One Short Sleep

Chapters 7-13

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.

Chapter 7

Thanksgiving dinner was a rousing success, that much was for sure. Heath didn’t think he’d ever seen so much food in one place at one time. There were eight courses, each one tasting better than the last, and the guests fell over themselves complimenting Victoria on the cooking, the décor, just about everything. Seated between the sheriff and the husband of an old friend of Victoria’s from out of town, a Mr. Townsend, Heath did his best to hold up his end of conversation, not to mention eating.

He was pretty sure, by the time the fruit course arrived, that no one else in his family had really paid attention to the fact that there was something wrong with Jarrod. Oh, not hurt, or anything like that, but to Heath’s eyes the man was preoccupied. Had been pretty much since he’d gotten back the day before. Even the alcohol wasn’t making much of a difference; Nick might be a little boisterous with wine, and Heath himself had to stop drinking it altogether or risk not being able to get food from the plate to his mouth, but Jarrod’s glass emptied and yet no flush of inebriation colored his cheeks. He looked distant, and grim when not engaged in conversation.

But it was the way his oldest brother wouldn’t quite look at him that told Heath Jarrod’s morose mood might have something to do with him.

Finally the banquet was done. The menfolk had had their brandy and cigars, and the women, well, whatever it was that women did after a big meal like this. It was well past dark when people started to leave, lighted to their buggies by the lanterns carried by a couple of the ranch hands, odd-looking in their mothball-smelling suits.

Victoria sighed and watched Nick shut the front door. “I’m going to assume,” she said with a little smile, “that no one will be particularly interested in supper tonight.”

A couple of low groans met her words.

“I didn’t think so.”

Coffee revived them a little, but after watching Nick trounce Jarrod at a mutually unsteady game of pool, Heath decided a breath of fresh air sounded good. He’d just finished rolling and lighting a smoke out on the porch when the creak of boards told him he had company.

“Pretty night,” came Jarrod’s disembodied voice.

Heath nodded awkwardly. “Warmed up a tad, I reckon.” After a second of wondering if he should say anything else, he settled for a puff of his smoke, coughing a little.

Jarrod walked slowly over to join him, an unlit cigar in his hand. His face was difficult to read in the faint light coming from the house, but tension radiated off him like shimmering waves of heat. Heath leaned his hip against a pillar and cleared his throat. “Look like you got somethin’ on your mind, Jarrod,” he said softly. “That what brung you out here?”

“I suppose so. How are you feeling?”

“All right. Kinda like one ‘a them piñata things I saw down in Mexico a few years back right now. Full as a damn tick. Silas laid on a good spread today.”

“Didn’t he? Silas is a good man.”

“Yep. So you gonna tell me what’s got you so riled up?”

Jarrod shifted, a rustle of wool. “Not riled, precisely,” he murmured. “Concerned, I suppose you could say.”

“Mmm. About?”

“Well, you, not to put too fine a point on it.”

Heath gazed at him, frowning. “Me? How come?”

“You don’t look well, Heath, you don’t look well at all.”

It was said in a rush, so different from Jarrod’s usual considered delivery that Heath floundered for a moment. “Well now,” he said, searching for what to say. “Now Jarrod, I know I ain’t been the picture of health lately, but there ain’t no call -- What I mean to say is, I’m fine. Just takin’ me a bit to shake it all off, that’s all.”

“Did you see Dr. Merar at all while I was away?”

“The doc? Nope, ain’t had the time. ‘Sides, I ain’t ailin’. He said –“ Heath broke off, feeling a flicker of something like anger in his belly. “Jarrod, I ain’t much for dancin’ around. You got somethin’ to say, you go on and say it. You think I’m still sick?”

A brief pause, and then Jarrod said, “I do.” Just as flat a tone as Heath’s own. “I think you need to see a pulmonary specialist.”

“Pulmo-what?”

“A lung specialist. There are several, in the city. I want you to come back there with me, as soon as you can.”

Uncomfortable, Heath drew on his cigarette. “Damn it, Jarrod,” he said in a low voice, “that ain’t it, either. Now you tell me, before you get me riled, too.”

“I attended a lecture two weeks ago. By an expert on phthisis.”

“Mind sayin’ that in English?”

“It was a lecture on tuberculosis, Heath. Consumption.” Jarrod sounded agitated now, taking a few steps away, and then back.

“Now what’s that supposed to mean?” Heath snorted. “That what you think I got? Lord, Jarrod, that what’s got you all lathered up since you got back?”

“Yes,” Jarrod shot back. “It is. And with reason.”

“What reason? I ain’t –“

“Heath, look at yourself! You’re wasting away! You’re telling me you’re fine, but every time you’ve taken a puff off that cigarette you’ve coughed, and I didn’t see you eat a fraction of what was on your plate today. And you need to, because you’re so thin, my GOD, it’s like –“

“Like what? Consumption? That’s plumb crazy, Jarrod! I seen the consumption, too! Them folks were sick, a hell of a lot sicker than I ever got! Damn, you’re borrowin’ trouble here! Worryin’ about somethin’ that ain’t even real.”

“Not real?” Jarrod said harshly. “Fine. I’ll make you a bargain. See Dr. Merar and get a clean bill of health, and I’ll forget I ever mentioned it.”

“I ain’t –“

“No. Those are my terms, Heath. See the doctor. Hear what he has to say.”

“Or what?” Heath snapped.

“Or I will tell the rest of our family about my suspicions,” Jarrod said evenly. “And believe me, they’ll agree.”

“Agree with what? Ain’t them treatin’ me like some kinda – Just you.”

“That’s because they’re too close. They see you daily, they don’t see what I saw yesterday, coming back after a trip. But Mother knows something’s wrong, too. She simply is trying not to see it. For her own reasons.”

“Jarrod.” Heath fought down the urge to cough, fiercely. “Don’t you go putting ideas in Mother’s head. That ain’t fair, and it ain’t right.”

“And I’ll agree, completely. If you see Dr. Merar tomorrow.”

“You know, I may be younger than you, but that don’t mean you can bully me around like this.” Heath dropped his smoke and stepped on it, grinding it viciously into the dirt by the porch. “You got no call, pushin’ me like –“

“Damn it, Heath, I’m not bullying! I’m scared!”

It was said in a taut whisper, but it rang with all the intensity of a shout. Heath stiffened, mouth still gaping open, while Jarrod drew a long, shaky breath. “Heath, can you tell me you feel well? Truly well?”

Heath stared at him. Finally he shook his head, curtly. “Not yet. But I will,” he added.

“Maybe. Oh, God, I want that more than anything on this world, you must believe me. But you must see the doctor. Find out what he thinks. What can it hurt? If you’re right, then we need say no more on the matter. If you’re wrong –“ Jarrod swallowed audibly. “Well, then we’ll know, won’t we?”

After a long moment Heath muttered, “Maybe.”

“You know I’m right. Please, Heath. Do this for me.”

“Nick’s gonna want to know why I’m lollygaggin’ when there’s work to be done. You gonna tell him?”

It was said belligerently, but Jarrod took it in stride. “No. Just that I need your help with some business matters in Stockton. A morning. That’s all I’m asking. A few hours.”

“I’ll think on it,” Heath said reluctantly.

“Good.”

Heath thought about adding something else, and then shook his head. “I’m goin’ to bed.”

“Heath.” Jarrod’s voice stopped him halfway to the door. “I don’t want to be right. Do you believe that?”

“Reckon so.”

“It gives me no pleasure to force your hand. I only want to ensure your health.”

“Well, if you are right, Jarrod, ain’t it a little late for that anyhow?” Heath didn’t wait for a reply. “Night.”

“Night, Heath.”

But as tired as he was, sleep was a long way off. He lay in his dark bedroom, listening to his family getting ready for bed, and felt a deep chill of unease. Jarrod Barkley wasn’t a man given to overreaction, as far as Heath could tell. What had he seen, to act the way he was?

Heath pulled the quilt up past his shoulders and stared at the slow progress of moonlight on the far wall.

~~~~~~~~~~~

He wasn’t sure what would happen next. Had it been Nick, or Audra, he could have predicted with near-certainty. Heath, though – Jarrod had never been more acutely aware of the vast stretch of years during which Heath’s very existence had been a complete unknown. And in the time since he’d joined them, many questions had been answered – but Heath kept his own counsel, a taciturn man who volunteered little and had to be pressed for more. At one time Jarrod had admired that. Now he found it aggravating.

Heath was last to join them at the breakfast table the next morning, looking tired and unsettled. His sleep hadn’t been any better than Jarrod’s, then. The realization offered no satisfaction.

Over eggs and crisp smoky bacon Nick said, “Heath, need you to head up the north ridge this morning. Like we talked about day before yesterday.”

Heath sipped his coffee and said calmly, “Can’t.”

“Can’t? Why not? You know –“

“Gotta head into town this morning.” Heath didn’t even flick a glance in Jarrod’s direction. “Be back by lunchtime, I imagine.”

“Town? What for?”

Victoria rubbed the bridge of her nose, and Jarrod wondered if she had a headache. She looked tired this morning, too. “Nick, rather than expending so much energy arguing, why don’t you simply let your brother do what he needs to do?”

Nick looked a little taken aback. “Well, I’m not sayin’ he can’t, Mother. Just askin’ what for. There’s no crime in that, is there?”

“Got a couple of things I need to see to,” Heath said. “Figured I’d ride out with Jarrod, long as he’s going.”

Jarrod nodded slowly. “I am.”

Heath’s look was flat and unreadable. “Well, then.”

Nick gave a mulish snort and viciously attacked his eggs.

The ride took place in silence. By the stiff line of his spine, Heath hadn’t forgiven him for this imposition yet. But the fact that he was there was enough. Jarrod swallowed the temptation to apologize, or poke further. Time would tell.

Outside Merar’s house-cum-office, Heath dismounted, casting Jarrod a frown when he made to do so as well. “All the same to you, best be private,” he said shortly.

“Understood.” Jarrod reached down to stroke Jingo’s neck. “I’ll wait outside, then.”

“Suit yourself.”

Merar appeared a moment after Heath knocked, and they disappeared inside.

It was nearly a half-hour before the door opened. And then it wasn’t to emit Heath, but Merar himself. He walked over to where Jarrod stood, chewing the end of an unlit cigar and scuffing his boot heel in the dirt.

“Heath said you’d be lurking out here.”

Jarrod nodded, not bothering to smile. “And?”

“Come on inside.”

In Merar’s tidy, medicinal-smelling examination room, Heath stood fully dressed, back to the door, staring out the window. He didn’t turn at Jarrod’s entrance.

“Heath here said you badgered him about coming to see me.”

Jarrod glanced briefly at Merar before returning his gaze to his brother’s stiff back. “I suppose I did. With reason, I thought. Was I wrong?”

Merar allowed a short sigh. “No, Jarrod. You weren’t wrong.”

As much as he’d prepared himself for this, it hurt far worse to hear it from Merar’s lips. The cold mass of worry in his belly expanded sharply, and Jarrod drew a breath, rocking a little on his heels. “Damn it,” he said thickly, shaking his head. “Oh, damn it all to hell.”

Heath turned, revealing a composed expression, utterly stoic. “Sorry I gave you a hard time last night,” he said. He might have been discussing the weather, or the peach market. “Doc here says he kinda suspected this, too.”

“Tuberculosis sounds a hell of a lot like pneumonia,” Merar told them, walking over to his desk and pulling out the chair. “Didn’t want to go jumping to conclusions. But Heath’s condition now –“ He sat, making a queer little gesture with his hands. “It’d be best to see a specialist. Get a second opinion, just in case. But my examination this morning seems pretty clear.”

Jarrod nodded slowly. “Heath, I’m sorry. I’m so damned sorry.”

“Ain’t nothin’ for it now, don’t suppose.” Heath shrugged. His calm expression didn’t change. “So you got any medicine, Doc? Never did know what you gave consumptives. Always heard wasn’t much could be done.”

“My predecessor here would probably have bled you,” Merar said. His slightly curled lip spoke of his opinion on that earlier remedy. “For myself, I can’t say I know of anything that would do you much good, Heath. Rest, good food -- You must force yourself to eat more. Your low weight makes you more susceptible to relapses.”

“Ain’t ever that hungry.”

Merar nodded. “Part of the disease syndrome. Your body is using up its reserves, fighting the infection. It’s why it’s called ‘consumption.’”

“Heath, there are some excellent physicians in San Francisco, specialists.” Jarrod forced a smile. “You’ll have the best care available.”

It made little impression, to his eyes. Heath simply nodded. “I’m not so concerned about that. Just thinkin’ this ain’t gonna be easy for Mother to hear.”

“No,” Jarrod agreed softly. “It won’t be.”

“Nick too.”

“No one wants to hear this, Heath. No one wants to believe you’re ill.”

“Could wait.” Heath regarded him. “No hurry.”

“Would you rather lie to them, and deny them the chance to help you? They’re your family. Don’t they have the right to know the truth?”

Heath’s shrug was loose and dismissive. “Lemme think on it.”

Jarrod sighed and turned to Merar. “Anything else, Howard?”

“Nothing I haven’t already told Heath,” was Merar’s politic reply.

Outside, the sun had disappeared behind heavy gray clouds, and the temperature had dropped accordingly. Jarrod buttoned his coat and turned to Heath. “I’ll ride back with you.”

“No need.” Heath took up Charger’s reins and mounted, easy movement completely belying the information they’d just received. For a moment Jarrod wondered if maybe, just maybe Merar – and he himself – had been wrong.

“Be careful, Heath,” Jarrod said softly.

“You do the same.” Heath gave him a brief look and then reined the horse in the direction of the ranch.

Jarrod watched until Heath rounded the bend in the road. With a deep sigh, he set his foot in the stirrup and turned Jingo toward his office.

Chapter 8

He had Cocoa unsaddled and was rubbing him down when Heath moseyed into the stable. Fighting down the urge to snap a comment about that morning, Nick kept working, saying finally, “Get your business taken care of?”

“Yep.” Heath walked up to lean on the door of the stall. “You go up the ridge this morning?”

“Nope. Too cold. It can wait.”

“Reckon you’re right.”

“I know I am.” Nick applied himself to the snares in Cocoa’s mane. “You gonna tell me what all that to-do was about?”

“What to-do?”

“You and Jarrod had words out on the porch last night. Then you head into town together.” Nick shrugged. “I don’t have Jarrod’s degrees, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure the two might be related.”

Heath didn’t answer immediately. He took the time to hoist himself up on the stall door, perching on the top. “You’re right,” he finally said. “They were.”

“And?”

“Don’t rightly know how to say it.”

Nick glanced at him. Heath’s face was pale, and it struck Nick that Heath had been pale for a while now. Looked downright peaked right now. Sudden sharp fear gave his voice more bite than he intended. “Well, spit it out, boy. Time’s a’wastin’.”

Heath gave a slow nod. “Doc Merar says I have the consumption.”

Nick froze. “Hold on just one damn second. Merar said WHAT?”

Heath seemed to deflate under Nick’s scouring gaze. “You heard me,” he said in a gruff voice. “Says that’s why I ain’t got much better this past month.”

“Consumption? Now that’s a ripe old load of horse manure if ever I heard one! Why, you got a touch of the croup and that old nellie doc’s sayin’ it’s consumption?”

“Nick, just hold on –“

“No, don’t you tell me to hold on a second.” Nick tossed the comb into a corner of Cocoa’s stall and lifted his chin. “Where’s this coming from? Jarrod? That what he wanted to talk to you about last night?”

“Yep.” Heath slid down from his perch and dusted his hands on his jeans. “Told him I wouldn’t say nothin’ to anyone unless the doc agreed with him. He did.”

Something cold and tense congealed in Nick’s belly. “Jarrod,” he muttered. “All right, then, let’s go talk to Jarrod, why don’t we?”

“Nick.”

But he kept on walking, fast and intent, flinging open the front door of the house so hard the glass shivered in the windows. “Jarrod!”

His older brother stood with their mother near the stairs, both looking startled. “Nick, calm down,” Jarrod said quickly, taking a step toward him. “I want you to listen to –“

“I ain’t listenin’ to any of this!” Nick snapped, shaking his head. “What kind of nonsense have you been feeding Heath?”

“It’s not nonsense,” Jarrod told him. His expression was grim. “I only wish it were.”

Behind Nick, Heath skidded to a halt. Nick glanced over his shoulder. “You stay out of this.”

“I can’t,” Heath said in a low voice. “It’s to do with me.”

“No, boy, it’s Jarrod here, seeing shadows in the firelight, is what it is!” Nick snorted. “Consumption! Can’t a body catch a cold once in a while around here without bein’ told he’s gonna die of it?”

No one said anything to that. And belatedly, Nick heard what he himself had said.

“He’s not gonna die,” he whispered thickly. “You hear that, Jarrod? Heath is –“ His throat hurt savagely, and he shook his head. “No.”

Gathering her skirts with one hand, Victoria paused near him, free hand briefly touching his arm. Her expression was more than he could bear: grief and fear and anger, and something like understanding, and maybe pity. He jerked away, and she sighed and continued past him.

“Heath,” he heard her say softly. “Oh, darling. I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t dare look behind him. And in front of him stood Jarrod, familiar face twisted with the same terrible emotions. Nick shook his head again, slowly. “Can’t be right,” he said hoarsely. “Jarrod?”

Jarrod said nothing. Only paused, and nodded.

The frozen spot in his belly spread, until it felt as if he’d been caught in a freak snowstorm, some unprotected plain where the wind howled and spat and gnawed until his very bones were made of ice.

“Aw, no,” Nick whispered.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“More coffee, anyone?”

No one wanted any, unsurprisingly. Heath watched their silent, drawn faces, and for about the twentieth time today wished he were someplace else. Anyplace would do. Right now Carterson didn’t sound so bad.

“When will you leave?” Victoria’s cultured voice sounded a little raw now.

Jarrod put down the pot of coffee. “Soon, I suppose. After Christmas.”

Audra leaned her chin on Heath’s shoulder, her fingers cold where they gripped his hand. She’d come late to the party, and in some ways her reaction had been worst. Maybe worse than Nick’s. Heath would have given anything to erase the haunted look in her pretty eyes. “Why can’t the doctor come here?” she asked, and sniffed.

“We’ve been over that. There may be more than one doctor. And we can’t import them all to the ranch.”

“Could, too.”

No one answered her.

“Heath.” Victoria still held his other hand, a grip not so tight as Audra’s but every bit as cold. “Talk to us? Are you in agreement with all this? It’s your decision, darling.”

“Of course he agrees,” Nick said from where he slumped in a nearby chair. “Boy’ll get the best care, even if he has to travel to get it.”

Heath glanced at him, and then back to Victoria. “Reckon I don’t have much choice, Mother,” he said awkwardly. “Sounds like it’d be the smart thing to do.”

She gave him a nod. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“Mother and I have to go with you,” Audra blurted. She held Heath’s hand so tightly it almost hurt. “Jarrod will have work, and Nick can’t leave the ranch for too long, but we can go. Can’t we, Mother?”

To Heath’s eyes Victoria looked invigorated for the first time since he’d come back from Merar’s examination. “Of course we can,” she said, nodding. “That’s a fine idea, Audra.”

“Now hold on just a second.” Nick sat up, looking alarmed. “You’re ALL gonna go? What about me?”

Jarrod stirred. “Nick, this may take some time. I’m not sure how long Heath will need to stay in San Francisco. Could be only a week or two, but it could be much longer.”

“We’ll work something out,” Victoria added smoothly. “Take turns, perhaps. Whatever we do, Heath –“ She turned back to him. “You won’t be alone with this. Not ever. All right?”

Heath managed an awkward smile. “All right. Thanks.”

Another awkward silence, and this time no one seemed able to break it. Finally Heath cleared his throat. “Think I might head on upstairs, take a load off for a bit. Been -- Well, an interesting day.”

No one tried to stop him. What the hell, he thought, trudging up the stairs. Give folks a chance to talk about him without being overheard. Any other time the prospect might have bothered him, but this afternoon he didn’t much care. Besides, he needed time. Time to think about what to do next.

In his bedroom, he closed the door firmly and sat down on the bed to pull off his boots. And sat staring at his hands, motionless.

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

Going through her closet that evening, Victoria found herself gnawing at a nail, and made a face. Old habit, and one she’d been well rid of until now, it seemed. She pushed fretfully at dress after dress. This one, too worn, that one, of a fashion so out of date she couldn’t possibly wear it in San Francisco. She paused over a watered blue silk gown, trailing her fingers down the fitted sleeve. Could it have been so long? This was the governor’s ball, nearly what? twelve years ago? Tom had been so handsome in his rarely worn evening attire. Jarrod had still been an undergraduate, and Nick chafing at the reins, hating school and craving the same things his father had at his age. How old had Heath been then? Eleven or twelve? Working already, finished with what schooling he would ever have, and not far from signing up to fight in a war Victoria wondered if he’d truly understood at the beginning.

She hadn’t even known he was alive when she wore this dress. And now –

“Stop it,” she whispered, letting go of the blue silk and dashing an impatient hand over her eyes. “Silly old woman. That won’t help.”

Half an hour later most of her dresses were strewn about the room. A sizeable discard pile, much smaller suitable pile, and a few she wasn’t sure about. Thank goodness almost all of them would still fit, but there were only two she felt confident about. Everything else seemed…drab. Old-fashioned, or the wrong color, or simply – wrong.

She uncovered a velvet riding jacket, buried at the very back of the wardrobe, and found a startled smile on her face. Well, she hadn’t thrown that out after all. The heavy fabric still felt luxurious under her fingers. She’d had a fox stole to wear with it, although that she had discarded a long time ago.

Jennie and she had bought the fabric at the same time. Blue for Victoria, a pretty soft brown for Jennie. Even their stoles had matched: silvery fox and red. Jennie had been buried in hers. And Victoria wore her immaculate blue jacket with a matching skirt, the day she and Tom rode out to see this property for the first time. And never since.

“It’s all right to cry. Just don’t do it all the time. What fun is that?”

The voice was so clear, she actually turned to see if Jennie were really there. Sitting in a chair, wide eyes filled with laughter. So like Audra, it sometimes pained her to look at her own daughter.

“Why did it have to be this?” Victoria whispered, and wished Jennie would speak again. Just a few words, that’s all it would take. Just a breath, to say that something made sense, that there was a rhyme and a reason to it all. God giveth, and God taketh away, wasn’t that right? But why did He take so much? Tom, and the children, and Jennie, and now perhaps a son not of her own body, but most certainly of her heart?

She pulled the blue jacket off its hanger and clasped it to her breast, closing her eyes. “Not yet,” she whispered, feeling her eyes stinging. “Just – not yet. Please, God, that’s all I’m asking. No more than that.”

Someone knocked softly on her door, and she looked up, wiping away her sentimental old-woman tears once more. “Yes?”

Jarrod, of course. Looking tired, and worn in a way she hadn’t seen since Tom’s untimely passing. “Just wanted to say good night, Mother.” He frowned. “Mother?”

“Yes, good night, darling.” She forced a smile, and put the blue jacket on the discard pile. “Get some rest. You look exhausted.”

He took a step into the room. “Are you all right?”

“Of course. Just going through these old clothes. I had no idea there were so many.”

His expression wasn’t fooled. “Mother –“

“Leave me be, Jarrod,” she said in a thick rush, shaking her head. “Now -- Now isn’t a good time.”

“Can I help? Please, all you have to do is –“

“What?” she snapped suddenly. “Help? Who can help? Can you make Heath well again? Can you cure this horrible disease and put the color back in his cheeks? The flesh on his bones? If you can do that, then yes – yes, you can help. If not –“ She broke off, covering her mouth with both hands. “I’m sorry,” she said, muffled. “Oh God.”

And it felt so ridiculously comforting to be held. To squeeze out a few more useless tears while someone else was holding her up.

“It’s not fair,” she cried against Jarrod’s shoulder. “It’s not, it’s not! So little time, and now this, Jarrod. When will it end? What else does He want?”

Jarrod rocked her a little. “Who? What does who want?”

“God. If I could only understand, if I could see what He wanted, then maybe I could rest. Maybe then –“

“Mother, please.” Jarrod drew back a little, face drawn with understanding and sadness. “Don’t do this to yourself. Please?”

“I won’t watch Heath slip away like Jennie,” she whispered fiercely. “I won’t. If I have to travel the world ‘round, I’ll find a way to help him get better. I won’t lose him, Jarrod, do you hear me? Not yet, not now.”

He gave her a shaky half-smile. “My thoughts exactly, dear lady. No matter what it takes.”

“Yes. No matter what.”

He kissed her cheek. “You’ve got a mess here. Want me to help you –“

“No, no.” She stepped away, wiping her cheeks and startled to hear herself laugh a little. “I made the mess, I will clean it up. Go to bed, darling.”

“Good night, Mother.”

“Good night, dear.”

After he’d gone, she stood staring at the debris, shaking her head. Then with a sigh, she bent to began picking it all up again.

Chapter 9

December shouted its arrival by dumping several inches of snow on the valley. It was unseasonable, the cold, and unwelcome. Soon, Heath was sure, the milder climate he was used to would return. The snow would melt in a day or two, the winds die down. But for now it was just plain cold.

He figured the temperature had something to do with his starting to feel worse. People got sick when it turned cold, nothing different about that.

But no cold he could remember had ever made him feel quite the way this did. He covered the best he could, forced himself to eat when he didn’t want anything, got out and rode and fixed things up and did what Nick and everyone was accustomed to him doing. But he couldn’t hide the way he lost weight anyway. Or the cough, the twice-damned cough.

On the fifth of December, he awoke to find the snow finally gone, and his bones aching with fever. It wasn’t something he could hide, even if he’d really cared about hiding. But caring took energy, and he was fresh out. He noted the tight discomfort in his chest, and propped up some pillows before deciding to close his eyes for just a few minutes.

“Heath?”

He opened his eyes to bright sunshine, and gazed up at Victoria. Her face was familiarly tight with concern. “It’s all right, darling,” she said quietly. “I want you to drink something. Your fever is very high.”

He sat up, fighting down the need to cough, and took the glass. Lemonade, odd in December, but he didn’t question it. It was cold and sweet, and it felt wonderful.

“Better?”

“Yeah.” He handed her the glass and watched her wring out wet cloths. “Boy howdy, I’m hot.” He pushed back the covers fretfully. “What time is it?”

“Nearly noon. Now don’t you even think about getting out of that bed.”

“I ain’t. Just hot.”

“Lie back. I have cool compresses.”

The cloth felt good, and blocked out the too-vibrant light. “Gonna make me take some of that godawful medicine?” he asked.

“Not yet, honey. Do you feel like listening to me?”

“Sure.”

“Everyone wants to visit you, but we decided it might not be wise right now. Dr. Merar feels strongly that you’re most catching when your fever is high, as it is right now. All right? So I’m afraid you’re stuck with me until you feel better.”

He stirred, pulling the cloth away from his eyes. “Shouldn’t be you,” he said with a drowsy frown. “Mother, I couldn’t live if you took sick, too.”

Her expression was composed. “I’ve nursed others with consumption, Heath,” she told him matter-of-factly. “You aren’t the first, and I’ve never come down with it yet. If I were going to I would already have done it. So put that out of your mind.”

There was a flaw with her argument, but Heath couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He settled for scowling. “Still.”

“Hush. How does your chest feel?”

“All right.”

“The truth.”

He sighed and looked away. “Ain’t so bad. Kinda heavy, I reckon. You got any more of that lemonade? I’m purely parched.”

She did, and it tasted just as good. He chugged down two more glasses and then looked at her. “Reckon you could give me a second?”

“Why?”

He smiled a little. “Guess I better see a man about a horse.”

She colored faintly. “Oh.” A rueful laugh. “Of course. I’ll come back presently. Anything else you need, darling?”

A new set of lungs, he thought about saying, but kept it back. “No, Mother. Thanks.”

After she left he saw to his business, and then crawled back into bed, shivering now. Funny how that worked. One minute you were frying, and the next, might as well be sitting in a snowdrift in your all-in-all. He burrowed under the covers, and shut his eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The coughing woke him. Tiredly familiar, and never-ending. When he could, he took the medicine Victoria offered him without complaining, and nodded when she asked if a poultice might make his chest feel better. Might, might not, but he was willing to give it a try, bad smells or not. This coughing hurt. Hurt bad.

He slept some in the evening, but that night when he coughed up gunk it had blood in it again. Scared him, in a way he hated Victoria to see. Wasn’t right, hawking up red stuff like that, no one had to tell him even once. He went through a raft of handkerchiefs, and hid them under the covers. If it was catching, well, not a lot he could do about it, but he’d be double-damned if he’d let her see the blood.

Doc Merar showed up long after dark, looking tired.

“You look tuckered out, Doc,” Heath wheezed, sitting up.

“Molly Andrews had her baby this evening. Been a bit busy.”

“Ought not to have come out, then. Reckon I’ll still be this way tomorrow.”

Merar took out his stethoscope. “You’re probably right,” he said. “Take some deep breaths for me.”

Heath did, and coughed, as he knew he would. When he could breathe again Merar’s instruments were all put away.

“What’s today’s date?” Merar asked abruptly.

Heath squinted at him. “Huh?”

“Just tell me.”

“The 5th. Might be the 6th by now.”

“And you know where you are?”

“Well, I’m at home. Where else would I be?”

“What’s my name?”

“Now Doc, you know your name. Why’d you –“

“Relax.” Merar smiled briefly. “Just making sure your noggin isn’t too muddled with that fever. Heath, you have pneumonia.”

He stared at him, flummoxed.

“Not that unexpected, I suppose,” Merar continued with a shrug. “But you’re very sick, and that’s a fact. I’m going to leave a few things with Victoria. You don’t ask her why, all right? If she gives you something you take it, and no complaining. Rest as much as you can, drink plenty of fluids. Ever had any willow-bark tea?”

“Mama used to make that some.” Heath nodded. “She got headaches.”

“Tastes like, well. But it’ll help your fever. Joints hurt?”

Heath nodded. “Kinda hurts all over, want to know the truth.”

“It’ll help a bit with that, too.” He snapped his case closed. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

“All right.”

He watched Merar leave, and then shivered and pulled the covers back up again.

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

Jarrod sighed and shook his head. “Just what he needs. Good lord.”

“I was afraid of this,” Victoria told Merar. “His fever got so high.”

“Well, you know what to expect, I suppose.” Merar produced a tiny shrug. “I’m sorry. Best I can recommend is try and keep that fever under control best you can. Make him drink as much as you can force down him. You have laudanum? If his chest hurts bad that ought to ease him a bit.”

Beside Jarrod, Nick stirred but said nothing. A glance showed him a depth of fear that chilled him anew. “Mother,” Jarrod began carefully, “you can’t take this all on yourself. No, I don’t want to debate it,” he added when she sat up straight. “Howard, is this particularly catching?”

“Hard to say. A bit, but maybe not so much. Depends if it’s because of his generally weak condition, or as a direct result of the tuberculosis. The former, I think, and so I’d say the rest of you should be safe.”

“Good. Then we’ll take turns tending him.”

Merar nodded. “I know a woman out by Hampton’s parcel. Nell Moon, you know her?”

Audra looked up. “I’ve never met her, but she tends the children at the orphanage from time to time. Isn’t that her?”

“Right. Good with home remedies, and she’s tended many a sickbed, mostly miners. I’ll send her over here if she can come.”

“We appreciate that, Howard,” was Victoria’s quiet reply.

“Howard, it’s awfully late.” Jarrod glanced at the clock. “You’ll be all right, riding home? Would you like to stay the night? It would be our pleasure.”

“I should be going,” Merar said, nodding at him. “I’ll be back in the morning, though, check up on him. Have to stop and check on Molly’s new one first.”

“Understood.”

He and Victoria saw the doctor out. Jarrod closed the door and glanced at his mother. “Why don’t you get some sleep?” he asked gently. “I’ll take this shift.”

“No, he really should –“

“Mother. I may not be as qualified a nurse as you, but I can do the job. And it won’t do Heath any good at all if the rest of us sicken because we refuse to rest.” He placed a hand on her arm. “Let us help. He’s our brother.”

Her glance was still worried, but softer now. “Yes,” she said slowly. “Yes, you do have a point.”

“I’m a lawyer. I’m trained to look for those.”

She smiled. “Of course.”

In the parlor, Nick and Audra stood together, wearing twin expressions of worry.

“I’ll watch him tonight,” Jarrod told them without preamble. “Mother’s going to rest. I suggest you do the same.”

Nick lifted his chin. “If anything happens –“

“I’ll wake you,” Jarrod finished, nodding. “Absolutely.”

“Come on, Mother.” Nick walked up and offered his arm. “Walk you up.”

When they’d all gone, Jarrod went into the kitchen. Silas had an expectant look on his face, and Jarrod wondered how much he’d overheard. “Mr. Jarrod. What can I do for you?”

“Heath’s taken ill again. I wonder if you could make a pot of coffee? I’ll be staying up with him tonight.”

“You bet I can. I bring it up to you directly, sir.”

“That’d be marvelous.”

He gathered some paperwork and a couple of books. Leaving the lights burning, Jarrod went upstairs. Nick stood on the landing, by Heath’s door. Jaw set, he murmured, “Now you know I’m not gonna be able to sleep. What if he needs something?”

“Then I’ll get it for him.” Jarrod sighed. “Nick, someone’s got to run this ranch, whether or not Heath is well. You know that person is you. I can determine my own schedule to some great extent; you can’t.” Forcing a smile, he added, “Don’t worry, you’ll have your chance. And if I know Heath, sick or well, he’ll be asking for updates. He’ll rest easier knowing you have everything in hand.”

Nick’s slow nod conceded the point. But the sorrowing look in his eyes spoke louder than his actions. “Damn it.”

“Go to bed, Nick. Heath will get through this. We’ll make sure of it.”

But inside Heath’s room, his confidence was shaken. Heath lay in a troubled sleep, propped up on a multitude of pillows. His breathing was stertorous, cheeks hectic red from fever. And for the first time Jarrod saw that Heath’s lips had a blue tinge.

Laying his work materials on the dresser, Jarrod went to bend over Heath, touching his shoulder. The skin was so hot he felt like recoiling. “Heath. Wake up for a moment. Come on.” He shook harder, and finally Heath’s eyelids fluttered, revealing a glassy blue gaze. “That’s it,” Jarrod said unsteadily. “Come on, sit up.”

Heath’s uncomprehending eyes widened, and then he coughed convulsively, a deep hoarse rattle that didn’t ease for too many minutes. Jarrod sat on the bed, sliding an arm behind Heath’s back. “Go on, Heath,” he whispered urgently. “That’s it.”

Finally the spasms ceased. Heath’s head lolled with pure exhaustion, but peeking at his face Jarrod saw that the frightening blue was gone from his lips. Still holding him up, Jarrod reached behind and stacked the pillows until he thought they would hold Heath almost upright.

“Here. Lie back.”

Heath’s wandering gaze traveled over him. “Had a dream,” he rasped, a troubling liquid gurgle in his voice. He caught a quick breath. “Fell into the crick. Dreamed – I was drownin’.”

Jarrod gave a tight nod. “You very nearly were,” he said quietly. “Heath, you have to sit up like this. I know it’s not too comfortable for sleeping, but it’s the only way.”

“What time’s it?”

“I’m not sure. Don’t worry about that.” Jarrod tucked the covers around him. “I want you to drink something now.”

“All right.”

But when he returned with a glass of water, Heath’s eyes were closed, and his breathing was even enough that Jarrod hated to disturb him. He set the glass on the nightstand and sighed, reaching out to place his wrist against Heath’s forehead. Hot, of course.

“Oh, Heath,” Jarrod whispered, shaking his head. “Please fight. That’s all I ask.”

After a moment he went over to get the papers he’d brought up, and settled into the chair. By the time Silas brought coffee, he was engrossed in discovery for a case.

Chapter 10

“Don’t lie to me, Howard.” Victoria gazed out the window, eyes narrowed against the waning sun. “I’ll know if you do.”

“I never have, and don’t plan to start now. He’s doing poorly, Victoria. I can’t say what will happen. No one can, except God. It’s in His hands now.”

She nodded slowly, and let the curtain twitch back into place. Turning, she said, “I suspected as much. Is there anything more we can do? Something we haven’t tried yet?”

Merar’s expression was solemn. “Only what you’ve been doing. It’s not care that’s been lacking. But he was already weakened. This now, he’s not strong enough to fight as well as another would.”

“I’ve prayed,” she whispered. “I’ve prayed longer and harder than I can remember since Tom was shot. But I don’t think God is listening.”

“He’s still alive,” was Merar’s simple reply. “Are you so sure?”

She couldn’t think of a reply to that.

“I’ll let myself out,” the doctor said gently. “You go tend your boy now.”

Nell sat as Victoria had left her, knitting needles clicking at Heath’s bedside. Her plain face was pinched as she lay down her work. “I done what I can, Missus Barkley,” she said. “He took some broth earlier, but he done sicked it up already.”

Victoria patted her broad shoulder, but her eyes were only for the man in the bed. “Why don’t you go along home, Nell? You’ve been a great help. I appreciate it more than I can say.”

“I’ll brew up some more of that tea afore I go. It eases him some, I reckon.”

Victoria wasn’t so sure, but certainly it didn’t harm him. And it gave Nell something constructive to do, and that was clearly important. She was a good nurse, better than Victoria herself in some ways, and it stuck in her kind-hearted craw that her ministrations were having so little result.

“That would be fine, Nell.”

“I’ll be back in the mornin’.”

“Thank you.”

When she’d gone, Victoria sat in the chair she’d vacated, reaching out to cover Heath’s lax fingers with her own. “It snowed again,” she said softly, turning his hand and lacing their fingers together. “Almost a foot. We may have a white Christmas this year, what do you think of that? Nick and Jarrod are going tomorrow to look for the perfect tree.”

He didn’t respond, not that she’d expected it. He rarely did, and wasn’t very lucid in those brief waking moments. The fever waxed and waned, but it had already burned what flesh he had left from his bones. His breathing was shallow and effortful, but he kept on doing it. And for that she was deeply grateful.

“Now when you get better, we’ll have our Christmas, and then we’ll be off to San Francisco.” She squeezed his hand. “You know what I’m going to do while we’re there? Get you a really good suit. I know you hate shopping, and fitting worse, but that suit you have simply won’t do. We’ll be meeting a lot of people, and you must have something that fits you.”

It occurred to her that in Heath’s present state, his old suit would fall off him, but she pushed the thought aside. “And I want you to be thinking about what you’d like for Christmas. I’ve gotten a few presents, but I’m hopelessly behind.” She smiled, and felt her throat close up, painfully tight. “Oh Heath, son. Tell me you’ll be with me for Christmas. Please, just tell me that.”

His fingers tightened on hers, and she started. “Heath?”

The blue eyes were still cloudy, but he smiled. “Told you – didn’t want to see – that look anymore, Mother.”

She wiped her cheek and smiled. “I’ll do my best. Can you drink something?”

“Reckon so.”

He sipped the water, and took some beef tea willingly enough. She steeled herself against showing anything when he coughed. He was right: he had enough on his plate without seeing her looking vaporish. So she helped as much as she could, and kept the basin handy in case he was sick again. But the liquids stayed put this time, and he finally shook his head. “Mother, I’m tired.”

She quailed, hearing it. “I know, darling. You need to rest.”

“Reckon – I ain’t felt this – purely awful since – I don’t know when.” He leaned back, and a spasm of pain crossed his tight features. “Tell you somethin’?”

“You can tell me anything, Heath. What is it?”

He had to cough, and she said nothing about the red that flecked his lips. Only wiped it away with a wet cloth. “Kinda scared to sleep,” he said thickly. “Wonderin’ if this thing – ain’t gonna carry me off.”

“Not if you don’t let it,” she managed. “You hush those thoughts, right here and now, Heath Barkley.”

His smile was weary but she was glad to see it. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And don’t call me ‘ma’am.’”

“Yes, Mother.”

But after he slept, she bent to lay her head on the quilt and didn’t try to fight off the tears any longer.

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

He could remember being very ill a few times. Years ago, the last one, but he remembered what it felt like. And so when he did his stint at Heath’s bedside he always reminded himself of those times. Kept them in the forefront of his mind, because when he didn’t, well, he felt a lot of things he had no right to feel.

Nick squeezed out the cloth and wiped it with as much care as he could over Heath’s flushed face. “Boy, now I think you’re takin’ this a bit too far,” he said gruffly. “If you wanted a vacation, shoulda just said so. But no, instead you gotta make all this hooraw. When you get better me and you are gonna have words. That’s a fact.”

He put the material back in the pan and sat back. If what he was doing was making a difference, he sure as hell couldn’t see it. And in spite of his control he felt lorn, sullen anger rising in his throat. Wasn’t right. Come in here and battle your way into our lives, and then our hearts, and then go and take ill like this. What was it all for, then? Make us love you, and then slip away? Why couldn’t you just have stayed gone? Then we wouldn’t have had to see you like this, and not be able to do a God-lovin’ thing about it.

The thoughts came faster and easier this time. And he hated himself for them, but in a way he knew they were the truth. A truth, at least. Every time he walked into this close, stuffy, sick-smelling room and saw Heath lying here, why, the thoughts were right there. And it didn’t help knowing they were born of the same aching feeling in his breast right now.

“Aw, come on now, Heath,” Nick whispered, swallowing hard. “See, you can’t do this to me. You can’t just get inside like this and then go. You’re a fair man, and that isn’t fair. Not one stinkin’ bit fair.”

Heath slumbered on, and Nick eyed the new beads of sweat on his forehead with weariness.

He was standing at the window sometime later, gazing out at the neglected stock in the corral, when a raspy voice said, “You just gonna stand there, or you gonna fetch me some water?”

Snapping around, Nick gaped, and then found himself grinning. “Look at Sleeping Beauty, awake at last.”

The red was gone from Heath’s cheeks, leaving him pale but looking so much better Nick felt shaken anew. “Just don’t – kiss me, all right?” he wheezed, putting his hands behind him to lever himself up. “Don’t reckon I could punch you yet, but gimme a few days.”

Nick threw his head back and laughed out loud.

It took only a second to check that yes, the fever was broken. At least for the moment, but Nick wasn’t dwelling on that. Too filled with pure relief to ponder anything else. Heath still coughed, but an hour later he was still awake, drinking his broth and looking so much on the mend that Nick’s knees actually felt a little wobbly.

“Mother sleepin’?” Heath asked at one point.

“Honestly? Don’t even know.”

“You take care of her, Nick. You’ll do that?”

“Hell, I’ll make you do it. You’re the one put us all in such conniptions the past week.”

Heath gazed at him, mouth ajar. “Week?”

“And some. You been some ill, Heath.”

“But a week? Boy howdy,” Heath said, and coughed absently. “Feel better now, though. Tell you, I had me some dreams. Whoo.”

Nick nodded, smiling. “I’ll just bet. You feel up to some company? Mother needs to see you feelin’ better.”

“Sounds all right.” But Heath’s hand snuck out as Nick rose, and clasped his wrist. “You ain’t such a bad nurse yourself, brother,” Heath said hoarsely. “Thank you kindly.”

“I don’t aim to make a habit of it, either,” Nick shot back, but he covered Heath’s fingers with his own. “Just you see that you don’t go makin’ me, all right?”

Heath gave a slow smile. “Do my best.”

“Lemme go get Mother. Although why she’d want to see your ugly mug is more’n I can figure.”

Chapter 11

It took seeing Doc Merar’s flabbergasted expression to really show Heath just how near a thing it had been. Merar hadn’t expected him to live, that much was clear. The realization bothered him, but he was too glad to be on the mend to mind it for long.

“I know, I know,” he said when the doctor drew a deep breath. “I promise I won’t overdo it.” He gazed at him. “That is what you were gonna say, right?”

“Just about.” Merar shook his head and uttered a wry laugh. “Beat me to it.”

Heath grinned.

Although it wasn’t only Merar telling him he’d just about met his Maker. He could feel it. That first day sitting up was the best he could do, and the second day he made it about halfway to the commode before Nick had to start doing most of the work for him. His legs felt weaker than a brand-new foal’s, and his head spun a little when he stood up.

But he kept at it, and a week after his fever broke Jarrod walked him down the stairs. Vigilant, and Heath appreciated that, but he was for damn sure going to see another four walls besides the ones he’d been staring at lately.

“Are you sure this is wise?” Victoria gazed intently at him.

“Ain’t gonna be riding any roundups this week,” Heath replied breathlessly. “But I aim to sit at that table for supper.”

And sit at it he did, not saying much but glorying in the pure ordinariness of the conversation around him. The roast was just about the best thing he’d ever tasted, although it was only about four bites before he couldn’t make himself eat more. He just listened after that, and soon enough the topic at the table turned to San Francisco.

“I was thinking the week after New Year’s.” Jarrod wiped his mouth with his napkin and leaned back in his chair. “I’ll need to return by then in any case, and that gives Heath a couple more weeks of recuperation time.”

Heath caught a few wary glances, and nodded. “Hell, by then I plan to be workin’ again,” he said. “Oughta give me time to get caught up on things.”

Jarrod gave him a considering look. “I’ve taken the liberty of contacting a couple of specialists for you,” he said slowly. “I hope to hear back soon, with appointments.”

“Sounds about right.”

“After we’ve gotten some opinions we should know how to proceed.”

Heath shrugged. “Well, I got the answer to that. Gonna come home and start thinkin’ about spring.”

“Heath.” Jarrod exchanged glances with Victoria. “There will have to be changes. Long-term ones. You must recognize that.”

“Don’t see why. I ain’t sick now, and way I see it, by spring I oughta be good as gold.”

“Ideally, yes. But I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that your disease…. It will come back eventually.”

Nettled, Heath glared at him. “And when it does, well, I’ll slow down. Till then, don’t see any difference.”

“Heath,” Victoria said. “The idea is to keep that day from happening at all. But in order to do that, you must take care of yourself. In ways – you may find constricting.”

“What they’re tryin’ not to say,” Nick rumbled, “is that I’m not letting you just go on about like nothing happened. Gonna change the way things work around here, is what I mean.”

“Well, I ain’t sittin’ around here just waitin’ for my ticket, either,” Heath shot back. He fought down the urge to cough, and snorted. “Won’t be no good for anybody if I do that. Sit around here all day, every day? No sir. That ain’t for me.”

“No one’s suggesting you do nothing, Heath.” Victoria looked troubled. “Far from it. But can’t you see the cycle, already? You get worse, you rest, you get better and do too much, and next thing you know you’re sick again. What I want is to prevent that. And if it means you do less, then that’s what you’ll do. Wouldn’t you rather that, than to be confined again?”

She had a point, much as it pained him to hear it. Staring at his plate, Heath gave a reluctant nod. “When you put it that way.”

“Believe me, it doesn’t mean you’re getting off that easy.” Nick let out an explosive laugh. “Far from it.”

“We can decide the details some other time,” Jarrod announced smoothly. “For the moment, I hope we can focus on your complete and timely recovery.”

“Amen to that.” Nick took a swig of his coffee.

Heath ran out of steam not too much later, and let Victoria chivvy him up the stairs without complaining too much. At least his room smelled better; the windows had been opened to let in the cold fresh air, and the lingering odors of turpentine and sweat had mostly departed. He undressed wearily, and lay down again with relief.

Not too much later he was almost asleep when Victoria looked in on him. “Anything you need, darling?”

He shook his head. “Reckon I’m set,” he said drowsily. “But thank you just the same.”

“Good night, Heath.”

He smiled and closed his eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~

The final week before Christmas passed in a flurry of activity. By unspoken agreement they were keeping it small this year, in deference to Heath’s lingering fragile condition. But Victoria had glimpsed the various parcels and bags smuggled into the house by her children, and she’d already made two shopping trips herself. Normally she’d have done at least one expedition to San Francisco, where the stores were more numerous and the merchandise finer and far more varied. Still, this year’s presents might not be the most elaborate, but they’d do just fine.

And there was no question that Heath’s rally had spirits far higher than just a couple of weeks ago. As she told Jarrod one night, after the rest of the household had retired, her greatest fear for the holiday had been the possibility of planning a funeral instead of a celebration.

“Well, then he proved both of us wrong.” Jarrod tilted his glass in her direction.

“This time he did,” she agreed. “But he seems so determined to believe that everything will go back the way it was. But how can it?”

“Mother, as much as we might want to keep him safe in the house at all times – what sort of a life is that for a man like Heath? Oh, I agree,” he said readily, when she directed a pointed look at him. “I feel the same as you. But it seems to me that Heath’s already agreed to more than he perhaps wants. The trip to Frisco, the doctors -- If he had his druthers I strongly suspect he’d simply rest up and go on.”

“Maybe the doctors can talk some sense into him. Jarrod, he can’t go back, doing what Nick does. He was lucky this time,” she said bleakly. “But does he seem the lucky sort to you?”

Jarrod’s pursed lips conceded her point. “Not particularly, no.”

“We’ll simply have to find him something else to do. Something that contributes, and yet doesn’t tax his strength. Something he’ll enjoy.”

“A admirable notion. But more easily said than done. I can’t imagine Heath happy indoors.”

“It doesn’t have to be inside. You said yourself, in that lecture you attended – that physician recommended fresh air. It’s overtaxing himself that worries me. On horseback, out riding the land – so many things can and do happen. A year ago I wouldn’t have given them a second thought. Today? I think about it. And Heath should think about it.”

“Perhaps he does. In any case, Mother, all of this is just – conjecture at this point.” Jarrod sipped his brandy and shook his head. “We don’t yet know what these specialists are going to recommend. Until that time -- Let’s get ready for Christmas, and face other things as they arise.”

And that was what they did, although Victoria felt the tug of lingering unease in her breast. Their Christmas wasn’t white, although that morning the valley was pale with frost. There were mountains of gifts, including several from Heath. He just shrugged when Victoria asked how he’d managed to shop. As Audra later explained to her, Heath had a very specific list for each of his siblings, with precise instructions as to what and how much.

The only wrinkle in Heath’s plan was revealed after their generous Christmas dinner.

“With all that loot I dunno what’s making you pull that long face.” Nick scowled at Heath. “What’s on your mind, boy?”

Victoria watched Heath shift positions. “Meant to go on out to Strawberry before Christmas,” Heath muttered. “Got a gift I wanted to deliver.”

“Well, hell, we can take care of that for you. Might have to be tomorrow, but late’s better than never.”

“Reckon so?”

Nick glanced at Victoria and nodded. “I’ll send one of the men with it. Consider it done.”

Heath’s expression was lighter now, and a little sheepish. “Guess I shoulda thought of sending someone else. Never occurred to me.”

“Next time it will.”

Heath didn’t say anything to that.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that evening Heath was playing a game of checkers with Audra when Jarrod came in. “Who’s winning?”

“I am,” Audra declared with a shining grin.

Heath gave her an injured look. “Musta been that brandy. I can’t hold my liquor since I got out of that bed.”

“Yes, Heath, it was the brandy.” Audra dropped Jarrod a huge wink.

“Well, when the slaughter is done, I have a few dates to go over with Heath, if you don’t mind.”

Heath snorted and leaned back in his seat. “She took me two out of three, and now she’s liable to do the same six out of ten, so I think that’s – what? What’s the word, Jarrod?”

“A fait accompli? Coup de grace?”

“If you say so.”

“All right.” Jarrod sat down on the divan and took a handful of papers out of his breast pocket. “I received replies from both of the doctors I contacted before Christmas. Your appointments are for the 3rd and the 4th respectively, in January. If we travel on the 2nd, we should make it in plenty of time.”

Heath nodded slowly. “Two of ‘em, huh?” He resisted the urge to make a face.

“The first is with a Dr. Jeffries. He’s a well-known pulmonologist, with a long history of treating miners as well as consumptives. That’s the traditional path. The other appointment is with Dr. Ralston.”

“Ain’t -- Isn’t he the one gave that lecture?”

“The same.” Jarrod put the papers on the end table. “I thought it might be best to see what both conservatives and more innovative types might say about your condition,” he continued.

“Reckon it’ll be that different?”

“From what I could ascertain Ralston is definitely more the voice of the leading edge of scientific progress. But I would rather wait to see what both doctors say before we make any decisions.”

“Don’t care what they say.” Heath regarded him stonily. “When we’re done there I aim to head back here and get on with things. I’m no invalid, Jarrod. Ain’t -- Never been one and don’t plan on startin’ now.”

Jarrod’s expression was impassive. “I respect that, Heath. Change is difficult, for all of us. But you must realize there is a difference between taking care of oneself, and reckless endangerment.”

“Last time I checked this was still a free country,” Heath said, shrugging. “I don’t aim to be stupid. But it ain’t your decision, even if you are my big brother. I get a say, too.”

“Of course. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”

“Just so we’re all in agreement.”

“We are. I promise you.”

Heath allowed a short nod, and reached into his pocket for his tobacco. “Gonna step outside now.”

Jarrod frowned. “Are you sure you should?”

In his present mood Heath found the comment vexing. “Just gonna have a smoke, or you think one of them doctors won’t like that, either?”

“I’m not sure it’s good for your lungs.”

“Clears ‘em out. Besides, never heard anybody say a smoke made much difference to consumption.”

Jarrod sighed. “It makes you cough, Heath. That’s why I brought it up.”

Standing, Heath gave a shrug. “Seems to me my cough done turned into everyone’s business,” he said tightly. “But that don’t make it so, Jarrod. I respect your concern, but you best leave that alone.”

Jarrod responded with a slow nod. “Understood,” he replied softly.

His tobacco was stale, and the cigarette he rolled tasted like it had been cut with straw from the barn, but he smoked it doggedly anyway. And it did make him cough, harshly. Finally Heath regarded the butt with a weary sigh, and dropped it. Maybe Jarrod was right. Damn smarty-pants lawyer that he was at times, he was also without a doubt the most learned man Heath knew. And it didn’t feel good to have a smoke now, not like it used to. Used to, it cleared the mind, gave him a chance to think while he smoked. Now, though, it felt rotten when he inhaled, and worse when he coughed it all out. Like that smoke had fingers with sharp little nails, digging into the soft places inside his tired lungs and burrowing deep.

He regarded his remaining tobacco with a jaundiced eye. Maybe some other time.

Inside, he didn’t react to Jarrod’s inquisitive look. But upstairs in his room he dumped the stale tobacco in a waste basket. And after a long moment he shrugged and added his cigarette makings to the mix. Someday he might take up the habit again, if his chest got better. For the moment, maybe this was something he could live with leaving behind.

Chapter 12

“For goodness’ sake, Audra, we’re only going to San Francisco.”

“But Mother! What if I need these?”

Victoria sighed. “If you changed dresses four times a day you might. But you won’t. I promise you.”

Audra glared at her. “You don’t know that!”

“Don’t worry, Mother,” Jarrod murmured at her side. “We’ll manage.”

And so Audra’s four suitcases were loaded onto the train, while Victoria looked on despairingly and Jarrod tried – and failed – to hide his amusement. “Heaven forbid we should ever think of sending her on a European tour,” Victoria said under her breath to her oldest son. “I think the ship would sink before they got out of the harbor, from all her luggage!”

Jarrod laughed more, but refrained from any comment.

In contrast to Audra’s extravagance, Heath had packed only one small case, and stood now a few feet away, the case between his ankles and hands stuffed in his pockets. Victoria thought he looked painfully young. And there was no question that he was not particularly well. His clothes fit him badly, and his cheeks were colorless.

“Heath?” Victoria walked over, touching his elbow. “Are you all right?”

He nodded. “You get all those bags to fit?”

“I think so. Come on, let’s board now. You should sit down.”

“I’m all right, Mother.” A peevish tone crept into his voice, and he looked away. “Just watching the to-do.”

The station did have a faintly frantic air to it: luggage being loaded, families shouting last-minute greetings. Victoria gave a slow nod, and then Jarrod caught her eye. “Look, there’s Jarrod. We really need to board now.”

Heath followed behind her without comment. Finally everyone was aboard, and Victoria breathed a relieved sigh.

“Just think,” came Jarrod’s wry comment, uttered under his breath. “Once we arrive we get to take all those bags to the house.”

Victoria gave him a severe look. “I’ll remember what you told me at the station.”

“Damn.” Jarrod’s teasing smile faded as he looked over at Heath, sitting silently next to the visibly excited Audra. “Brother Heath, how are you feeling?”

“Same as the last fourteen times you asked me,” Heath said coolly. His gaze didn’t waver from the window. “Just fine.”

“Sorry. I was – concerned.”

“Needn’t be. Reckon you’ll know it when I’m not.”

Jarrod nodded curtly. “I suppose you’re right.”

The noise level rose as the train cycled up to its normal running speed. Under the cover of convenient clatter, Victoria said in a low voice, “He’s been like this the past few days. Is he angry with us?”

Jarrod gave a minute shake of his head. “I’m not sure. He’s such a private man. I would imagine all this attention feels a little – stifling.”

“Maybe so.”

Audra, she saw, was impervious to Heath’s dark mood, clasping his arm and talking animatedly about something. And it seemed to work, because as the miles passed Heath’s frowning visage lightened, until he seemed almost his normal self again.

But even Audra noticed that the trip took its toll. Heath might be more cheerful now, but the dark smudges beneath his eyes spoke to his exhaustion. Climbing out of the car at the crowded San Francisco station, he stumbled, and Jarrod almost didn’t catch him in time to avoid a nasty tumble.

“Sorry,” Heath said breathlessly. His cheeks were red with embarrassment. “Didn’t see that last step.”

Victoria thought he had, but refrained from comment. She settled for taking his elbow again, and Jarrod the other, and was relieved to see him accept the help without his previous sour comments.

It took two porters and Jarrod to load all their baggage onto the cab, but finally they were headed in the direction of Jarrod’s house. Audra’s visible delight at being back in the city lightened the mood, along with the general bustle they passed, but Heath’s morose mien had returned. He gazed out the window at the passing sights, his posture one of interest but his expression curiously distant.

His father had been subject to black moods at times, Victoria reminded herself. They were rare; he’d been too busy and driven to succumb often or long. But disappointment or criticism Tom Barkley had always taken hard, and never worse than when self-inflicted. During those times Victoria had done her best to give him needed space. There was no talking him out of his melancholia; the process had always been an internal one, and after a time he would emerge, looking determined and never mentioning what had caused the episode in the first place.

Heath, it seemed, was subject to something similar. His mood had fluctuated in the past few weeks, from stoic acceptance to sudden flares of anger, leading inexorably to the melancholia that seemed evident now. And, Victoria thought tiredly, who could blame him? He was a young man, in the prime of his life, and a proud person to boot. It could not be easy, contemplating a shortened life filled with illness and possible disability. Heath had been self-sufficient at an age when many children depended wholly on the care of their parents. He’d never depended on anyone; how would it feel now, to recognize this forced dependence?

She herself wouldn’t have liked it, she knew. And Tom would have been impossible: miserable at being cooped up, angry that his body no longer allowed him to do the work he’d taken for granted before. No, she couldn’t blame Heath for feeling melancholy. Perhaps a busy schedule in the city would lighten his demeanor. Even if it would be time spent largely in the company of doctors. She resolved then and there to organize some outings strictly for entertainment.

Soon enough they pulled up in front of Jarrod’s brick Nob Hill home. Gazing at the exterior, Victoria noted with satisfaction the repairs made after the most recent earthquake.

Jarrod’s man, Easton, stood alertly at the curb, ready to begin unloading their baggage. He gave Victoria a capable hand out of the cab, and then Audra, whose eyes were sparkling with enthusiasm.

“Oh, Mother, tomorrow after Heath’s visit, we must go shopping. I have a thousand things on my list!”

Victoria smiled. “If time permits, dear,” she agreed absently.

“I’ve made a few improvements to the house,” Jarrod told them, walking up the brick path to the front door. “That big shake last year did some damage, but the engineers I hired say the house is better equipped to withstand the next one now.” He opened the red-painted front door. “Après tu.”

Victoria had stayed several times in Jarrod’s house, but it had been some time, and she eyed the quietly elegant interior with acute pleasure. “It’s truly your refuge, isn’t it?” she asked, turning to smile at him.

“Home away from home,” he agreed. “Larger than I need, really, but good for guests.”

“And entertaining,” Audra said, with a luminous smile.

“Occasionally, yes.” Jarrod raised his eyebrows. “In fact, now that you mention it, I was considering having a few guests over for supper tomorrow night. Give you a chance to meet them, and they you. Single…guests,” he added, with a wink at Audra.

“That would be lovely, Jarrod,” Victoria said. She glanced at Heath, whose eyes roamed the foyer with reassuring interest.

“You’ll want to freshen up.” Jarrod lifted his chin. “Let me show you to your rooms.”

Jarrod’s house was tall and narrow, a familiar shape in this neighborhood. Victoria saw with relief that Heath’s bedroom would only be one flight of stairs, while Jarrod had tactfully given the healthier visitors the two third-floor bedrooms.

“Mighty nice, Jarrod,” was Heath’s comment as he walked into the roomy space. He laid his case on the floor next to the wardrobe, and nodded slowly. “Thank you.”

Victoria watched him sit down in the wing chair by the window before following Jarrod to the landing.

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

After stashing his mother and sister in their upstairs bedrooms, Jarrod trotted back downstairs, pausing at Heath’s door. His company smile faded when he saw Heath with handkerchief to mouth, clearly only just having suffered a coughing fit.

“Would you like something to drink?” Jarrod asked quietly, taking a step inside the room.

“Some water – do me fine,” Heath agreed.

Jarrod poured him a glass from the pitcher on the desk, and brought it over. Heath drank thirstily, and finally gave him a furtive half-smile. “That damn feather-duster.”

“Beg pardon?”

Heath set the glass down, resuming his survey of the view outside the window. “What it kinda feels like, when I get to coughing. Like there’s a feather-duster, tickling my insides.”

“Ah.” Jarrod nodded, and walked over to perch on the side of the bed nearby. “You seem tired, Heath,” he added gently. “Why don’t you get some rest? It’s been a long day.”

“Reckon I’ve rested enough lately. Tired of it. Just about slept my life away.”

“You’ll need your energy tomorrow, when you go see Dr. Jeffries.”

Heath produced a limp shrug. “I’ll just do some breathing for him. Doesn’t take much energy.”

“Heath? Are you all right?”

Heath glanced at him, revealing a snap of hot anger in his blue eyes. “Now that’s kind of a silly question there, don’t you think? Brother?”

A bit taken aback, Jarrod gave a cautious nod. “I don’t mean physically. I mean – your thoughts. You’ve been so preoccupied. Understandably, I might add. But if there’s anything you’d care to discuss with me –“

“Don’t guess so.” The fire suddenly quenched, Heath turned back to the window. “Seems like it’s all decided already.”

“Heath, nothing’s decided. We’re simply here to get the opinions of a pair of different doctors. Once we know what they think, we can look at various options.”

“Won’t discuss much once you stick me in that hospital place.”

Jarrod blinked. “Hospital? What on earth are you talking about?”

Heath made a tight, aimless gesture with one hand. “That thing you heard about. Sana -- Sanat -- Can’t rightly say the name.”

“You mean Dr. Brehmer’s sanatoria? Heath, those are hardly hospitals. More like –- convalescent facilities. I -–“ He broke off, sitting very still. “You’re afraid we’ll send you away, aren’t you?”

“Ain’t got room for a man can’t pull his share of the load. Reckon that sana-whatsits might be best. Don’t want to cause any fuss.”

It was said in a voice so thick with dread that Jarrod felt his own throat tighten with unbidden sympathy. He shook his head vigorously. “Heath, we don’t even know that Dr. Ralston will suggest a stay in a sanatorium. And as God is my witness, if you don’t want to go we would never force you. Is that what’s eating at you? Fear that we’ll exile you to one of these places?”

Heath studied the nails of one hand, face hidden from Jarrod’s view. “Gotta do what’s best for the family, and the ranch. Wouldn’t blame you.”

“Heath.” Smiling helplessly, Jarrod leaned forward. “Listen to me. If we wanted to –- get rid of you -– do you think any of us would be here with you today? There’s no nefarious plan. I swear to you. My word, Heath, as a Barkley. As your brother.”

Heath was silent so long, Jarrod wondered if he’d truly registered his words. Then Heath shifted a little, sagging in the chair. “I’m -- I’m sorry, Jarrod,” he muttered. “Reckon -- I guess I’ve been kinda blue lately.”

“Understandably. Heath, this has been a series of terrible blows. If anyone deserves a blue funk it’s you. But we’re not abandoning you. Ever. Do you understand me? Not in a month of Sundays.”

“Jarrod, I’m mightily afraid,” Heath said in a rushed whisper. “Don’t reckon I’ve ever been this scared in my whole life. Not even when I came to work at the ranch, and faced Nick that day in the stable.”

Stricken, Jarrod reached out to cover Heath’s ice-cold hand with his own, and felt Heath’s fingers tighten around his. “I know, Heath,” Jarrod said softly. “I know.”

“I know we all gotta die sometime. Aren’t any of us gonna miss that one.” Heath cleared his throat rustily. “But I always figured my time was a long ways off. Or else it’d be fast, get shot, or something. Never figured on taking sick, not like this.”

Jarrod nodded silently, and Heath swallowed. “Know what’s worst? Mother. She knows. She knows what’s comin’. And she’s scared. When I see that, why –- I reckon that scares me more than anything else. She’s the strongest woman I ever known, stronger than my mama, and she was strong, too. But I’ve seen the look in her eye, when she thought I didn’t. I reckon if it scares her that much, I’d best be scared, too.”

“You know about Jennie. Her sister.”

“Nope. That why?”

Jarrod gave a slow nod. “It’s given her a lifelong fear of consumption. But a lot of that is memory, Heath. It happened more than thirty years ago. Times have changed, and science has progressed. Your situation is entirely different.”

“Guess so.”

“Heath, I think you should rest. Put it out of your mind, if you can. Mother’s burden -– it’s not yours to carry. Dr. Ralston, the sanatorium -- None of it is set in stone. We’re simply here for…reconnaissance purposes. Scouting.”

Heath gave a tiny smile. “Makes sense.”

“Damn straight it does. All right.” Jarrod gave Heath’s hand a pat, and released his fingers gently. “I should go see what we may have handy in the way of supper. Easton’s not quite Silas’s caliber, but he whips up a decent steak.”

“All righty.”

Chapter 13

He’d been to San Francisco twice before this. Once with his brand-new family, and once before he’d ever known his name might one day change. The more recent visit had been fairly pleasant. The previous had been ugly, and he wondered if he’d ever come back without thinking about that first time. Probably not.

This trip, however, was nothing like that, although he sat waiting in Dr. Jeffries’ paneled waiting room with more than a little trepidation. It was a bright, sunny day, and he liked the air outside, filled with smells of water and salt. But inside it smelled strongly of camphor and something else his nose couldn’t define, but which made the ever-present tickle in his chest worsen.

There were two other patients in the waiting area. One was an elderly lady, impeccably dressed, with a male companion Heath judged to be her son. The other was far younger, a gentleman in a tailored suit far sleeker than the one Heath wore. He sat alone at the far right, and hearing his horrible cough made Heath fight to stifle his own. He studied the man’s grayish features and felt a prickle of creeping horror. Did that man have the consumption, too? Because if so, Heath felt he might simply have to walk back out of the room again. He was not prepared to face this. Not yet.

As if sensing his mute distress, Victoria placed her hand on his. “Would you like seafood for luncheon today?” Her voice was beautifully calm, soft and reassuring. “Jarrod knows a wonderful place, not terribly far from here.”

“Sounds all right,” Heath said tremulously.

Her fingers tightened, although her tone was modulated. “Audra will want to shop today. I know that isn’t your favorite activity in the world, but we could see Jarrod’s tailor while we’re in the neighborhood. And you wanted to pick up something for Nick, didn’t you?”

He nodded. “Not sure what.”

“We’ll look around. I’m sure you’ll see something.”

The man coughed again, and Heath closed his eyes.

“Mr. Barkley?”

His eyes snapped open, and he nodded at the severely dressed woman standing at the inner door. “Come with me, sir.”

“Would you like me to come with you, Heath?” Victoria asked softly.

“Yes’m,” Heath whispered.

The boards creaked beneath his boots as he walked over to the door. It felt absurdly good to know that Victoria was behind him. Ridiculous for a grown man, but he was so nervous he didn’t much care right now about such things.

The nurse, if nurse she was, gave him a slight nod. He thought dimly that she was one of the most coolly beautiful women he’d ever seen. Translucent porcelain skin and amazingly fine bones, set off by her tight no-nonsense hairstyle and black dress. She had huge eyes, of a blue so dark it was almost black. “If you’ll follow me, Mr. Barkley,” she said softly. “We’re just down the hall.”

She led the way to another paneled room, this one much smaller and somewhat familiarly medical in atmosphere. A far cry above Dr. Merar’s humble examination facility, but some things looked the same. The woman directed him to sit in a high-backed chair in the center of the room.

“You the nurse?” Heath asked awkwardly, sitting in the chair.

The woman gave him a steady look. “I’m Sarah Blackwell,” she said evenly. “I am Dr. Jeffries’ associate.”

Heath swallowed. “Beg pardon, ma’am.”

The faintest hint of a smile twitched Blackwell’s lips. “I’ll be graduating from the medical college next spring. Now, you’ve come to us for treatment of tuberculosis, am I correct?”

“Yes’m.”

“When were you diagnosed?”

The questions were numerous and detailed, and more than once he had to ask Victoria for help remembering everything. But finally Blackwell nodded and closed the heavy folder she carried. “Dr. Jeffries will be with you shortly. Is there anything you need right now?”

Heath shook his head. “Sorry about the nurse thing,” he blurted. “I ain’t -- I never met a woman doctor before.”

“I’m not one yet,” she said without visible reaction. “But my aunt was the first woman to become a doctor in this country. A Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell.”

“I, ah. I see.”

Blackwell laughed suddenly, the expression softening the severe lines of her face and rendering her, to Heath’s eyes, unspeakably beautiful. “You’ll get used to the idea, Mr. Barkley,” she said lightly. “Give it time.”

He nodded wordlessly, and watched her leave.

“And you thought suffrage was adventurous,” came Victoria’s dry comment from where she sat near the window.

“She, ah.” Heath felt his face flaming, and when he coughed he’d never been so grateful for it.

“Strikingly attractive, as well.” Victoria’s eyes were narrowed with amusement. “Why, Heath, you’re blushing.”

“Aw, Mother.”

Victoria laughed.

He’d recovered from his mortification by the time Jeffries arrived. Bustling, a tall, lean man with a shock of salt-and-pepper hair, Jeffries made Heath feel breathless just watching him. “Mr. Barkley!” He strode over, shaking Heath’s hand vigorously. “Adam Jeffries. And this vision of radiance must be…?” He glanced at Victoria.

“Victoria Barkley,” Heath stammered, standing when Victoria did.

“Heath is my son,” Victoria added, smoothly taking the doctor’s hand.

Jeffries made a courtly bow over her hand, smile broadening. “Just so. Welcome, welcome. You’ve come all the way from Stockton, I see. And your journey was fine?”

“Very pleasant, yes.” Victoria resumed her seat, and after a second Heath followed suit.

Jeffries’ examination was brisk and efficient, although he listened for a long time to various parts of Heath’s chest, his rapt stillness all the more surprising for its contrast to his earlier action. Heath breathed obediently, coughed, and finally it was done.

Consulting the folder, Jeffries pursed his lips. “And you were quite recently diagnosed, you say.”

Heath gazed at him and felt another cough rumbling in his chest. “Few weeks ago,” he managed, and rummaged the handkerchief out of his pocket before he had to let the cough loose or risk exploding.

When he looked up again Jeffries was nodding slowly, expressive face solemn. He stood and walked to the counter behind him, pouring a glass of water. “Here.” He handed it to Heath. “You’re dehydrated,” he continued, watching Heath drink thirstily. “Your water needs are higher than you might imagine.”

Heath finished half the glass and nodded. “Thank you.”

“All right, then.” Jeffries sat down once more and crossed his legs, lacing his fingers together. “If it’s a second opinion you want, I can concur with your family physician’s findings. By your symptoms, and the auscultation of your chest, it appears to me that you have not actively suffered from tuberculosis overly long. A few months, perhaps six.”

Heath glanced down at his hands. Not quite as hard as hearing it from Merar, maybe, but definitely not what he’d hoped. A stupid hope, it appeared, but he had cherished a tiny idea that perhaps Jeffries would refute that diagnosis. Tell him it was just a cough. He nodded again, slowly.

“This is an advantage, Mr. Barkley,” Jeffries added gently. When Heath looked up Jeffries smiled. “The sooner such syndromes are diagnosed, the sooner an effective regimen of treatment can be prescribed. Now. How long are you in the city?”

He glanced at Victoria. “Not sure. Don’t guess we’d decided yet.”

“The treatment I have in mind will require at least a week, to be most effective. After that, we will determine whether or not continued therapy would be recommended.”

“You have a treatment?” Victoria leaned forward, her entire frame tense with rapt interest. “I was under the impression that little could be done.”

Jeffries’ smile didn’t waver. “Some physicians in, shall we say, more rural areas, lacking the finer technology available to specialists, may say such, madam. However, such is not the case.” He turned back to Heath. “Now, sir. Your chest pains you, does it not?”

Heath nodded slowly. “Hurts a little to breathe. And when I cough.”

“Does it always hurt to breathe, or only sometimes?”

“Most all the time.”

As Jeffries questioned him he was aware of Victoria’s intent study. He didn’t risk meeting her eyes. It was too much right now, seeing her renewed shock as he admitted to having symptoms he hadn’t told her about lately.

“How often do you see blood in the expectoration?”

“Mostly only when I was sick last month. Well, couple times before that.”

“You are significantly underweight. Were you, prior to your first symptoms?”

Heath shook his head. “Guess I was pretty average size.”

There were more questions, a wearying set of them. Finally Jeffries cleared his throat. “As troublesome as your cough no doubt is, it wouldn’t be wise to attempt to halt it completely. However, for times when hemoptysis is present, I will prescribe a soothing atomizer mist. It will calm you and ease the power of the coughs. For the expectoration, I have another medicine, which will reduce your need to cough and relieve congestion.”

Heath nodded warily. “You breathe ‘em in?”

“Spray directly into your mouth and inhale. It will feel awkward at first, but you’ll soon manage it.” He had begun writing briskly in the folder he carried. “Miss Blackwell will be in presently to administer your first oxygen treatment.”

“Oxygen?”

Jeffries glanced up, warm smile in place. “You are hypoxic, sir, which means your lungs are not depositing sufficient oxygen into your bloodstream. It accounts for your lingering weakness and dizziness upon rising, as well as the distinct pallor to your cheeks and extremities. I have found that the therapeutic application of oxygen, in proper concentration, relieves these hypoxic symptoms.”

“All right,” Heath said after a moment. “You’re the doctor.” He smiled awkwardly.

“You’ll need to return this afternoon, and twice daily for the next week. At the end of that time we’ll discuss how to proceed from there.” He held out his hand. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Barkley.”

“Likewise.” They shook, and there was another flurry of flowery compliments for Victoria before Jeffries bustled out again.

“Fascinating,” Victoria said after the doctor had left. Her expression was preoccupied. “He certainly does seem – confident.”

Heath allowed a slow nod. “Sure does.”

~~~~~~~~~

Whether it was the doctor’s absolute confidence, the oxygen, or the renewed presence of the ravishing but unsmiling Miss Blackwell, Heath felt renewed energy by the time they left the office. He flagged down a passing hansom cab for them, and soon they were on their way to the restaurant where they were to meet Jarrod and Audra for lunch.

Gazing at him in the watery sunlight, Victoria gave a brisk nod. “You do look better, darling,” she said suddenly. “How do you feel?”

“Pretty good.” He grinned. “Hungry.”

“Good!”

The boost of energy carried him through lunch, which was delicious if a little fancy for his tastes. Audra was filled with plans for them, including an amount of shopping that seemed extreme even for her. While she and Victoria briefly left the table after lunch, Jarrod gave Heath a sober look.

“So it went well, did it? I’m sorry I couldn’t be there with you.”

Heath drank off the rest of his excellent coffee. “Seems as if this Jeffries feller knows what he’s talking about.”

“You liked him.”

“Reckon so.”

“Good, good.”

He lasted about an hour shopping, and then begged off, claiming tiredness. Not entirely feigned, although whether it was real or simply brought on by Audra’s fearsome enthusiasm for San Francisco stores, he wasn’t completely sure. In any case, he napped during the afternoon, and Easton barely awoke him in time for his second oxygen treatment at Jeffries’ office. But that left him so restored he even viewed the evening’s upcoming dinner party with less trepidation than he might have a few days ago.

“What’s this?” he asked, looking at the clothing draped over his bed.

“Oh.” Jarrod nodded. “I took the liberty of ordering an evening suit for you yesterday. Off the rack, I’m afraid, but Easton made a few nips and tucks earlier today.”

Heath fingered the fine wool absently. “Mighty nice, Jarrod, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The suit was a little large, but otherwise fit better than he expected. He was glad he had it once he saw the elegant attire of Jarrod’s dinner guests. Although Jarrod had protested it wasn’t a formal event, by any means, still the cost of the jewels and clothing Heath saw would have kept himself and his mother in clover pretty much his entire childhood. He felt no real bitterness, though. What good would it do? Wouldn’t help any more than wishing he hadn’t caught consumption.

There were six guests, four men and two ladies. Neither of the women were as starkly lovely as Miss Blackwell had been, but far more elegant, and both were clearly smitten with his oldest brother. Miss Alexander, in particular, seemed magnetically drawn to Jarrod, and visibly fidgeted seated between Heath and a man who jovially introduced himself as an “old Harvard chum, Tad Rippington.” After shaking Heath’s hand painfully hard, he proceeded to ignore him in favor of Audra, which Heath found he didn’t mind so awfully much.

“And you live at the ranch?” Miss Alexander asked, poking her shrimp salad with her fork but not eating. Her eyes didn’t quite focus on Heath’s face.

“Yes. Guess you live here, huh? I mean, in the city. San Francisco.” He felt his cheeks heating, and silently cursed his fumble.

Miss Alexander laughed prettily, a sound like tinkling glass. “Here? Oh, heavens no! I live in Boston, Mr. Barkley. I’m only here to visit my aunt.”

He gave a game nod and speared a shrimp, dipping it gingerly in the sauce. Didn’t look like much, but tasted all right. “How do you like it?”

Her eyelids fluttered, and she gave him a brief look. “What? Oh, I’m sorry. Yes, I like it quite well, thank you.”

He looked in the same direction, and saw Jarrod deep in conversation with the lady next to him. A fast look back at Miss Alexander showed a quick flash of fury, just as immediately suppressed. “And you, sir?” she asked him stiffly, reaching out for her glass of wine. “Are you staying long?” She drank thirstily.

“Rec -- I don’t think so, no, miss. Week or two, probably.”

“That’s too bad,” she said pallidly.

He nodded and ate another shrimp.

By the time the dessert arrived, he and Miss Alexander had run out of meaningless things to converse about, and he strongly suspected she was drunk. Her obvious jealousy of Jarrod’s companion had begun to seep through her polished façade, and Heath wondered if that wasn’t why she suddenly grasped his arm and laughed loudly. He hadn’t made a joke, and felt a little bewildered. And very, very tired.

“Sauternes, sir?” Easton stood at his elbow, bottle held ready.

Heath shook his head, and was unsurprised to see Miss Alexander’s glass filled. He took up his spoon and stared at the dessert. Not quite sure what it was, but it must be ice cream of some kind. Frozen into fancy shapes or something. He took a cautious taste, and raspberry exploded on his tongue.

“Something Easton developed while I was away,” Jarrod told him across the table. He was smiling, but his eyes were calculating. “How do you like it?”

“S’good,” Heath said, nodding. His stomach lurched, and he paused. “Thanks.”

Jarrod’s smile faded. He seemed about to ask something else, when Miss Taylor at his side whispered something to him, and the moment was gone.

Heath waited ten minutes for the feeling to subside. When it didn’t, he carefully placed his napkin on the table. His face felt cold, and he reached up and felt sweat on his cheeks.

Fortunately, it seemed that no one was paying that much attention. Miss Alexander, of course, was preoccupied with Jarrod’s preoccupation with Miss Taylor. Rippington, to his left, was currently boasting to Audra about his prowess at tennis. Somewhere down the table was Victoria, and Heath hoped she was faring equally well. Without stealth but as quietly as possible he excused himself.

He saw Easton in the hallway, wearing a concerned expression, but by that point it had become crystal clear that if he didn’t hurry, Easton’s extremely nice supper would be decorating the stairs. The thought filled him with dismay, less for his own embarrassment than Jarrod’s, and he forced himself to hurry.

Thanking God that his bedroom – and basin – weren’t any higher up, he closed the door carefully after him and reached up to loosen his tie.

Continued…