by prayer and diligent care.

If she slept, it hardly registered. When the darkness began to pale she rose silently, donning one of her old work dresses by flickering lamp light. Pausing at Heath’s door, she heard nothing. A superstitious lance of fear pierced her belly, and she opened the door. But he was still propped up as she’d left him, snoring because he lay on his back and his mouth sagged open. Swallowing, she allowed herself a brief breath of relief, and pulled the door to once more.

Jarrod was dressed downstairs, making her wonder if he’d returned to bed after his rest had been disturbed. He smiled at her over his cup of coffee. “Morning, Mother. Did you sleep?”

“A bit.” She walked over to kiss his cheek. “But I suspect you didn’t.”

“I thought it might be best if I didn’t. Don’t worry, I’ll make up for it later.” He set his cup on the table and reached for a fresh one. “Coffee, I assume?”

“Most definitely.”

He poured her a cup, and forced back a yawn. “I’ll head to town shortly. Doc Merar should still be home, unless he was already called out. What do you think he has?”

Victoria didn’t ask him to clarify who “he” was. “I hope it’s only a cold. But it may be more. Let’s not borrow trouble, dear. Howard can say when he gets here.”

“True enough.” Jarrod finished his coffee and drew a deep breath. “I’d best be off, then. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Thank you. You’re a dear.”

“I know.” He quirked her a grin, and went to get his coat.

She’d finished one cup of coffee and started another when she heard Heath’s booming cough. Audra stood on the landing when Victoria went up. Clutching her dressing gown around herself, Audra said, “He sounds worse, Mother.”

Seeing Audra’s pinched features, Victoria slid an arm around her daughter’s waist and gave her a short squeeze. “Jarrod’s gone to get Dr. Merar. We’ll see what he says, all right? You go down and have some breakfast. And until we know what Heath has, you should stay away from him.”

“But you’ll need help. You can’t nurse him all alone.”

“I most certainly can, and will, for the moment. No sense in all of us getting sick, too. Now you run on. Scoot.”

Audra’s chin stuck out in a mulish look so like her father, Victoria almost laughed. But she went downstairs, and Victoria’s smile faded as she made her way into Heath’s room. He sat hunched on the bed, body a picture of tense misery as he coughed over and over again. Sparing a second to wish she’d had Audra tell Silas to heat water for tea, Victoria hurried over to the bed.

Under her anxious hands Heath didn’t seem to be terribly feverish. But every muscle was tight with the stress of the coughing fit, and he didn’t look up at her approach.

In the back of her mind, a suspicious voice spoke up. Victoria froze in place, throat working convulsively. No, it was not that, could not be. She would not entertain the notion, even for a second. Closing her eyes briefly, she banished that old, frail voice to the basement of fear where it belonged, and cleared her throat.

“Heath, darling, cough it up. Get it out, go on.” She produced a handkerchief from her pocket and put it in his hand, closing his fingers over it. “That’s better. I’m sorry, I know you’re tired.”

He took the cloth and held it over his mouth, and then shook his head as another violent spate of coughing shook his body.

“Oh, Heath,” Victoria whispered, soundlessly. “Oh my dear.”

From that dank cellar in her mind came the same decrepit reminder, hollow with evil certainty. She swallowed and leaned her cheek against Heath’s shoulder.

Chapter 2

He found Dr. Merar already up, although bleary-eyed. Probably not much more so than Jarrod himself, he thought briefly, and reached out to shake Merar’s hand. “Sorry to trouble you so early,” Jarrod said quietly.

“No bother.” Merar reached up to straighten his collar. “What’s going on?”

“Heath’s taken ill. A cough, and a fever, I think. Mother and I thought it best if you’d come have a look at him.”

Merar’s nod was short and unsurprised. “Let me get my bag.”

In the buggy, the doctor was more direct. “How long has he been ailing?”

“I’m not entirely sure. Nick sent him in early yesterday, but I think it might be a day or two longer than that.” Jarrod clucked to the horse, urging it to a faster pace. “Influenza, perhaps. But it may only be a cold.”

“I doubt Victoria would have sent for me if she thought it was only a cold,” was Merar’s calm response.

“No,” Jarrod agreed after a moment. “Most likely not.”

They passed the rest of the ride mostly in silence, and the sun was well up by the time the house hove into view. Jarrod hitched the horse near the house and walked with Merar inside. Nick and Audra stood looking nervous and tired in the main room.

“Good, you got here.” Nick didn’t smile at either of them. “Boy sounds like hell up there. Beg pardon, Audra.”

“Oh, Nick, I can say ‘hell’ too, you know,” Audra shot back in a surprisingly peevish voice. She ignored Nick’s surprised look. “Nick’s right, Heath sounds just horrible, Dr. Merar. Can you help him?”

“I’ll do my best,” Merar said calmly, and headed for the stairs.

When Jarrod made to follow, Audra’s hand caught his arm. “Mother said we’re to stay down here. It may be catching.”

Gently disengaging her fingers, Jarrod produced a smile. “It’s good advice, sister mine. Could you ask Silas to make some more coffee? I’ll imagine the good doctor could use some, and I know I could.”

He reached the stairs before Nick said indignantly, “You shouldn’t go up!”

“Oldest sibling’s prerogative,” Jarrod returned over his shoulder. “Never you mind.”

Inside Heath’s room, Victoria stood with arms akimbo, closely watching the doctor’s ministrations. She spared Jarrod a scathing look. “What I said to them goes for you as well, young man. I don’t want you getting sick.”

“Calm down, Mother.” Jarrod crossed over to put his arm around her narrow shoulders. “I’ll be fine. Hale and hearty. Which is more than I can say for my youngest brother here.” He looked at Heath, sobering as he took in the grayish cast to Heath’s normally ruddy cheeks. “How is he?” he asked in a low voice, intended for his mother’s ears.

“He’s dreadfully ill. That cough, Jarrod –“ Victoria broke off, shaking her head. “I’ve heard the like before. I’d hoped never to again.”

Jarrod frowned. “Who?”

“We’ll discuss it later.” She lifted her chin. “Doctor? How is he?”

Merar didn’t reply immediately, taking the time to listen to Heath’s harsh breathing. Finally he withdrew, settling Heath back on the pillows and stowing his new stethoscope in his bag. “I’ll be back in a moment, Heath.”

Heath gave a slow nod, not opening his eyes. “All right.”

Outside, Merar glanced at each of them. “Sounds like catarrh. Might have started off a cold, but his lungs have gotten the worst of it.”

Victoria’s hand was tight on Jarrod’s forearm. “Influenza?”

“I don’t believe so. His fever’s not terribly high.”

“Thank God.”

Merar reached into his bag. “This is an expectorant – same as you took two winters ago, if I’m not mistaken, Jarrod.”

Jarrod took the bottle with a curled lip. “I remember. All too well.”

“Not much for taste, but it generally does the job. Keep him warm, a spoonful of this every four hours or so, and encourage him to cough. If his chest hurts, a mustard poultice might be efficacious. Mix in a few drops of turpentine to clear his breathing.”

“Thank you, Howard.” Victoria nodded.

“If he worsens or his fever rises much, let me know. I’ll come by in a day or two to see how he’s faring.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Victoria dosed him with something horrible not long after the doctor left. Heath sputtered and choked and coughed heavily, and when he was done he glared at her. “That’s supposed to HELP me?”

“It loosens the phlegm in your chest.” She put away the bottle and spoon, looking sympathetic but severe. “Believe me, I know it tastes dreadful. But it will help you cough.”

“Seems to me -- I ain’t havin’ any trouble coughin’ all on my own.”

That got him a laugh. “That’s the spirit, honey. Now, I want you to drink your tea.”

He didn’t much cotton to tea as a rule, but this had honey in it, and besides, he’d have drunk anything to get the taste of that awful medicine out of his mouth. He swigged it down, and another cup before Victoria gave him a satisfied nod.

“You rest now. I’ll check on you after a while.” Her hand was cool on his forehead. “Bring you something to eat. That’ll put the color back in your cheeks.”

He nodded tiredly, and leaned his head back. Cautious, so cautious: don’t want to set off another spell. But the cough seemed to be sated for the moment, and he slept almost immediately.

After what felt just a minute or two, Victoria shook his shoulder. There was soup, and more tea, and more disgusting medicine. And finally there was the dreaded poultice, which reeked even more than he remembered.

“Smell’s – gonna make me -- sick all by itself,” Heath wheezed.

“Nonsense. Best thing for a cough I know.”

It did smell to high heaven, but after it had cooled just a bit he thought it really did make him feel a mite better. Or maybe it was the godawful medicine after all. Whatever the reason, he rested better that night, and the following morning he felt a lot closer to himself again.

“Still coughing?” Jarrod looked as if he needed a good night’s sleep himself. “How do you feel?”

Heath waved a hand, shifting to sit up a bit. “Reckon I’ll be just fine.”

“Now you wouldn’t just be saying that so you can avoid another dose of Dr. Merar’s vintage, would you?”

Heath smiled, watching Jarrod take a seat near the bed. “Damn stuff’s so bad, I’d do just about anything, I admit.”

“You sound better. How’s the cough?”

“Ain’t -- It’s not as bad, don’t think. Now you wanna hear some coughin’ -- Few years back, when I was down in the camp. Heard some bad stuff then.”

Jarrod nodded slowly. “At Carterson.”

“And after, yep. Some of them boys took sick, wasn’t nothin’ – anything – anybody could do for ‘em. Least it wasn’t the yellow fever.”

“Thank God for that. I’m glad you’re on the mend, Heath. Mother was pretty worried.”

“Aw, no need for that. Wish she wouldn’t take on.”

“She cares a great deal about you,” Jarrod told him quietly. “More than I think she could ever say.”

Feeling his face heating up, Heath looked away. “Think I’m startin’ to see that.”

Jarrod slapped his hands on his thighs. “Well, then. I should get to it. You let me know if there’s anything you need, all right? I imagine Dr. Merar will be by to check up on you sometime today.”

“Oughta save the trip. Be back at it here real soon.”

“I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear it.” Jarrod smiled.

~~~~~~~~~~~

He felt worse come midday, and sometime in the afternoon he coughed so hard he puked, adding embarrassment to the general misery. So by the time Merar arrived he didn’t feel as confident as he had earlier in the day.

“Still not too much fever.” Merar nodded to himself, rummaging in his bag. “That’s good. Sit up for me, would you?” The metal end of his stethoscope was cold on Heath’s skin. “Take deep breaths for me.”

“I’ll try. Makes me cough.”

“That’s all right. In and out. That’s it.”

Breathing hurt again, hurt bad, although he said nothing, just waited for the doc to finish so he could go back to sipping air. Finally Merar had listened enough, and Heath was allowed to sit back.

“Gotta take some more of that pine tar syrup, I guess,” Heath said tiredly.

Merar tucked his instruments back away in his bag, and closed it. “Cough up any blood last night or today?”

“Blood?” Heath stared at him. “Nope. Not that I noticed.”

“How’s your appetite? Feel as if you could eat something?”

“Reckon so. Ain’t that hungry, though.”

“All right. I have to tell you, Heath, I don’t like what I’m hearing. Now I know you don’t want to hear this, but you’re going to have to stay in this bed a while. If you don’t, you’re going to get worse. A lot worse.”

Heath considered it a moment. “Well, I ain’t tryin’ to go back and work today, Doc, I understand that. Don’t feel up to it if you want the truth, but –“

“I mean, stay in bed until you’re well. You understand me? Can’t fool around with this, Heath.” Merar’s face was grim. “I want you to promise me that.”

“Why? What’s wrong with me?”

“I can’t say for certain yet. But you’re trying to get pneumonia, and that’s not something to mess with. All right? And getting out before you’re well will just mean a relapse. So your dance card’s empty for the next couple of weeks. No work, no going out of the house. You take the medicine I prescribe and drink a lot of fluids. More than you want. Eat as much as you can, stay warm. I’m leaving some laudanum in case your chest pains you, but don’t take it unless you really need it.”

Heath nodded awkwardly. “A – All right, Doc.”

“I’ll come back by in the morning. But you let Victoria and Jarrod know if you start to feeling worse. I can help, but not if you suffer in silence.”

“Ain’t been too silent with this,” Heath muttered, touching his chest.

“That might be the silver lining right there.” Merar waited until Heath saw his smile, and then nodded. “I should be off. You heed your mother, too. She’s nursed many a patient, and she knows what’s best.”

Heath thought of a comment about her highly aromatic compresses, but held it back.

He choked down another spoonful of the medicine later on, and again before the family retired for the night. He thought Victoria looked tired as she perched on the side of the bed, hair already tucked under her nightcap.

“Dr. Merar must have been strict with you today,” she commented lightly, her fingers cool on his hand. “You didn’t complain a bit about that expectorant.”

“Mother, you all right? You look a bit peaked yourself.”

She shrugged. “A little tired, perhaps. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure.” When he frowned she squeezed his fingers. “I’m not taking ill, Heath, so put your mind at ease. Now, I’ve left the laudanum here on your table. I know you’d prefer not to use it,” she added at his expression, “but rest is the best thing for you right now, and if you can’t sleep, a little nip won’t hurt.”

He wasn’t about to touch the stuff, but he gave her his most sincere nod.

“All right, then. Sleep well, sugar. We’re all right here if you need us.”

Seeing the dark smudges under her eyes, he thought it would be a cold day in Hell before he’d make a fuss tonight. “I’ll be fine, Mother,” he said softly. “Go get some rest. And thanks for helping me out. Most appreciated.”

“My pleasure.” She patted his cheek. “Good night, Heath.”

“Night, Mother.”

Chapter 3

Nick splashed water on his face and rinsed the soap from his cheeks. The little cut on his chin stung, and he glared at his reflection as he rummaged for the towel. Couldn’t even shave right this morning, apparently. Couldn’t do much lately; felt awkward.

And why was that? Surely not because everything seemed so damned whomper-jawed this week, could it? Heath sick, Mother in full-blown nursing mode, and Jarrod hanging about the house when everyone knew good and well he ought to be back in Frisco by now?

Dabbing uselessly at the cut, Nick stowed the rest of his gear in his ditty bag. Yeah, it did feel odd. Wasn’t right, Heath laid up in that bed like an invalid. Man was strong, and young; didn’t seem the type to take ill. And yet there was no denying it. That cough had sent chills down Nick’s spine. Heard folk sick like that here and there. Some hadn’t ever gotten well.

He sighed and went to find clean shirt and pants. With Heath or without, the ranch still wanted tending. He’d never finished his chores from earlier in the week, and now there’d be more. High time to get to it.

Victoria was just emerging from her room when he came out. “Good morning, Mother,” Nick said, hearing the morning rasp in his own voice. “How are you today?”

Her eyes were puffy with sleep, but she was immaculately dressed already, not a hair out of place. “A bit tired,” she conceded. “But a cup of coffee should help that. And you?” She glanced at him. “Darling, you’re bleeding.”

Nick made a face and touched the cut on his chin. “All thumbs this morning. Coffee sounds mighty good.”

“Let me just look in on Heath.”

Heath was fine, sleeping soundly, and Nick noted with satisfaction the better color in his brother’s cheeks before shooing Victoria out ahead of him and downstairs.

Half an hour later he set out. The day passed swiftly, filled with chores and a long afternoon with some of the hands, searching out summer calves that had thus far escaped branding. By the time the sun was dropping in the west, they had over two dozen located, although Nick suspected there were more, hiding with their mamas in the heavy brush down by the east creek.

“Carl, you and Danny head up the ridge in the morning and see what else you can find.” Nick wiped sweat from his upper lip and sighed. “By my count we’re still at least two dozen short, and I want those calves accounted for by end of this week. Understood?”

“Sure thing, Mr. Barkley.”

“Might as well check that fence while you’re up there.”

“Will do.”

It was almost sundown when he got back to the house. Inside he smelled a chicken roasting, and probably gingerbread in the oven. Victoria and Audra sat in the parlor, working on their hand stitching, and gave him pretty smiles.

“Supper in about half an hour, Nick,” Victoria told him, making a face when he kissed her cheek. “Maybe you can use that time to wash up.”

“Oh, is that a hint?”

“More like a heartfelt request, darling.”

Audra waved her embroidery in front of her face, wrinkling her nose. Nick snorted and shrugged. “Just a little honest sweat. Never killed anybody.” But he went upstairs in good humor.

Stopping past the landing, he tapped on Heath’s door, then stuck his head inside. Heath sat on the bed, eyes widening when he saw Nick. “You up for visitors?” Nick asked with a grin.

“You bet.”

The room smelled heavily of mustard poultice, and Nick wrinkled his nose. “Lord, Heath, this place smells worse than I do.” He clomped over to take a seat near the bed. “What, she put turpentine in that, too?”

“Not sure what all she puts in ‘em,” Heath said with an eloquent curl of his lip. “I been smellin’ it so long, think my smeller’s broke.”

“By Mother’s expression when I came in, that might be a lucky thing.”

“You find them calves? We’re short a good fifty.”

Nick nodded. “Got about half today. Rest will turn up tomorrow.”

“You check ‘em for scours? Rusty last week, said he saw a couple looked peaked.”

“I’ll check ‘em.”

“Best do it tonight, so you can separate out the ones that –“

“Heath.” Nick shook his head. “I’ve been doing this a long time, and I know all about scours. You just put your mind at rest, let me do the work here. Conserve your strength.”

“Aw, I apologize for that.” Heath waved his hand, expression turning sour. “Reckon I’m gettin’ tired of this damn room. Didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“I haven’t heard you cough yet. Feelin’ any better?”

“Some better. That doctor come by, brought me some more medicine. Ain’t never tasted anything so bad. Made your coffee sound pretty good, I tell you what.”

“Considering your opinion of my coffee that’s sayin’ something.”

“God’s truth.”

Nick laughed, and felt some thin thread of tension inside him let go, something he wasn’t even aware he’d been carrying around. “Oh, you’re feelin’ better. If you can moan about my coffee and ride me about the calves, you’re definitely on the mend.”

Heath gave him a slanted grin. “Just don’t want you to fall down on the job, that’s all.”

“With you around? Doubt that'd happen.” His smile faded a little. “Just don’t you be getting ideas about work for a while now, you hear? Mother said Doc Merar wants you 100% better before you get back up on a horse. I aim to hold you to that myself.”

“Fresh air’d do me a power of good, Nick,” Heath blurted in a pleading tone. “Think this room’s keepin’ me from recovering right.”

“Oh ho. Nice try, brother. I’m not fooled.”

Heath’s features took on a sulky cast. “Ain’t never been so bored in all my life,” he grumbled.

“All the more good, make you want to get well faster. All right. Best clean up before supper.”

“Might not be a bad idea. Guess my smeller ain’t broke after all.”

“Hah.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In spite of his increasing restlessness, it was another week before Dr. Merar pronounced him fit enough to get out of bed for longer than an hour or two. Contrary to his earlier warnings, the cough wasn’t completely gone. But it was reduced to a fraction of its earlier power, and that along with Heath’s heartfelt pleas seemed to relax the doctor’s resolve.

He dressed and shaved carefully before going downstairs. His legs complained a little, but he figured they’d recover after being stretched a bit. Silas was clearing the breakfast things away, and gave Heath a startled look.

“Mr. Heath! Why, you’re up and about again! Praise Jesus!”

“Amen, Silas.” Heath walked up and grabbed a cold biscuit from the plate Silas was carrying. “Where is everybody?”

“Miz Barkley and Miss Audra, they’s gone to town to run some errands. Mr. Jarrod went with ‘em, and Mr. Nick’s – Well, I don’t rightly know where Mr. Nick be.”

“You doin’ all right, Silas?”

“Aw, I be fine, Mr. Heath. Can’t complain. Sure is good to see you on you feet again.”

“Good to be that way. Tell ya, one more day in that room and I believe I’d be plumb stir-crazy.”

Silas laughed. “Mr. Heath, you is a caution! You want somethin’ to go with that there biscuit?”

“Nope, ain’t that hungry. But thank you just the same.”

He found Nick near the paddock, arms crossed, watching while one of the hands fought to get a halter on a roan colt Heath hadn’t seen before.

“New addition?” Heath asked in a low voice.

Nick flinched and turned, eyes widening. “Well, would you look what the cat drug out. Legs still work?”

“Along with the rest of me.” Heath nodded.

“Thought you mighta enjoyed a life of leisure so much I might not see you again,” Nick said heartily, and clasped Heath’s shoulder. “Bob Albertson brought this one out day before yesterday. Out of that mare you liked so much, last year, remember?”

“Oh, he’s a beauty,” Heath agreed, scanning the colt’s conformation. He snorted when the colt tossed his head, deftly avoiding being captured yet again. “Ain’t even halter-broke yet?”

“Well, he was. Only now I think he’s taken it in his mind to be ornery.”

“Musta seen you and figured it’s the only way to go.”

“Hah. You oughta go see Charger. He’s been pinin’ away for you.”

“You took him out, right? Don’t want him to get barn-sour.”

“I did, but wasn’t the same. Damn horse is in love with you, you know. Done nothin’ but mope since you took sick.”

“Best go see him, then.”

“You do that.”

It felt wonderful to be outside, fresh air, sunshine, the smell of grass and earth. He inhaled gratefully, and felt a wrenching cough twist inside his chest. Nick gave him an alarmed look. “On second thought, brother, you –“

“Nope.” Heath fought down the urge to cough again. “I ain’t hearin’ it. Figured I’d never get sprung, and now I aim to enjoy it.”

“Well, all right, then.”

Inside the stable Charger did look lonely, and then hilariously glad to see him, letting out a high excited whinny. Heath ran his hand down the horse’s muzzle affectionately. “Now you go on like this, people’re gonna talk, boy, don’t you know that?” he murmured. “How you been, huh? Bored as me? Reckon so.”

He was tired long before he got the saddle on Charger, but that was to be expected. Wouldn’t toughen up without work, and that was a fact. But the wash of dizziness that swept over him as he tried to mount was something else. He leaned against Charger, clutching the saddle, and blinked rapidly. “Good boy,” he wheezed. “You just stand there for a second. I’ll be up directly.”

But “directly” felt like a long time off. Even after the stable stopped its sideways movement he didn’t mount. Couldn’t, he knew for a stone fact.

“Mr. Barkley? You all right there?”

Heath looked at the hand standing nearby, wiping his fingers on a cloth. “Be all right, Jimmy,” Heath said, and bent forward, coughing harshly.

“Whoa, now.” Jimmy darted forward, taking Charger’s reins. “Want me to get Nick?”

Heath shook his head, still staring at the ground. “No – need,” he wheezed, and closed his eyes to cough again.

“You don’t look so good, don’t sound so good neither. Be right back.” He dropped the reins and took off.

Digging a handkerchief from his pocket, Heath leaned against the horse and held the cloth over his mouth. Felt like something was busted inside there, he thought dizzily, before another spasm bent him at the waist. When it calmed he glanced at the handkerchief and blinked at the blood.

“All right, you bit off more than you can chew.” Nick’s booming voice made Charger shift nervously. “What’s all –“ Nick broke off. “What the hell? Damn it, Heath, is that blood?”

His mouth tasted foul, and he spit before wadding up the handkerchief and holding it against his mouth again. Humiliated, he shook his head. God damn, couldn’t even get up on his own damn horse.

“That’s it, we’re going back to the house. Jimmy, give me a hand here.”

“I c’n walk,” Heath wheezed, straightening. “Gimme – second.”

“Heath, you’re white as a sheet. Don’t you argue with me.” And Nick’s arm felt welcome, strong under Heath’s shoulder. “Yep, get his other side. Heath, you just overdid it, that’s all.”

Heath nodded, but underneath that forced lightness he thought Nick sounded scared.

Near the house, Nick told Jimmy, “Go fetch Carl, wouldja? I need somebody to ride in and get the doctor.”

“Aw, no,” Heath squeezed out. “Ain’t –“

“Don’t need any lip from you, Heath,” Nick interrupted sharply. “You’re headed back to bed. You go on now, Jimmy. Tell Carl to hurry.”

For some reason stepping inside the house made him aware of just how bone-tired he was. The stairs looked formidable. Heath stopped in the hallway, shaking his head. “Can’t,” he managed, fighting down another painful spasm of coughing. “Gimme a second.”

“Come on. Gonna put you in the parlor.”

The sofa felt as comfortable as the finest feather bed to Heath, and he didn’t even bother trying to pretend otherwise. Too tired, and Nick wouldn’t be fooled anyway. “Reckon – I’ll be fine – right here,” Heath wheezed, avoiding Nick’s anxious eyes. “You go on, take care – of that colt.”

“He’ll be just fine. Silas!” Nick bellowed. “Come on out here!”

Heath closed his eyes, listening without interest while Nick got Silas to heat up water for tea. When Nick returned he carried a blanket and pillow. “Here,” he said gruffly. “Mother sees those boots on her divan, why, she’ll kill you before you got a chance to kill yourself.”

With his boots off and a thick blanket over him, Heath felt better, and sleepy. A little shocked, he accepted the hot honey-sweet tea without complaint. “Ain’t seen you look like that – since Audra got hurt – last spring.”

“Drink your tea,” came Nick’s muffled reply. “Gonna see if Jimmy got Carl off to town.”

Heath nodded, feeling the feather-duster start tickling inside his chest again. He set the tea cup on the table and managed not to spill it before he had to cough again. The spate left him so tired he didn’t even remember closing his eyes this time.

~~~~~~~~~~~

He came to without any sense of how much time had passed, and it came as both a surprise and not so much so, to see he was now in his own bed. Heath shifted, blinking in the bright lamplight.

“Mother?”

Victoria flinched, dropping her embroidery. “Oh Heath. You’re awake.” Her face was drawn with tension. “How do you feel, honey?”

Rode hard and put away wet, Heath thought, but didn’t say it. “I’m all right. What time’s it?”

“Late, darling. You slept a long time.” Victoria’s expression morphed into a kind of terrible worry Heath hated to see. “You weren’t well enough, Heath, why’d you go out this morning?”

“Thought – I was mended, I suppose.” Heath swallowed, tasting metal. “Reckon I was wrong about that.”

“Howard Merar’s still here. I talked him into staying for supper. I should go let him know you’re awake.”

The doctor looked even grimmer than Victoria, homely face heavily lined. “Overdid it there, Heath,” he said without preamble. “Now what’d I tell you?”

“Guess you were right.” Heath mustered a tired smile. “I promise I’ll take it easy, Doc.”

Merar exchanged an oblique look with Victoria, who paused and then went out, shutting the door behind her. Pulling up a chair, Merar sat with a sigh. “How are you feeling now? Chest hurt?”

“Not too bad. Just don’t want to get that coughin’ riled up again.”

“Well, I’m still not hearing any pneumonia in your lungs, but you’re going to need to rest up a few days more. Your color’s bad, and you lost some weight.”

“So what do I got? Some kind of infection or somethin’?”

“Something like that.” Merar nodded, but there was an evasiveness to his gaze Heath didn’t much like.

“Somethin’ you’re not sayin’?” Heath asked harshly.

“Too soon to say yet. You don’t give Victoria a hard time, now. You stay put, and I’ll be back to check on you sometime tomorrow.”

Mutely Heath nodded. But after the doctor was gone, he lay thinking hard. He knew that look, had seen it before, more than once. Not at himself, but others. Like his mama, God rest her soul. When they first found out she had the cancer. That doctor hadn’t been near Merar’s stature, but he’d worn a similar hangdog look. That look that said, I’m a doctor but there ain’t nothin’ I can do for this patient. That look he’d worn before he’d left, and he hadn’t come back, either. And Leah Thomson had died not three weeks later.

A cough rumbled in his chest, and Heath fought it down. Troubled, he leaned back against the pillows.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night was crisp, more than a taste of winter in the biting air. Victoria pulled her shawl more snugly around her and forced a smile. “Thank you for coming out again, Howard. I’ll expect you to charge double for all the time we’ve taken.”

“Wouldn’t hear of it, Victoria.” Merar opened a saddlebag and stowed his bag inside. “I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon to check on him. Jarrod.” He reached out and shook Jarrod’s hand, and touched his hat when he glanced at Victoria.

“Thanks, Howard,” Jarrod murmured.

As the doctor rode off, Victoria felt Jarrod’s arm, strong around her shoulders. “He’ll be all right, Mother. Heath’s made of strong stuff. We all are.”

She nodded slowly. “I’m worried.”

“I know you are. So am I.”

“His color this afternoon – so gray. Jennie, my sister -- You didn’t know her, of course. That was before you were born.”

Steering her in the direction of the porch, Jarrod nodded. “But you’ve spoken about her on occasion.”

“Tom and I came out here, only a month after Jennie passed. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go, not until she died. And then I couldn’t get away fast enough. Even Tom was surprised.”

“You and she were very close, I know.”

“You would have loved her so much, Jarrod. She was so vibrant, so filled with life. Everyone loved her, it was impossible not to. On her wedding day -- You’ve never seen such a beautiful girl.” Victoria swallowed thickly. “I was jealous of her sometimes, because she was the pretty one. But I could never be jealous for long. She was too happy a soul for jealousy.”

“Prettier than you? Lovely lady, you are the brightest star in the sky, and that’s a fact.”

She smiled and nudged him, slowly mounting the steps. “You’d have agreed, if you’d seen her.” She drew a long breath. “There near the end – Jennie looked like Heath did, today. That same color. And her cough –“ She broke off, shaking her head.

Jarrod paused, arm loosening. “Mother?” It was hard to see his expression in the moonlight. “You never said what illness carried your sister off.”

“No,” she agreed softly. “I haven’t, have I?” She nodded. “Consumption. She fell ill in the fall, three months after she was married.”

“Oh, Mother. Tuberculosis?”

“She rallied in the early spring, but it didn’t last. We buried her in April, and Tom and I left in May.”

“You don’t think Heath….” His voice trailed off, sounding querulous.

“I don’t know what I think.” She gave an impatient shake of her head. “I think I’m afraid of it, and it’s making me jump at shadows. You said it yourself: Heath’s made of strong stuff. Jennie was always frail. Lovely and sweet and fragile. Now does that sound like your brother?”

Jarrod coughed a surprised laugh. “No, Mother, I can’t say that it does.”

“We’ll just have to make sure he stays in that bed until he’s fully well again.”

“That could take some doing.”

“I’m not above using rope if I think it will do the trick.”

Another laugh. “I’ll hold him down for you.” He touched her elbow. “Come on. Some coffee with a bit of brandy sounds good, doesn’t it? Getting colder.”

“It sounds lovely, dear.”

She was glad of the dark. If she couldn’t see his face, he likely couldn’t see hers, either. Or the fear that lingered, even after her own reassuring words.

Chapter 4

It was another week before Heath ventured out again. They teased him about his long vacation, and Heath took it with good grace. But privately Jarrod thought the teasing sounded forced, and he’d have bet the ranch that Heath knew it. They all did. Because Heath didn’t look right yet. His illness had taken a toll, leaving him too thin, and although he’d lost the gray look that had so alarmed Victoria earlier, his color was nothing near restored.

The dreadful cough, however, was much improved, and it was an unexpectedly acute pleasure to see Heath at the breakfast table, slurping coffee with his usual relish and passing the biscuit plate.

“Jarrod, when do you leave?” Audra asked, handing him the butter dish.

“I’ll take the train tomorrow. Can’t put it off any longer; if I ask for another extension the judge will fine me for contempt.”

Victoria was seated next to Heath, her attention obviously divided. “And how long until you come back?”

“Several weeks, I imagine.” He drank some coffee and shrugged. “I’ll be back before Thanksgiving, though, don’t worry.”

“Thanksgiving?” Audra’s look was aghast. “Surely you don’t have to stay away that long!”

“I’ve let things pile up, I’m afraid. Now it’s time to take care of business.” He refrained from adding that worry about Heath’s condition had kept him at the ranch far longer than he could truly afford. No need; everyone already knew it. As well as they knew he didn’t mind it, or he hoped they knew.

“Nick, what are your plans?”

Nick chewed and swallowed before answering. “Figured me and Heath here’d go have a look at those calves. Decide which to sell.”

Victoria looked alarmed. “Heath, are you ready to do this? You’ve only just gotten out of bed!”

Heath’s expression said he didn’t mind the question as much as Jarrod feared he might. “Don’t take on, Mother, we’ll be back soon. Besides, Nick’s turning into a bigger mother hen than you and Audra put together.” His slanted smile was infectious, and Jarrod snorted.

With a loud clearing of his throat Nick countered, “Someone’s gotta watch out for those who don’t it for themselves.”

“Please,” Victoria said, not much mollified, “be back for lunch. You should rest this afternoon, Heath, don’t try to do too much too fast. Remember what happened the last time?”

Heath gave a rueful nod. “I’ll take it slow. I promise.”

“Good.”

Nick and Heath left the table before the rest of the family. Waiting until he knew they were out the door, Jarrod gave his mother a direct look. “He’ll be all right, Mother.”

“I’m sure he will be.” She didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“He doesn’t look right,” Audra said softly, pushing her plate away. “I hope Nick doesn’t get carried away and work him too hard.”

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t,” replied Victoria in a flinty voice.

Stirring, Jarrod said, “Heath can take care of himself. I think last week gave him some respect for his illness.”

“But no one’s said what his illness IS,” Audra burst out. “If it isn’t pneumonia, then what?”

“What it is, is waning, and thank God for that. Now, ladies, if you’ll excuse me – I should ride before it gets any later. Need to set one office in order before seeing to the other.”

He caught sight of Nick and Heath as he was riding out. Too far to shout a greeting, but Heath looked steady enough on Charger. More reassured than he cared to admit, Jarrod rode on.

Four hours later he was elbow-deep in papers when his assistant peeked in. “Afternoon wires, Mr. Barkley. And the mail’s come.”

“Oh. Bring them in, would you?”

Among the stack of correspondence was a creamy white envelope bearing a Chicago postmark. Inside he found a polite letter of introduction, along with a short curriculum vitae, from a Mr. Samuel Carr, Esquire. So word had spread so far already, indeed. Jarrod scanned the pages quickly. He’d mentioned to a few associates in the city about his need for a partner in his Stockton office, and so far of the few who had inquired, none had seemed particularly promising. Either lacking litigation experience, or more often, woefully unprepared for a life in such a small, albeit growing, Western town. But this Mr. Carr – a family man, with six years of trial work under his belt already and a thirst for new places…. It was possible. Yes, worth responding.

“Williams, do me a favor.”

The assistant gave him an alert look.

“Draw up a letter on my stationery, asking for references for this gentleman.” Jarrod handed him the letter and C.V. “Tell him a bit about Stockton. Don’t gloss over things; tell him what it’s really like. Let’s see if his interest is legitimate or just transitory.”

“I’ll take care of it, sir.”

“Good man.”

The afternoon post included yesterday’s editions of the San Francisco papers. Old news, but better than none, and Jarrod took the time to scan the pages. He was about to put them aside when a notice caught his eye. Frowning, Jarrod studied the notice for a long moment. Then he folded the sheet and tucked it into his valise, to take home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nick slapped the dust from his chaps and grinned. “Brother mine, I think we’re going to make a handy profit this coming spring. If those aren’t the finest calves up for sale anywhere in the state of California, my name isn’t Barkley!”

“Reckon you might just be right.” Heath studied the youngsters, noting with satisfaction the sleek coats and bright eyes. “That one there, the one with the white face. Oughta hang onto him.”

“Think so?”

Heath nodded. “Keep him for breeding.”

“I’ll think on it.”

Heath stepped up to the fence and onto the bottom rail, craning for a better look. “Them two girls over at the back, too. Got two beauty queens.”

Nick’s laugh was good to hear. “Where’d you learn to be such a good judge of cattle?”

“Here and there.” Heath stepped back down again, brushing his hands on his jeans. “Picked it up, I suppose.”

Nodding, Nick leaned against the fence. “How you feeling?” he asked in a gentler voice. “Ready to call it a morning?”

“Well, I ain’t ready to saddle up and ride all day.” Heath shrugged. “But I feel all right.”

“Good, good. Music to my ears.” Nick looked over at the cluster of men standing nearby. “Well, what are you waiting for, the second coming?” he trumpeted. “There’s work to be done!”

Heath watched him mustering the ranch hands, and smiled. No denying it: God broke the mold after he made Nick Barkley. Heath envied him his vigor. He hadn’t lied about feeling all right, but privately he recognized he wasn’t up to his usual competence yet. Riding this morning had been a pure pleasure, but he was tired now. The dratted cough had mostly left him alone, though, praise the Lord. He doubted Nick would have let him stay if it hadn’t. Then again, wasn’t sure he’d have wanted to, then, anyway.

Giving the bleating calves a last glance, Heath made his way to the stable. Time to see if he could coax a halter on that roan colt.

By lunchtime he was more than ready to call it a day. The colt stood placidly haltered, nibbling an apple from Heath’s outstretched hand.

“Now he is a fine specimen, isn’t he?”

Heath looked over at Nick and nodded. “Big, too,” he murmured, stroking the colt’s sleek flank. “Gonna push seventeen hands when he’s got all his growth on him, mark my words.”

“His dam was a big one. Lots of Thoroughbred blood.”

“Worth every penny you paid.”

“I agree. Heath, you look bad. Might oughta go put your feet up a while.”

It was said in a calm, measured tone so unlike Nick’s usual fervor, it took Heath by surprise. “Guess I’m a bit tired,” he said slowly. “Reckon Mother’ll have my hide if I don’t rest up.”

“She might have to stand in line, boy,” Nick rumbled.

Heath grinned and gave the colt a last fond pat.

Lunch smelled savory, but his appetite was next to nothing. He picked at his food until Victoria finally sighed and told him to go upstairs and get some rest. Nodding, Heath trudged up the stairs. He didn’t remember hitting the mattress. He was asleep too fast.

Chapter 5

San Francisco was refreshing, as always. Vibrant, bustling with people and commerce, it felt alive in ways that sleepy Stockton couldn’t possibly match.

Enjoying a puff from a fragrant cigar, Jarrod regarded the view from his office window. Although he’d never said it in so many words, he was aware that Victoria, at least, knew his ulterior motive for opening his second office. Oh, there was need, no doubt of that. His services were in demand, and he now had the luxury of picking and choosing the cases he took on. But it was more than that. Here in San Francisco, he could taste the life he’d left behind when he returned from the eastern states. He loved California, deeply, but he wouldn’t deny there were times when he craved the more cosmopolitan East. Baltimore, Boston, and of course, New York City; he’d spent considerable time there over the years, and recognized the shortcomings of this boisterous, often provincial state.

Be that as it may, though, San Francisco was certainly an upstart city, growing exponentially thanks to trade and gold, and in the past couple of years he’d noticed the appearance of things he’d only seen in larger cities. Such things as art exhibits, and decent theatre. No good symphony yet, but that would come.

And tonight, a lecture at the medical college. His contentment faded as he drew the Chronicle notice from his coat pocket. A Dr. Phillip Ralston, lately of New York City and before that, Germany, where he was a student of the evidently renowned Dr. Hermann Brehmer, was to speak on the topic of phthisis and new treatments for the “scourge of consumption,” promptly at seven o’clock.

Jarrod slowly walked back to his desk, stubbing out the cigar in an elaborate ashtray. It might not be anything but an interesting waste of time, he thought darkly. In any case, his mother’s anxiety was evidently as contagious as any disease. Did Heath have tuberculosis? Dr. Merar wasn’t saying, and with his evident recent recovery, it appeared to be a false alarm. Nevertheless Jarrod took up his overcoat and scarf, dousing the lamp on his way out. Waste of time it might be, but if not, he intended not to be caught uninformed.

~~~~~~~~~~

Later that night found Jarrod at the small tidy bar near his San Francisco home, nursing a neat brandy and deep in thought.

Dr. Ralston’s lecture had been surprisingly edifying. A short, dapper man with elaborately curling mustachios, Ralston held forth for more than an hour on modern treatments and even cures for lung diseases, most notably tuberculosis. Consumption, stated Ralston, was now thought to be a disease caused not only by crowded conditions and poor social hygiene, but most primarily by microscopic organisms, the focus of exciting research by prominent European scientists. The concept of tiny organisms as the carriers of disease was not in and of itself new; Jarrod was aware of the principles of contagion and the miasmas that helped spread disease. But according to Ralston, mankind stood on the brink of recognizing infectious particles individually, and thereby assisting diagnosis and subsequent treatment.

There had been more than a few discontented rumbles from various audience members at that, but Ralston, unruffled, continued on. The esteemed Dr. Brehmer had himself been diagnosed with phthisis, Ralston told them calmly. And it was his remarkable recovery from that disease that led to his proposing, and subsequent opening of, the first of what Ralston termed “sanatoria.” Exposure to clean, cool air, excellent hygiene, and proper nutrition, combined to produce cures in some patients, and an extended life expectation for all thus far given this treatment.

But, argued one bearded gentleman, face red with alarm, would not exposure to the elements hasten the progress of the disease itself? For as everyone knew, it being common sense, cold and wind were themselves causative agents for infection.

Ralston’s smile had been a bit superior to Jarrod’s eyes, unfortunately. On the contrary, he said. Cold itself could not cause disease. It was organisms responsible for infection. Therefore, air free of those particles, no matter its temperature, could not itself cause anything negative, but instead lead only to positive outcomes.

Jarrod had excused himself before the question-and-answer period was complete. His mind already reeled with the influx of new information. Now, sipping his excellent brandy and aware of the beginnings of a headache, he tried to consider the ramifications. If indeed Heath was suffering from the early stages of consumption, there were two major facts Jarrod felt he should contemplate. First, the disease was indeed contagious, and Victoria’s instincts were correct: the family would need to consider protecting itself. Although their area of California was not marshy and therefore free of the swampy miasmas that plague damper areas and created agues, it was no protector against other forms of contagion. And second, to recover, Heath might benefit from a stay at one of Dr. Brehmer’s sanatoria.

With a sigh Jarrod finished his brandy and reached for his wallet. “Another, Mr. Barkley?” the bartender asked, giving him an alert look.

“Not tonight, Hal, thank you.” Jarrod smiled. “Time to call it a night.” He slid a pair of bills across the spotless bar.

Hal nodded, calmly pocketing one of the bills. “You take care walking home, sir. Wet out tonight.”

“Will do.”

It had begun to rain while he sat pondering, and he had no umbrella with him. Raising his collar against the dampness Jarrod hunched his shoulders and hurried the short block to his house.

~~~~~~~~~~

“We should discuss the Thanksgiving menu,” Victoria said, giving Silas a smile. “I thought a ham as well as the turkey.”

“Sounds right good, Miz Barkley.” Silas pursed his lips. “And you’ll be wantin’ oysters for the stuffing, won’t you?”

“Perfect. Now, I’ve already engaged some extra help for you, to see to the men’s dinner. But to make it simpler I’d imagined we’d keep the menus similar. We’ll want several hams, and at least three turkeys.”

“I done already picked out the birds, ma’am. Set aside five, just in case.”

“Silas, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Silas shrugged, but his warm eyes were pleased. “Gonna need pies as well, ma’am.”

“Oh, of course. Mince, and sweet potato. Do you suppose we have enough peaches for a few pies as well?”

“More’n enough, Miz Barkley. Apples, too.”

“Wonderful. I’d imagined we’d start two days before. That’s when the extra staff will arrive.” She pondered a moment. “I’ll have the men set up outside, weather permitting. Last year was terribly crowded.”

“’Member, las’ year we got some folks extra, too. Might keep that in mind.”

“True. We’ll plan for thirty, then. And in the house, twenty. Gracious, Silas, we’ll be feeding an army.”

Silas chuckled. “Reckon we will.”

“Then that’s all. Oh, Silas. Tonight – could you save the beef bones? I’d like to make Heath some beef tea.”

“I can make it myself, ma’am. Ain’t no trouble.”

“Would you?” She sighed and shook her head. “We have to tempt his appetite. He’s getting so thin. Ice cream, puddings.”

“How’s he doing, ma’am? Thought he was all better.”

“So did we all. But he’s not thriving the way I’d like to see.”

“Well, I reckon ol’ Silas’s cookin’ will fatten him up. You wait and see.”

Victoria smiled and touched Silas’s hand. “Thank you, Silas. I do appreciate that.”

“No problem a’tall, Miz Barkley.”

Back in the parlor, Victoria smiled at Audra. “Hello, darling.” She touched Audra’s pink cheek. “When did you get back?”

“Oh, just a few minutes ago. Were you talking about Thanksgiving?”

Victoria nodded, taking a seat next to her daughter. “Among other things, yes.”

“Those other things wouldn’t be Heath, would they?”

Catching the knowing look in Audra’s eyes, Victoria decided against denying it. “Concocting ways to put some flesh on his bones,” she agreed. “He’s gotten far too thin.”

“Well, at least he’s not sick anymore,” Audra said stoutly. “He’s back at work. And I haven’t heard him cough in days.”

“No. He does seem better. Now if I can just get him to eat.”

“If Silas can’t do it, no one can, Mother.”

“True.”

Chapter 6

The morning before Thanksgiving, he awoke early, unsure what had roused him. The house was silent, not even a hint of first light at the windows. Lying very still, Heath listened for a moment, and then fidgeted at the feel of the sheet sticking to his limbs.

One thing he’d grown to truly hate since he’d had the bout with whatever illness he’d actually had, and that was the sweating. Seemed like every night he woke up wet, wet as if he’d just worked a full day in the hot sun. Bad enough, but the sweating made him feel bone-weary, and thirsty.

The thought popped into his head, clear as church bells on a Sunday morning. If he was well now, and he was, wasn’t he? – if so, then why was this still happening?

Shivering from the wet bedclothes and a bit of anxiety, he climbed out of bed. Sleep felt a million miles away now, and he wanted dry clothes, warm dry clothes. His breath plumed in the air as he rummaged for the lamp, lighting it with fingers that shook slightly. The Barkley house was beautiful, oh yes, but come cold weather it got frosty at night, and there was no fireplace in his bedroom.

He dressed in his heaviest flannel shirt and clean jeans, and put two pairs of socks on. Carrying his boots, he peered out the bedroom door. So beautifully quiet, hated to clomp around in his clodhoppers. And downstairs Silas would have banked the coals in the fireplace, only take a couple of minutes to get a good blaze going.

He padded downstairs and soon enough the fireplace crackled heartily, reaching out fingers of blessed warmth. Sighing, Heath slumped on the sofa. Tired, he was dead tired, and the fire felt so good. He leaned his cheek on his hand and closed his eyes.

“Heath?”

He flinched out of a muddled dream involving a keg of beer and a contest between himself and Nick to see who could get the roan colt drunk first, and blinked blearily. Fierce sunshine filled the room, and for a moment he couldn’t see who had awoken him.

“Land sakes, Heath, what on earth are you doing sleeping down here?” Victoria sat next to him, brow wrinkled with surprise.

“Woke up, and it was cold,” Heath said, and felt a jaw-cracking yawn overtake him. “Sorry, Mother, didn’t mean to startle you.”

She patted his hand fretfully. “We had a cold front last night, I know. Took me by surprise, as well. Tom was always the one good at telling what the weather would bring.” Her pinched expression didn’t ease. “We’ll have to make sure to keep your room warmer. So soon after your convalescence, we shouldn’t –“

“Nah, I’m all right. Guess I just got chilled or somethin’.”

“Come have some hot tea. It’ll warm you up.”

“Rather have coffee, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Well, all right.”

It wasn’t until he stood that he realized last night’s weariness hadn’t left him. His bones ached, and he made a face, without thinking.

“What is it?”

“Musta been sleeping on the couch did it,” he said, shaking his head. “Feel like ol’ Charger rolled over on me a coupla times.”

Victoria’s hand went immediately to his forehead, checking for fever. “You don’t feel too warm. Oh, Heath, surely you’re not taking ill again?”

He gave her a startled look. “No, no. I’m all right. Just slept funny.” She looked unconvinced, and he drew a long breath. “Mother, I want you to know that I’d tell you if I wasn’t feelin’ well. I don’t want you to worry like this. Hate seein’ that look in your eye.”

Those eyes narrowed. “What look?”

“That one right there.” Heath smiled awkwardly. “Like you think I’m made of glass and gonna break if you look at me funny. I ain’t, Mother. I mean, I’m not.” He swallowed. “Now I reckon that last month, that’s about the sickest I ever been in my life, I’ll admit that to you. But I feel all right now. Can you believe that?”

Victoria regarded him silently for a moment, and then gave a slow nod. “I – suppose I have been a bit…zealous, watching over you.”

“Ain’t like I don’t appreciate it, Mother. ‘Cause I do. Just.” He gave a furtive shrug.

“I do understand.” He loved seeing the little smile on her lips. “I missed out on twenty-four years of mothering you, Heath Barkley, and I must be -- Well, I think I’m making up for lost time, that’s all.” She cleared her throat, and slipped her arm through his. “Come on. I think we’d both do well with some coffee. My, your hands are cold.”

“Had a few moments there last night when I thought about crawling right into that fireplace,” Heath admitted with a smile. He let Victoria set the pace, walking to the dining room. “Never did much like cold weather.”

~~~~~~~~~~

He arrived in Stockton by midday, glad of the timing in the crisp cold that had settled over the valley. Later in the day, and he’d have made part of his ride home in the dark; without the sun to lend its warming rays, it would have been a frigid ride indeed.

Passing the time of day with a few passersby took a few minutes, but soon enough he was saddled up and riding away from the hostlers’, feeling a smile on his face. Home in time for the holiday, if only barely, and he was ready for Silas’s excellent cooking and a week or two of family time before turning his sights back to San Francisco.

He made good time, cantering up the driveway at only a few minutes past four in the afternoon. As she liked to do, Victoria came out on the porch to wave him in, her pretty dress vibrant in the fall sunshine.

“Hello, the house!” Jarrod called, grinning as he dismounted. Jingo snorted, ears twitching as he glanced to the right, and Jarrod looked over. Nick sauntered into view, wiping his hands on a rag.

“The prodigal counselor returns! Welcome home, Jarrod!”

He accepted a hug and kiss from his mother, and then a faintly painful but jovial slap on the back from his brother. “What, no Audra?” he asked with mock horror. “My homecoming is ruined!” He feigned an arrow to the chest.

Through her laughter Victoria said, “She’s at the orphanage this afternoon. They have their Thanksgiving a day early. You know that.”

He considered. “Well, and so I do. Hmm. Well, I’ll recover. Where’s Heath?”

“Out in the stable,” Nick said, grin undiminished. “Charger got a little cut up in the briars this morning, and you know our brother: gotta bandage each one by hand and make it all better. Not sure if that’s his horse or his adopted child.”

“Well, it’s good to know some things never change.” Jarrod grinned. “Now – if I don’t find some steaming hot coffee sometime very soon, there’ll be hell to pay.”

“Jarrod!” Victoria blinked at him.

“It’s the big city,” Nick told her, rolling his eyes. “You know while he’s away he lives a life of utter sin. Why, I’ve heard tell that –“

“Mother, would you care to escort me?” Jarrod loftily ignored Nick, offering his arm. “It’s an ill wind outside, that blows no good.”

Behind them Nick said, “I know that was a quote. Can’t fool me, brother.”

Jarrod kept smiling.

Inside it was wonderfully warm, and he did smell fresh coffee after all. Silas appeared at the doorway of the dining room, carrying a laden tray, and Jarrod beamed. “Silas, you’re a godsend. I’m kidnapping you next month and stealing you with me to San Francisco.”

Silas grinned, shaking his head. “Reckon you best ask Miz Barkley about that, Mr. Jarrod. She might not take kindly to it.”

“I most certainly would not! Find your own staff, Jarrod. Silas is part of the family – the WHOLE family.”

Jarrod helped Silas with the tray, setting out cups and saucers. The coffee smelled heavenly, and tasted just as good. “Perfect,” Jarrod breathed. “Now I’m truly home.” He looked around as the front door opened, admitting a wind-blown Heath. “Heath! You missed my welcoming party!”

The familiar slanted smile creased Heath’s features. “Always did come late to parties.”

Gazing at him, Jarrod felt his holiday spirit stumble, replaced by spreading, ice-cold shock. He shivered once, all over.

“Jarrod?” Nick stared at him. “What is it?”

Jarrod flinched, flicking him a look. “N- Nothing. Sorry, goose stepped over my grave.”

Heath walked over. His smile had faded. “So how was your stay?” he asked, sounding a little hoarse. “Missed you around here.”

“Thanks, Heath, I, ah.” He fought to make his roiling thoughts coalesce into something rational, conversational. “Got a lot done, yes. The Bernhardt case, for one.”

“We saw it in the paper,” Victoria agreed. “The jury acquitted him. Good for you.”

Jarrod swallowed. “Y- Yes. Yes, it went well. Thank you.”

“Jarrod? Are you all right?” Victoria cocked her head slightly to the side, studying him. “You look – almost –“

He didn’t want to hear whatever it was she was going to say. He couldn’t afford to hear it. He forced a game smile and drank off the rest of his coffee at a draught. “I think I just need to wash up a bit. That ride isn’t too long, but it was plenty cold today. If you’ll all excuse me?”

“Certainly,” Victoria said slowly.

He escaped up the stairs, avoiding his family’s curious eyes. Only when he was inside his bedroom, door safely shut, did he let himself sag back against the door. Then, mind still reeling, he walked over to the chair and sat heavily.

Only a month. Less, really. How could it be only that long?

And how could Heath look so much worse, so quickly?

He could understand how the rest perhaps didn’t see it as clearly. Seeing Heath every day, one lost a realistic picture of him, grew accustomed to subtle changes.

But this. Jarrod drew a hand across his mouth, forcing a deep breath. When he’d left, Heath had been recovering, pale and a few pounds too light, but otherwise the same. Now? Did no one see that Heath was becoming – a wraith? Slimness had become gauntness. The blue eyes were sunken now, and lacking the light Jarrod had become accustomed to seeing in Heath’s probing gaze. And his color -- Jarrod blew out air in a shocked sigh. Not gray, not Victoria’s fear, but somehow…colorless. As if his disease had bleached him of any hues at all.

Percolating horror lurched him from his chair. Stepping to the window, Jarrod threw it open, breathing the crisp air with frantic relief. He stared out at the grounds, without seeing anything at all.

There was a look people got, when they were ill. A word for that look. And it fit Heath now, dreadfully and perfectly.

That word was “tubercular.”

Continued…