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.
This story is a sequel to
“Flashes of Light,” which tells of an alternate arrival for Heath. The family is made up of the typical
characters, except for the fact that Eugene does not exist.
Chapter
16
The long, lonely wail of a steam engine’s blast worked its
way inside the determined, focused concentration of the exhausted rider.
Finally hearing it, Heath raised his eyes from the ground he had been scanning
for signs of the two men he believed were somewhere up ahead. He quickly
gathered the horse beneath him into an all-out gallop. Together, the pair
rapidly negotiated an unclear trail, unlevel ground, and uncertain footing to
reach the crest of the valley’s rim.
Once they made the ridge, Heath pulled up and watched
intently as the slow moving train left them far behind.
He shook his head as he accepted that there was no way to
catch it now, even if he had had his fleet-footed Gal beneath him. Sitting
still for several long minutes, he felt the movement of the hard-blowing horse,
but remained almost unaware of his own struggle to breathe.
Without Nick, the one thing remaining that had mattered,
no longer did.
He was too late.
Mac and Midas were gone.
Suddenly, a chill passed through him, pulling him back to
his own predicament, and he absently spit out the blood in his mouth.
Then, as the shivers that shook him cooled the rage that
burned him, reason began to return.
He had to turn back.
He had to turn back now.
Unable to suppress a cry as a spike of sharp pain suddenly
drove into his side, he doubled over and continued to struggle for air as a
cough rid him of more thick, sticky darkness from deep inside.
As he closed his eyes and clung, coughing, to the horse’s
mane, the survivor spirit that had kept him from giving up so many times before
in his life slowly flared again. Like carefully banked coals that spring to
life with the gentle blowing of a cool evening breeze, his thoughts focused on
surviving, on breathing, on living a little longer, on not giving into the
agony and the blackness that threatened.
He had to turn back now, or he was going to die.
He had to turn back now, or he was going to die out here,
alone.
Pulling himself up with a moan, he concentrated on all
that was left undone.
After long moments spent catching his breath, centering
his strength, and finding his balance between the past and the future, he
finally reined the horse around and away from his recent search for
vengeance-tainted justice. He turned, instead, toward the answer to his
lifelong search, his search for a name, his search for a family, his search for
a place to belong.
With his only thought for the future centered on a promise
of a long-overdue conversation with a woman he did not want to disappoint, he
turned the horse and his pain-filled eyes toward home.
* * * * * * * *
The temperature was rising as the four men on horseback
picked their way through and around the rocks. As the sun rose, their ability
to adjust for the glare was lessened, and the lack of shadows gave the rugged
landscape a strange, almost flattened, appearance. Colors in various shades of
yellow, brown, rust, and gray seemed washed out, with the resulting dull
yellow-gold color permeating everything in every direction.
A lassitude affected them all as they rode; even the
horses under them became more and more lethargic.
Loss of blood during the last twenty-four hours caused
Nick to be even more affected by the heat than the others. Though Jarrod
continually forced him to stop and drink from a canteen, he had just not given
himself enough time to recuperate the vital fluids he had lost.
Somewhere inside him, Nick knew he could not continue much
further. His head was pounding, his shoulder was throbbing more than he would
admit, and he was fighting nausea and dizziness to the point that he could
hardly concentrate on his direction or his balance any longer.
“Just get to the top of this rise,” he told himself. Then,
once that small victory was achieved, he pushed himself a little further by
saying, “Just make it between those two large rocks.”
Keeping his eyes open and his path true were taking all of
his focus.
Finally, when he passed through the opening between the
two large boulders he had spotted, he sighed with relief at his accomplishment.
As he looked around for the next landmark upon which to focus, it took him a
moment to realize that, more than just reaching the goal of the last few
moments, he had also found the objective of his search.
Riding fifty yards or so back, scanning the distance
already covered as he watched more for Jamie’s return than for Heath’s
appearance ahead of them, Jarrod heard Nick’s single shout, “Heath!”
Charging forward, Jarrod reached the pair on the ground
shortly after Nick had stumbled from his saddle.
How many times had they played out this scenario in the
last several days? How many times had they knelt above this man, willing him to
still be with them? How many times had they been relieved to see his sky blue
eyes looking up at them in recognition?
Had they already used up all of their chances?
Holding his breath, Nick touched the tightly curled figure
lying on his side. “Heath?” With agony reflected in his hazel eyes, Nick
glanced back over his shoulder at Jarrod’s approach. “Water, Jarrod,” he
demanded.
Removing one glove, Nick felt the sweat-drenched neck for
a pulse. He closed his eyes in relief as he pushed hard and found a faint,
thready reply.
Unwilling to move him, Nick felt a nameless dread at the
bruises and blood visible, even from this angle behind the injured young man.
The ugly gash that cut across Heath’s cheekbone gave him enough of a clue about
what he had endured, that Nick felt paralyzed, warring with himself about the
best course of action. Remembering the beating that he had seen those men
giving Heath yesterday, he hesitated.
Should he turn him and risk causing more pain and injury,
or leave him still and risk missing an injury that desperately needed
attention?
As Jarrod came around to kneel by Heath’s chest, he too
felt the same concerns. He could see the condition of the blood-covered hands
and mangled wrists that were balled into tight fists. He could see the tension
in the arms that were drawn in to protect the barely moving chest.
Their eyes met across the battered body. “Nick, I think we
have to try to lay him back and check him. He could be shot or stabbed.”
Taking a deep breath, Nick nodded. Then, he leaned down to
whisper in Heath’s ear, “We’re here, Boy. This is going to hurt, but you hang
in there. We’re right here.”
Jarrod held Heath’s head steady, while Nick pulled
backwards on his shoulders. Immediately, they got a reaction, though not the
pain-filled moans they were half expecting. Blue, un-seeing eyes shot open, and
Heath began struggling to get away from them.
Immediately, Nick started talking calmly to him, trying to
keep him lying down. “Easy there, Boy, you just lie still.” Nick used the same
quiet tone that he would to calm a frightened horse, but he was not successful.
Heath continued to struggle, with both men desperate to
hold on without harming him. His wide-open eyes were a wild reflection of his
frantic battle to free himself from his tormentors.
Exasperated, Nick maneuvered so that he was now seated
behind Heath’s head on the rock-strewn ground. With one quick movement,
heedless of his own wound, he reached around and hauled Heath up into a sitting
position, his back up against Nick’s chest.
When the larger man behind him clamped his arms around his
bloody, bruised side, Heath felt a white, hot poker of pain radiating outward
from that spot. As his initial gasp subsided, he began struggling again for
air. A voice from far away called out, “Heath! I’ve got you!”
Loosening his hold on the injured man enough to release
the pressure against his bruises, against his ribs, Nick soothed over and over,
“Slow down, take slow, deep breaths. Be still. Breathe slowly.”
As the slightly familiar voice came closer and closer, the
semi-conscious young man heard it say again, “Heath! I’ve got you!”
Slowly, Heath began to relax into the bear hug from
behind, toward the commanding voice coming from somewhere near his ear. He
closed his eyes, shook his head, and tried to concentrate on drawing in each
breath, on letting go of the pain. Once, his head rolled back onto Nick’s
shoulder and a low moan escaped his tightly compressed lips. But, after that,
he seemed to find a balanced place between the breathing and the pain in which
he could remain, basically conscious, but barely responsive.
Jarrod raised the open canteen to Heath’s bruised mouth.
Tapping the side of his face, he demanded, “Heath, drink this.” Allowing only
one mouthful, Jarrod searched Heath’s partially-open eyes for signs of
recognition.
“Heath?” Jarrod asked, “Just hang on, a wagon’s coming.
We’re going to get you back to Jamie’s. We’ll get you a doctor. Soon, Heath.
Just stay with us.”
“Jar-rod? Not. . . Jamie’s.” The few words were cut off by a deep, gut-wrenching cough that
seemed to go on forever, that seemed to almost tear Heath in two. Jarrod’s eyes
widened as he reached to help Nick hold the pain-wracked shoulders. Heath’s
face contorted with the agony and the continued struggle to breathe that it
caused.
As the coughing continued, Heath suddenly leaned forward,
almost breaking out of Nick’s grip. He spit, then, continued to cough.
Frightened at the blood now soaking into the dry earth,
Jarrod pushed Nick’s arms away from Heath’s sides and yanked open his torn
shirt. At the ghastly array of blackish-blue and reddish-purple bruises
underneath, at the mangled sight of the bloody, lacerated side wound, Jarrod
closed his eyes and struggled to control his emotions. Glancing up again, he
found himself looking into two sets of eyes, one behind the other, one pair
blue and barely open, the other hazel and deeply anguished.
“Not Jamie’s. . . .Jarrod . . . the ranch. . . . Hav’ta
talk. . . to Mrs. Barkley. . . home, . . . please, Jarrod.” Heath said, his
breathing coming in wheezing gasps.
He glanced up once at Jarrod’s face with such sadness,
Jarrod almost had to look away. Then, the blue eyes closed tightly, and Heath’s
blood-covered right hand came up to his left side. “Sor-ry, . . . Jar-rod. . .
. Couldn’t. . . stop them. . . . . Couldn’t . . . help. . . him.”
The voice and the groan that followed were so quiet, but
so full of agony, Jarrod could only reach over and run his hand through the
sweat-soaked blond hair, swallowing hard.
When Jarrod looked up, Nick was supporting all of the
unconscious man’s weight. “Nick, we’ve got to get him to a doctor. I’ll get my horse,
and we’ll just have to try to ride like we did before until we meet up with
Jamie.”
The pain in Nick’s eyes hurt Jarrod to watch. “Are you
alright?” the oldest asked. Then, not really expecting any answer other than an
argument, Jarrod started to stand. With an overwhelming tiredness, he
emphasized to the uncharacteristically silent Nick, “I know you think you
should be the one to ride with him again, Nick, but we both know you’re
hurting, too.” As he turned to get his horse, he tried again to forestall any
outburst, “Don’t argue with me.”
He stopped when he felt Nick’s hand on his leg.
Nick said in a voice thick with anguish, “I’m okay, Pappy.
I know you’re right. But, Jarrod, do you know what was he trying to say?”
“Yeah, I know, Nick,” Jarrod said quietly. “He isn’t sure
he is going to overcome this. We’ll take him home to the ranch like he asked,
but, we’re not going to let go of him that easily, are we, Brother Nick?”
“No, dammit, we’re not! Just you hurry up!” Nick demanded.
After leaning over to pat Nick twice on the good shoulder,
Jarrod stepped over Heath’s outstretched form, glanced down once at the bruised
and bloodied body of his battered youngest brother. Then, he turned to the next
task at hand, that of getting both Nick and Heath home.
With help from Ben and Jeff, the four quickly raised Heath
up on the chestnut horse with Jarrod behind him. Sending Jeff ahead for the
doctor, Nick turned away to mount. Suddenly, he froze and looked up at the two
men mounted behind him. Jarrod, his arms tightly holding on to the still
unconscious Heath, looked down at Nick.
The sadness and regret in Nick’s words caught Jarrod by
surprise, almost as much as hearing the quiet tone from his normally forceful
brother. “Jarrod, I should have realized; I should have said something! Do you
know why he told you he was sorry?”
Thinking back to Heath’s words a few minutes before,
Jarrod shook his head, “No, Nick, I don’t. I guess I just thought he was
rambling.”
“Don’t you see, Jarrod? He didn’t realize it was me
talking to him. He didn’t know I was behind him holding him up!”
Looking up at the two faces, one dark-headed with
wide-open blue eyes, the other blond with blue eyes closed and unconscious,
Nick knew the words of the latter had expressed, not delirious mutterings, but
genuine grief over loss of a brother.
“Jarrod, he still thinks I’m dead!”
Chapter
17
Their ride back the way they had come was much quicker
than the one they had made in the early morning while looking for the fugitives
and their hostage. Even with Jarrod and Heath together on one horse, they were
able to keep up a steady pace.
“Jarrod!” Nick called out as the trail through the rocks
widened and he was able to come alongside, “Is he still out?”
“Yeah, Nick,” came the reply. “At least he’s not feeling
any pain. How are you holding up?”
“I’m fine, Pappy,” Nick answered. Nick glanced back at
Ben, and they exchanged nods. “Jarrod, you just keep that horse of yours headed
west, and we’ll all be fine soon enough.”
Just as they rejoined the old wagon road, the small group
met Jamie Drumm driving his team toward them.
“Nick! Jarrod! I
passed Jeff several miles back; he said Heath looks pretty bad,” Jamie called,
as he turned the team around. “He said he was supposed to bring the doctor to
your ranch! My place is a little closer this way. Why not head there?”
Nick and Jarrod looked at each other as they reined in
beside the wagon. Then, Nick spoke up, as he carefully dismounted, “Jamie, we
appreciate the offer, but after all this boy’s been through, we just want to
get him home. It’s not much farther to go than your place, if we follow this
road for another couple of miles first.”
Nodding, Jamie said, “Alright, Nick. Let’s get him down,”
as he and Ben moved in to help Nick ease the unconscious Heath from Jarrod’s
horse and into the wagon.
“Easy, Boys,” Nick said, “Watch his head, Ben. That’s
right.” He tried to avoid using his injured shoulder, as he climbed in to sit
behind Heath again. “Got you, Boy,” he spoke to the battered young man, as he
leaned them both back against the side of the wagon for support.
Jarrod, worn out from balancing Heath’s dead weight for
over an hour in the saddle, tied both horses to the back and climbed in with
his brothers. With Jamie driving and Ben leading the way, they continued toward
the Barkley Ranch.
“Nick, why don’t you let me hold onto him, while you try
to get some rest,” Jarrod said, knowing the offer would be refused, knowing
that his attempt was futile. Even as Nick started shaking his head, Jarrod
leaned over and tried to look at his injured shoulder.
“I told you I’m fine, Pappy!” Nick growled. “Quit acting
like that dang-blasted mother hen. We’ll be home soon, and you can turn your
wing feathers over to Mother! But, I WILL take some water if you’ve got it!”
More quietly, he added, “I wish he would wake up enough to drink some, too.”
“Here,” Jarrod held the canteen out for Nick to take. “I
think we can make better time if he stays out, Nick. I’m not sure he could
stand the bumps at this pace if he were conscious.”
After riding a while longer in silence, Jarrod quietly
started a conversation to lead up to
something that had been on his mind since they had left the mine. “Nick,
what do you think happened up there in that mine, and where do you think the
other two men are?”
“Unless he can tell us, I don’t think we’ll ever know for
sure, Jarrod.” Handing the canteen back, Nick replied. Then, thinking for a few
minutes, as he adjusted Heath’s position in front of him, he said, “But from what
I saw, I’d say the four gang members split up for some reason after leaving
Heath deep inside there. Maybe they thought he couldn’t get out, or maybe they
thought he was dead. Somehow, I guess he got the drop on at least one of them
and got hold of a gun. The rest I think we both could figure out from what we
saw. Even hurt, he’s quite a shot.”
Jarrod didn’t miss the touch of pride Nick conveyed with
that last statement. He nodded and took a swig from the canteen. Then, he asked
about the rest of his concern. “Nick, do you think he was going after the other
two or do you think he was trying to get back to us and went the wrong way? Or,
do you think he was leaving the valley?”
“He wasn’t leaving!” the response was immediate and
forceful.
“You seem mighty sure of that, Nick,” Jarrod said.
Nick just looked at Jarrod for a long moment before
answering. “I am. He said yesterday that he had promised Mother a long
conversation---and you heard him when it comes to promises. He wouldn’t leave,
Jarrod. I’m sure he intended to go back to the ranch at some point. You think
about it. Why would he ask us to take him back there now if he had been on his
way out of here? Use that lawyer logic of yours, Big Brother.”
After sitting silently for a few seconds, Nick took a deep
breath and continued in a calmer voice, “I don’t think he got mixed up as far
as direction goes. He hasn’t spent much time in this valley, but he doesn’t
strike me as someone who can’t tell east from west, even injured. What about
you?”
Jarrod shook his head and replied, “I didn’t think that
was it. But, why would he go after those men in the shape he’s in? Look at him,
they beat him to within an inch of his life, and still he tried to chase after
them? I just can’t understand that!”
“A few days ago, I would have said I didn’t understand
either. In fact, I believe I did say something about not understanding what was
driving him.” Nick stopped and shifted positions again after the wagon hit
another bump in the scarcely used road. Then, he continued, “I listened hard to
his words in Liam’s office yesterday, and I heard the way he talked about that
family over in Markleeville, the ones the raiders killed, the ones he had the
tough task of burying by himself.”
Nick lowered his voice even more to keep his words from
the wagon’s driver, before continuing. “And you know what he said about Jamie’s
family---and the way he said it.” Then, his voice rising again, he added, “You
saw his determination to help us get Audra back. Hell! He was ready to go in by
himself when he thought you and I were going at it all wrong. He would have if
Mother hadn’t stopped him. He wanted those men; he wanted to stop the killing.
I don’t think that has changed.”
“But, by himself? That doesn’t make any sense! Why not get
some help first, then go after them?” Jarrod asked again.
Nick looked down at Heath, at the bruises and blood
covering his battered face and on what he could see of his chest through the
filthy, ripped shirt. Then, he looked over at Jarrod. “Pappy, our little brother
strikes me as the independent sort. I get the feeling that he’s used to having
only himself to depend on.”
Nick paused and swallowed hard, reaching up to touch the
blond hair above the dirty bandage. Then, he added, “I want to get him home, to
the ranch, get him well, and convince him that he should stay with us. But, I’m
afraid the cussed stubbornness that has kept him alive this long will be the
very thing that will make convincing him to stay the worse battle we’ve been
through yet.”
Jarrod nodded thoughtfully, throughout Nick’s explanation.
Then, he quietly pointed out an additional piece, “Nick, you know how you keep
saying Heath thought you were dead? Well, since you’re so convinced that Heath
went further east by choice to find those men, I think there’s something else
you need to consider, something that might just make a big difference in that
upcoming battle you refer to.”
Looking at Jarrod, he thought about it, but he couldn’t
think of anything specific that Jarrod could be referring to. He shook his head
slightly and said, “What else? I don’t know what you mean.”
“I agree with what you said earlier; I think he thought
you were dead. If all of what you said is true, maybe part of what drove him to
go after those men could have been because he thought that was all that was
left, all he could do for you.” Jarrod stopped, looked down into the face of
the battered blond between them, and said, “I think he went after those men,
not just as a deputized Heath Thomson going after the men involved in the
murder of the Lansings, but also as Heath Barkley, Nick Barkley’s little
brother.”
Chapter
18
By the time Jamie Drumm could see the red outbuildings of
the ranch, surrounded by white fences stretching for miles in either direction,
the sun was beating down on them all unmercifully. The fury of its heat, making
each bump twice as rough and each mile twice as long, had even the uninjured
men wishing for a cool spot under a tall, green, shady tree.
For Nick, his shoulder throbbing anew with each bump and
each mile, the ride down from the hills behind them had been an excruciating
experience he hoped to never repeat. Trying to keep Heath comfortable, he had
willed himself to stay awake and offer what little physical support he could,
despite his own pain and exhaustion.
For his part, Jarrod remained deep in thought, his eyes on
both men next to him, and ready to relieve Nick at the slightest hint that his
offer would finally be accepted to assist with Heath. However, knowing his
brother’s own stubbornness, he knew to insist would only set Nick’s mind on any
almost impossible task to the point that even dynamite couldn’t change it. He
always had a better chance of Nick accepting if it was Nick’s idea---and in this,
Nick Barkley had left no doubt about his determination.
Occasionally along the way, Jarrod had reached out to
touch each man’s forehead. But by the time they neared the ranch, however, he
could no longer differentiate the effects of the furious sun from the effects
of a raging fever. Instead, he contented himself by watching for more bleeding
from either of them and trying to get water inside both.
Though Nick was alert enough to drink from the canteen,
Heath was not. Jarrod continually tried to squeeze tiny rivulets of water into
his mouth from a clean, soaked cloth. He was more frustrated than not at his
lack of success, however.
Having looked around and realized their proximity to the
house, relief washed over Jarrod. As he eased up into the seat beside Jamie, he
was further encouraged to see the doctor’s buggy out front, as well as the
group of hands that Ben had ridden ahead to assemble.
“Jamie, just pull up to the front door. We’ll go straight
up the main stairs.” Grabbing the smaller man by the arm, Jarrod said, “Thank
you so much for what you did today. Without your assistance this morning, we
would have never found him in time, and Heath would have died out there. Please
plan to come in and rest awhile before heading back home.”
“Jarrod,” Jamie said, “I was serious when I told your
mother that Justin and I want to be able to meet Heath and thank him for what
he did for us. I am very grateful that we will have that chance now.”
Hearing no reply from Jarrod, who was staring straight
ahead lost now in thought, he added, “He’s going to be alright, Jarrod. They
both are. They’re both Barkleys, and they’re as resilient as rawhide and twice
as tough.”
With a low laugh, Jarrod patted Jamie’s arm in
appreciation and, as it came to a halt, he jumped down from the wagon to
embrace the two women waiting for them outside the door to his family home.
Sustained by the very brief, but crucial contact, Jarrod
turned quickly to the men standing there. Without being asked, several jumped
into the back of the wagon, and lifted the unconscious man down to four others
waiting on the ground. With a wide-eyed, but determined, Audra leading the way,
they carried him in through the front door, and toward the staircase. The
doctor followed behind them, his bag already upstairs awaiting the return of
his patient.
“Just a minute, please!” Dr. Merar spoke up. “Lay him down
right here, so I can check him before we decide where to take him.” The doctor
indicated the settee by the front door that Silas had already covered with a
blanket at Howard’s earlier request.
Entering behind them, they stood slightly behind the
doctor. At their first good look at the nearly unrecognizable young man before
them, she and Audra both reached out for each of Jarrod’s hands as he stood between
them.
As the doctor worked over Heath to quickly ascertain the
extent of his injuries, Victoria’s eyes searched through the blood, the gashes,
and the bruises on Heath’s face, desperately looking for any signs of life.
Looking up at Jarrod, then at Nick, who had joined them,
she breathed, “How bad is he, Howard?”
No answer was forthcoming, however, as Howard Merar turned
to Jarrod and Nick. “How long has he been unconscious?”
“We found him about two and a half hours ago. He came
around enough to talk to us very briefly. We don’t know how long he had been
out before that, or even how long he had been lying there in the same spot
before we found him,” Jarrod replied.
“Alright, let’s get him upstairs and in a bed,” Howard
said, motioning for the men to pick him back up. As the same four men carried
the unconscious Heath up the staircase, Audra and Silas led the way. Turning to
the three family members still standing just behind him, he shook his head. “I
wanted to check him here so we could decide whether to put him in a bed or in a
bath.”
When they all looked back at him in confusion, he
continued, “Knowing how he was before when I saw him, I was tempted to try
soaking him in a cool bath, just so I could get a better look at his injuries
and maybe lower the fever I felt sure would have developed by now. But, after
examining him, I’m now afraid the water will encourage his wounds to start
bleeding again.” Shaking his head, as he turned to follow Audra, he added,
“And, he doesn’t need that. We’ll just have to battle the infection and fever
another way.” He began climbing the staircase.
“Doc!” Nick called out, following on the stairs with
Victoria, “He is going to be alright, isn’t he?”
Turning back to look at Nick, the doctor said, “Nick, I
don’t know, yet. Victoria, I’m going to need your assistance. Jarrod, yours,
too.” Then, he added, back over his shoulder as he climbed the last few steps,
“Nick Barkley, the next time I see you, it had better be with no noise coming
from those spurs of yours. You had better be in bed and drinking lots of
liquids! As soon as I can, I’ll come check that arm of yours.”
As they reached Nick’s bedroom door, Victoria turned to
Nick and gave him a gentle squeeze on his arm and a quick kiss on his cheek.
Placing her hand squarely in the center of his chest, she said firmly, “Thank
you, Nick, for bringing him home to me. Now, please, go get cleaned up and do
as the doctor said. I need to know that my request this morning did not cause
you any lasting harm. I know you want to check on Heath, but for me, Nick, do
as the doctor says. Go rest, Nicholas!”
Nick looked down into her very serious eyes, hugged her
back, and, without a word, turned toward his own room, as she continued on to
the next door down.
Jarrod, who had followed them, spoke up, “Mother, I’ll
come back up and help in just a minute. Let me go back and speak to the men,
first, since Nick is being sensible for once.”
Feeling the glare of his brother on his back, Jarrod
turned back toward the stairs and went outside. He motioned Jamie inside and
then stepped out to thank the other men that had assisted them today. After
listening to his words, Ben turned toward the bunkhouse, and Jeff left to catch
up with the sheriff and his group, thinking that they were probably on their
way back to Jamie Drumm’s place by now.
Returning inside, Jarrod turned to Jamie.
“I know you are worn out. The doctor might want to check
over you, too, to make sure you are still okay. Please, make yourself comfortable.
I asked Jeff to deliver a message to your family as to your whereabouts.”
“No, Jarrod. I will fix myself something to drink while
you go to your family. Then, I will go home to mine. I can see in your eyes
what you are afraid of. You want me to stay because you fear that if I leave I
will never have another opportunity to thank your brother. I will be gone when
you come back downstairs, but I will return tomorrow with my family and my
faith that he will still be alive. During the long night, you remember what I
said earlier, that maybe it is his Barkley blood that has made him tough enough
to have survived so far.”
Jarrod grasped Jamie’s offered hand, and he nodded once,
unable to speak. Then, he turned back to the stairs to assist the doctor and
his mother.
* * * * * * * *
Almost an hour later, Nick Barkley eased his exhausted
frame into the bedroom where his family was gathered. He stood there, by the
door, watching for a few seconds before joining them. Everyone was turned away
from the doorway, and they effectively blocked his view of the person he had
come to see. However, he knew from the sounds of raspy breathing and the
posture of his family that the situation was not good.
Audra stood huddled in Jarrod’s arms, her face buried in
his chest, and his hands tracing calming circles across her back. His mother
stood abruptly from where she had been sitting on the edge of the bed and moved
quickly to the open window on the other side. Nick could see that she clung to
the windowsill with fingers suddenly turned white from her tight grip.
With his mother no longer blocking his line of vision,
Nick could see the doctor, sitting forward on the edge of a wing-back chair he
had pulled close to the other side of the bed. He was listening intently and
watching the shallow rise and fall of Heath’s chest, his stethoscope moving
slowly across the bruised torso.
Heath’s eyes were closed, but his head was moving
restlessly. As Nick slowly approached, he could see Heath’s hands clenching the
blanket as intermittent spasms of pain gripped him. The agony was unmistakable
to everyone present, as he arched his back away from the soft surface of the
bed and his legs lashed out beneath the blanket. Yet, he made no sound except
for his rapid and raspy attempts to breathe.
Touching her on the arm, Nick said, “Audra, would you mind
getting me something to eat? I don’t feel like taking on those stairs again.”
As she turned her tear-streaked face toward him, he flashed her a wide grin.
She nodded at him and dashed from the room.
Jarrod sighed with relief. “Thanks, Nick. This is just too
difficult for her to watch. He is in agony, and there’s nothing we can do right
now to help him.”
Walking to the desk chair, Nick only got as far as placing
one hand on it, before Jarrod was there. "Here, I’ll get it. Where do you
want it?” Nick pointed to the side of the bed across from the doctor, and
Jarrod carried it around the bed.
Sinking into the chair gratefully, Nick quickly leaned
forward and caught one of Heath’s clenched hands in his. He began a slow,
calming litany, “Heath. Heath. You’re home, Boy. We’re all right here. Easy,
Boy. Just rest now.”
Victoria turned to look at him from behind the doctor. She
managed a smile at the sound of his quiet, determined voice.
After a few moments, Jarrod went to stand behind her,
allowing her to lean into him and to clasp his hand.
Nick continued, “Heath. We’ve got you. Just breathe easy,
now, Boy. Just rest. You’re home, now. Easy, Heath.”
Suddenly, Howard Merar glanced up at Nick and said very
quietly, “Keep talking, Nick. I think he hears you somehow. It’s helping!”
As Nick continued to speak in a calm, well-modulated
voice, he saw that Heath’s movements were becoming slightly less agitated.
However, though his breathing seemed to slow for a few seconds, it resumed its
agonized harshness almost immediately.
“Heath, it’s Nick. We’ve got you now. Just take it easy,
Boy, you’re safe now. Easy, Heath. It’s okay to sleep. Just rest,” Nick continued
to implore.
There.
The doctor nodded his head fiercely, encouraging Nick to
keep talking. Heath’s breathing was becoming noticeably less ragged, less
erratic.
Finally, Heath stopped thrashing and, though his eyes
never opened, his bruised face became a little more relaxed. The rise and fall
of his battered chest continued at a much more normal rate. The sounds of his
raspy breathing seemed somewhat softer.
The doctor leaned back in the comfortable chair with a
sigh of relief. Wiping the sweat from his brow with his handkerchief, he shook
his head slightly and smiled. “Nick,” he said, “I don’t know how you did that,
but you accomplished what none of us could.” Standing, he motioned them away
from the bed. As all three approached
the doctor, he said in a very low voice, “Much more of that, and we would have
lost him, I’m sure of it.”
“Doc,” Jarrod spoke up. “What are you saying?”
“Jarrod, please go get Silas to stay with him so we can
step out in the hall,” the doctor insisted before continuing. Jarrod quickly
left the room.
As Heath slept, and Nick kept watch, the doctor returned
to his patient and quickly checked Heath’s side and chest again. Carefully, he
then looked at the two older head wounds, which were no longer covered with the
filthy bandage. He nodded, straightened up, and made his way to the door.
When Jarrod returned with Silas, Doctor Merar said,
“Silas, we’ll be right outside the door. Please come get me immediately if he
shows any signs of distress.”
Nodding, Silas walked to the chair Nick had vacated.
Nick and Victoria joined the doctor and Jarrod outside the
bedroom. Closing the door behind them gently, the doctor firmly motioned Nick
toward the deep cushions of the upholstered chair in the hall.
Once Nick had complied, he said, “Obviously, he could hear
you, Nick, even semi-unconscious. I thought it better to discuss his condition
out here in case . . . . “
“In case Nick’s commanding voice still had the power to
reach him, even in sleep!” Jarrod finished, trying to add some much needed
levity to the tense atmosphere surrounding them.
Picking up on his intent, Nick added, “I bet a few judges
could have something to say about your demanding voice, as well, Brother
Jarrod!”
“Whatever you do, Nick, please take care of yourself over
the next few days, and don’t plan on leaving this house again in the meantime,”
Howard Merar interrupted, “I have a feeling that boy in there is going to need
you again, before he fully recovers. You and Jarrod may be jesting, but I
assure you that I am not, when I say that your voice made a huge difference in
there.”
Looking at all three of them, he added, “His respiration
and heart rates were climbing so rapidly, he could have died right there in
front of us a moment ago. He is a fighter, there’s no doubt about it, but that
was one situation in which his struggle to get past the pain and draw a full
breath was working against what his body needed, which was to just let go for a
while.”
“I think that’s part of the trouble, he’s been fighting
for too long all by himself,” Nick said almost to himself, his head now leaning
back against the chair and his eyes staring straight ahead at nothing in
particular.
“Doc, tell us, please!” Victoria said suddenly, “What can
we do? How can we help him? Seeing him like that, . . . “ Her voice cracked,
and she stopped. Then, swallowing hard, she continued at a whisper, “He is just
in so much pain!”
Taking her hands, Doctor Merar looked straight into her
grey eyes. “Victoria, he is so bruised up, inside and out, there’s a limit to
what can be done. We’ll try to do everything we can, but we just have to take
this hour by hour for awhile.” Slowly, she nodded her understanding.
Looking at Jarrod and Nick, he asked, “What else can you
tell me about how he was when you found him?”
Nick looked up at the doctor and countered with a question
of his own, “What do you mean, Doc?” His voice rising, he said, “He was lying
on the ground out in the blazing heat, curled on one side, not moving.” Pausing
a second to remember, he added, “But, he was all tensed up, like he was . . .
like he was still fighting or waiting for more blows maybe. . . .” Nick trailed
off, still remembering.
“Was he conscious?
Did he know who you were?” Howard asked.
Jarrod spoke up, “Not at first. In fact, as soon as we
touched him, he fought with us, trying to get away. I think he thought we were
the men who had beaten him.” Thinking hard, Jarrod nodded and added, “He calmed
down though and even said a few words to me, called me by name.”
“What about opening his eyes?”
Jarrod said, “Yes, he looked at me with partially open
eyes when he was trying to talk. But, he didn’t stay conscious long, and he
didn’t come around during the rest of the trip here. I kept trying to get water
in him, but I don’t know how much he actually drank.”
“You were right to try to do that. In fact, that’s part of
what I’m worried about. The lack of water has put added strain on his body.”
Then, he queried, “Anything else that you recall?”
“Blood,” Nick spoke up, “He coughed up an awful lot of
blood before he passed out.” He looked at Jarrod as he spoke, looking for
confirmation of this frightening memory, his concern shining through his hazel
eyes.
Howard Merar closed his eyes briefly, then let out a deep
breath. “Was it bright red, or dark?”
“Dark,” both brothers said together.
“It was dark and thick with mucus, Doc,” Jarrod added.
“That’s what you were afraid would happen, isn’t it,
Howard?” Victoria asked quietly. “It’s what you were concerned about with him
going to town yesterday.”
Nodding, the doctor said, “Yes, it means he was, or still
is, bleeding internally. That’s why I didn’t want to give him anything for the
pain or to help him sleep yet. I was hoping to find out if he was bleeding on
the inside first, and how badly. But, he is so weak, he can’t take much more of
this thrashing around either.”
“What does it mean, Doc?” Nick asked, from his position in
the chair. “Will he survive this?”
“Nick, I honestly don’t know if he will or not. It depends
on how much he is still bleeding, and if it stops on its own or continues. I
have no way to repair that kind of damage, no way to really even find it. We
know he had already lost right much blood before this happened. I do think it’s
a good sign that what you saw was so dark. That hopefully means it is old
blood, probably from the injuries days ago, not so much from the newer bruises
and injuries in the last day or so. But, it could be coming from a combination
of old wounds and fresh ones.”
Then, he started pacing in front of the door to the
bedroom. Then he stopped, looked up and asked, “You said you saw the dark blood
when he coughed? No other time?”
At Jarrod’s nod, the doctor added, “Of course, we already
know his lungs are weaker than they should be in general. And there’s no way to
know for sure, but, it could be a lung contusion that is causing both the
breathing difficulties and the bleeding. It is possible for that kind of
injury, a badly bruised lung, to heal on its own with lots of rest.”
“Is that what you heard the last time you were here and
checked him, do you think?” Nick asked. “You said then, that something was
bothering you about his lungs. Could that have been it, a lung contusion?”
When Doctor Merar nodded thoughtfully, Nick continued,
“Doc, he said he got the original bruises, most of them anyway, from a bronc
falling on him. I gathered they got tangled up in a wooden fence. Could that
have caused a bruised lung?”
“Yes, it could have Nick.”
“And if it is more than that?” Victoria asked, still
quietly needing to know the worst so she could prepare herself for its
possibility. “What then?”
Doctor Merar looked into her sad, grey eyes and gave her
the truth of his knowledge and his experience. “Just the fact that he is still
breathing at all, still able to fight, is more than I would have thought
possible of someone as badly beaten as he is. For that reason alone, I won’t
underestimate him. But, no matter how great his willingness to hang on, no matter
his desire and strength to fight, no matter what is causing it or where it is,
if the hemorrhaging continues, there will be little I can do. He could bleed to
death.”
Chapter
19
“Mr. Jarrod?” Silas asked quietly. He had waited to
interrupt the three men gathered around the bed until after they had relaxed
once more after dealing with another exhausting bout of Heath’s coughing.
Jarrod looked up wearily from his position against the
headboard behind his badly bruised brother. “Yes, Silas?”
“Mr. Jarrod, the sheriff is downstairs. ‘Says not to come
down, jes’ to tell you he be back tomorrow to check on Mr. Heath. ‘Says they
didn’t find those other bad men.”
“Thank you, Silas. Would you tell him we’ll talk to him
sometime tomorrow, then?” Jarrod said quietly, his attention still on keeping
Heath’s upper body propped up without aggravating the wound on the back of his
head or the bruises across his back.
As the older man nodded and left the room, Howard Merar
tapped Heath on the left side of the face, the side opposite the still open
gash along his cheekbone. “Heath, Heath!” the doctor said urgently.
Shaking his head, he said, “We’ve got to get some more
water in him. He’s burning up, but not sweating as much as he was. I don’t like
it.”
“Heath!” Nick called from the other side of the bed.
“Heath, wake up and look at me. It’s Nick. Wake up, Heath!”
The doctor squeezed the corner of a wet cloth against
Heath’s lips, hoping to see him automatically open his mouth. He did not have
any success. Then, he tried smelling salts, trying to get a reaction. This too,
was unsuccessful.
His worry beginning to show, the doctor used his
stethoscope to listen to his patient’s chest. The steady heartbeat he heard
renewed his hope, and he smiled at the two dark-headed brothers who were
watching him with growing concern. “He’s okay for now, Boys. We’ve just got to
keep trying to rouse him and get him to drink something.”
“Here, let me try, Doc.” Nick said. Gingerly trading
places with the doctor, Nick sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. He used
his good arm to lightly tap the blond on the left side of his face, trying to
avoid the swollen bruises. His voice rose in his anxiousness to reach his
brother, “Heath. Heath! HEATH! Wake up!”
Then, glancing up at the other two, he slapped Heath
harder. “Heath! It’s Nick, wake up Heath!” Though the sound of his hand on his
brother’s face echoed in his ears, he received no response. He couldn’t bring
himself to try it again.
Shaking his head in frustration, he stood up and moved to
the wing-back chair and sat looking alternately at Jarrod and the injured young
man whose eyes remained closed.
About fifteen minutes later, Heath had not come around.
But, they were encouraged that he had not had another coughing attack like the
one that had scared them so much just before Silas had come in. Those wracking
coughs had seemed to be tearing Heath’s insides apart, and they hoped that with
all of the blood and phlegm the coughs had brought up, he was going remain
quiet, even if unconscious, for a time.
The doctor helped Jarrod ease out of the cramped position
against the headboard, propping Heath’s torso and head with pillows instead.
Jarrod moved stiffly around to the other side of the bed and, feeling like an
echo of Nick’s earlier actions, tapped Nick on his good arm, saying, “Nick,
wake up. Come on, Nick, let’s go get you settled in your own bed for a while.”
Nick’s eyes, though closed only for a short while, now looked up at him in confusion.
Jarrod added, “Nick, you’ve been at this for hours. Doc
can call us if he needs us. Come on. I’ll help you to your bed, then I’ll come
back and check on him.”
Rubbing his face with one hand, Nick abruptly stood up to
join his older brother. Suddenly, Jarrod saw Nick’s face turn pale, and he
grabbed him under the arm before the dizziness could return him to the chair
behind him. “Doc!” Jarrod said.
With the doctor’s assistance, they ushered Nick to his
bedroom down the hall. Once Nick was seated on his bed, the doctor swiftly went
to the stairway balcony and called, “Victoria! Silas!” When both appeared from
the dining room entry below him, he asked, “Could you assist us?” As they
joined him, he sent Silas to help Jarrod and turned toward Heath’s room with
Victoria close behind him.
As they entered the doorway, Victoria ran into the back of
the doctor, who had suddenly halted, frozen in place. She could hear the
horrible sound of Heath’s wrenching coughs mixed with a gagging, choking noise
that sent chills up her spine. As the doctor ran to the opposite side of the
room, she could see that Heath was not in the bed. She turned and yelled,
“JARROD!” before running to join the doctor, who was now down on his knees on
the floor next to his patient.
“Heath!” she cried when she reached the two men, one
struggling to breathe and the other struggling to help him. She dropped to her
knees beside the blond.
“Victoria, try to hold him up!” Doctor Merar demanded in a
voice that left no room for argument.
She moved around to face Heath, who was sitting on his
heels with his hands on his knees. She lifted his head to place it between her
neck and her shoulder. She could feel the wrenching coughs shaking them both as
she clung to him and tried to speak calmly through her anxiousness. “Heath,
Heath, it’s okay, Sweetheart. Try to relax. I’ve got you.”
Thinking that she could do this, that she could hold up
his weight, was a fleeting belief, ended as soon as Doctor Merar began hitting
Heath on the back with his open, cupped hand. Though the doctor used his other
hand to help steady Heath’s shoulder, it off balanced her and it wasn’t enough.
She wasn’t strong enough, and though Heath was semi-conscious and trying to
support himself with hands still on his knees, she could feel him slipping
forward and herself being overbalanced backwards.
Suddenly, Jarrod was there.
He gently reached between them and eased himself into her
place in front of Heath.
Then, after a few more minutes of pounding Heath on the
back, Doctor Merar said, “Jarrod, let’s ease him down onto the floor, yes, like
that, on his right side.”
As the coughs continued to crash through the exhausted
young man, he pulled his knees up toward his chest and closed his eyes tightly.
“Victoria, hand me some pillows.”
Together, the doctor and Jarrod raised Heath’s head and
shoulder from the floor and placed the pillows beneath him. Victoria brought a
wet cloth and gently wiped the flecks of bloody phlegm from his face and chest
as the coughs continued to wrack him.
During a slight respite between coughs, Victoria noticed
the glimmer of blue eyes beneath the almost-shut eyelids and said, “Jarrod,
let’s try to get some water in him.” She nodded at Howard, who handed her a
cup.
While Jarrod lifted Heath’s head even higher, Victoria
said, “Heath, please try to drink some water for me.” She was able to get two
swallows in him from the cup she held, before the coughing resumed.
“Try to get some of this in his mouth, Victoria,” Howard
said, offering her a spoon with a small amount of salt. “Just a little will
help.” Instead of taking the spoon, she stuck the tip of her finger in the salt
and touched Heath’s mouth with it between coughs. As he tasted it and licked
his dry lips, she was pleased to see that her method worked. “More water,”
Howard directed from behind her.
Again, she and Jarrod worked together to get a few more
small swallows of water in him, followed by a little more salt, and another
sip.
When Jarrod lay Heath’s head back down on the pillows,
Victoria could see that his eyes had remained open just slightly. She smiled at
him, and said, “Oh, Heath. We’re so glad you’re here, Sweetheart.” Remembering
her conversation with him under the tree the previous morning, she added, “Your
family is here, Heath. You’re not alone. You just rest now.” She ran her
fingers through his still dust-covered blond hair and leaned over to kiss a
spot on his forehead that was neither bruised nor gashed.
Heath’s eyes closed, and as he was shaken again by a
brutal cough, she saw a tear steal from the corner of his eye. Whether from
pain or from emotion, she couldn’t be sure, at least not until the coughing
ended, and she thought he was unconscious once again.
Then, she heard a single, whispered word. It surprised
her, but having heard earlier from Jarrod about their search for their brother,
the intensity behind its simple sadness left her with no doubt as to the reason
for the tear.
“N. .i. . c. . .k. . . . .”
* * * * * * * *
As he sat in the wing-back chair and watched Heath sleep,
Nick took in the changes wrought by the doctor’s handiwork and his mother’s
ministrations. Heath, though still restlessly unconscious since the coughing
attack that had brought him to the floor during the evening, looked much better
than he had when they had found him yesterday afternoon.
Gone were the dried blood and the dust debris from the
mine, replaced instead by damp blond hair and tanned shoulders. Gone was the
filthy bandage encircling his head, replaced instead with a crisp, clean
one----much smaller than the previous one. His mangled wrists were covered by
white bandages, and Nick knew the oozing side wound had also been cleaned and
it, as well as the broken ribs beneath, had been carefully wrapped. His cheek
had been cleaned and stitched; it already looked much less swollen.
However, the massive bruises covering his face and chest
were still prominent and ran the gamut of colors from black to yellowish-green.
Nick knew the ones on his back, the ones mixed in with the scars he could
hardly bear to look at, were still just as livid.
Shifting restlessly in the chair, he thought about the
doctor’s carefully-chosen words of cautious optimism this morning, the words
that had cheered them all immensely. Nick felt like one of the fallen beams
from inside that mine had been crushing him up to that point, his worry for
Heath a weight that remained there, immovable. The weight was replaced by hope
when it was obvious to them all that Doc Merar felt encouraged at the
improvement Heath had made over the course of the long night.
Nick remembered the sigh of relief, the shaking of the
doctor’s head in amazement, as he checked him this morning. He declared that
Heath’s lungs sounded much better and that his heart beat was strong. It was
clear to all of them, that although Heath was in pain whenever he showed signs
of coming around, his breathing was much less labored. The fever, though it had
risen during the night as expected, was down now, and he appeared to be
sweating normally, a very good sign after the fears of dehydration from
yesterday.
Smiling to himself, he recalled the doctor’s slightly
irritated response as Nick asked for the tenth time if he was saying that Heath
was going to be alright.
“Nick, if your stubborn Barkley blood could keep you on a
horse out in the heat all day yesterday after being shot the day before, I’d
say anyone with Barkley blood has a good chance of surviving pretty much
anything!”
While Heath’s condition was still serious, Doc Merar
believed that he would regain consciousness fully today and that he should
improve from there. He had encouraged Nick to rest now while Heath was still
out, warning him that he might be needed if Heath woke up in pain and should
become agitated again.
However, Nick found himself too restless for sleep. Every
time he closed his eyes, he saw an angry man kicking his almost unconscious
brother. Every time he closed his eyes, he heard a battered Heath’s voice
calling his name, trying to find out if he was alright.
His cup of mid-morning coffee still warm between his
hands, Nick thought about the last week and about what he knew of this young
man.
He remembered taking little notice of Heath the first
night he had trailed Lloyd Garner and Audra onto the ranch. He realized now,
that in his worry over Audra, he had been very gruff with Heath, ordering him
around like he was used to doing with many of his hired hands. With a grin, he
remembered the proud blond standing right up to him and telling him in a quiet,
but hard voice, “I’ll take care of her myself,” when referring to Nick’s order
about his horse.
He remembered how suspicious he had been of Heath that
same night when Jarrod was trying to tell him about his ability with horses and
the way he had handled himself in the poker game with the men, trying to get
him to offer Heath a job. He remembered even wondering out loud to Jarrod if
Heath was the leader of the gang and if Lloyd was the one who had warned them of
the impending raid on Kendell’s place, when in truth it had been the reverse.
Shaking his head, he realized it had taken the fight at
Jamie Drumm’s for him to connect Heath with the ranchers’ attempts to stop the
marauders. And by then, they had been battling the sheriff’s growing suspicions
about him, too. It was not until Heath’s role in gaining Audra’s freedom from
the raiders that Nick had truly realized the depth of the quiet young man’s
integrity and courage, not to mention his stubbornness. But, by then, Nick had
been dealing with his own emotions over what his mother had revealed to them,
and he still hadn’t been exactly welcoming to Heath.
With all that had happened since, however, he knew that
his own sense of protectiveness toward this young man had been fully awakened.
Somewhere between his own suspicions and his loud attempts to convince Liam
Forrest to let go of his, Nick realized Heath had earned his hard-to-come-by
trust and had become incredibly important to him.
Thinking back on the last two days in particular, Nick
knew that what he had seen, as he lay there on the ground after being shot,
would be with him for a long time. After the bullet hit him, he had only
managed to open his eyes for a few brief moments, but what he had witnessed still
made his throat tighten and his anger threaten to erupt. He had recognized the
man that was beating his brother. Then, he had seen Heath use the little bit of
awareness and strength that remained, not to get away from or fight off his
attacker, but to crawl toward Nick.
When Heath had tied up the lookout at his post on the
ridge the day they went in to free Audra, he had been determined to do what had
to be done, but he had remained concerned about the man. In fact, Nick had
heard Heath try to convince him to drink some water and assure him he wouldn’t
leave him there indefinitely. A day later, when the roles were reversed, seeing
the same angry man brutally beating and kicking Heath into unconsciousness only
emphasized for Nick the unusual caliber of courage and compassion his brother
carried inside him.
He recalled his conversation with Jarrod in the wagon
coming here yesterday, and knew in his heart that no matter what the
implications of all that they had discussed, no matter what anyone in this valley
had to say, no matter how hard Heath may fight him on this, he knew he was
right.
He looked down at the sleeping figure on the bed, watched
the steady rise and fall of the chest, and reached over to feel the strong,
slow pulse just above the bandaged wrist. Then, he leaned forward to tousle the
blond hair above the bruised face.
He said quietly, “Boy, you just hurry up and get well.
This is a working ranch, and we’ve got a lot of work to do----the two of us,
Little Brother----together.”
Sitting back in his chair, he swallowed hard and took a
deep breath.
In his gut, he knew they needed each other, and that he,
Nick Barkley, would battle the devil himself to keep his brother by his side.
Chapter
20
Audra stood at the window, looking out at the two colts
cavorting in the paddock next to the barn. She breathed in the scent of the
warm afternoon breeze and the fragrance of her mother’s roses that it carried.
Closing her eyes, she realized with a smile, that she could also catch a whiff
of Silas’ fresh peach pies cooling in the kitchen window around the corner
below her. Opening her eyes again, she caught sight of Nick and Jarrod outside
the barn.
She was so glad that Nick was feeling well enough to get
outside a few minutes today, though the doctor didn’t like it. She grinned as
she remembered how she had had to plead with him to let her stay with Heath
while he walked off some of his hard to contain energy.
Turning back to the quiet figure on the bed, she went over
and sat down beside him. Even with the bruises darkening his face, she marveled
at how much he looked like the old pictures of her father that her mother had
recently shown her. She reached up and touched the blond hair, and then,
looking away and out of the window once more, she remembered the pale blue of
her father’s eyes.
All at once, she realized she was being watched. Glancing
back at him, she saw those same eyes, Heath’s pain-filled eyes, looking up at
her.
She was not sure if he recognized her or not, but she sent
him a dazzling smile and said, “Well, hi there!”
At first, he flashed her a lop-sided, half-hearted smile,
but then he closed his eyes tightly,
grimacing in pain.
Suddenly, he moaned, and struggled to turn on his side
away from her. Then, he lay there unmoving, but with his muscles tensed in
obvious agony.
When he turned away, she froze, unable to take her eyes
from the scars on his back, a heart-wrenching sight that no one had prepared
her for. Though she knew he was in pain, though some part of her knew that she
should call for her mother and the doctor, she couldn’t move.
Finally, she slowly reached out to touch his shoulder
“Heath. Heath, please tell me how I can help you!” When he
didn’t respond, she stood up to come around to the other side of the bed to
look at him. Her fears multiplied when he suddenly pulled himself up and, with
arms wrapped tightly around his waist, staggered from the bed. As he collided
blindly into the table nearby, she yelled, “HEATH!”
Her cry, followed by the noise of his crash to the floor,
could be heard by the others downstairs. After a few moments, Howard Merar,
closely trailed by Victoria, ran into the room.
“We have to help him, Mother!” Audra cried, as she knelt
beside Heath. He was tangled in the blanket he had inadvertently pulled from
the bed, and he was curled up on the floor, writhing in silent agony.
As the doctor unsuccessfully attempted to lay him on his
back, he said, “Victoria, get the laudanum. Audra, some hot water,
please----hurry.”
Rushing to his sister as she came out of the door, Nick
grabbed her by the arms. “What happened!?” he demanded.
“Go help them, please, Nick!” she said, as she pulled from
his grip and continued down the hall.
Running into the room, Nick fell to his knees next to his
silent brother. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw the glitter of blue
eyes beneath almost closed eyelids. “Heath? Can you hear me? It’s Nick. I’m
here, Little Brother. Heath? I’m right here.”
He saw the almost imperceptible movement of the head, as
Heath struggled to hear him, struggled to understand.
“Nick, if he’s alert enough, see if you can get some of
this in him.” From behind Heath, the doctor handed him a bottle of medicine.
“It will help a little.”
Glancing up at his mother kneeling by Heath’s head, Nick
said, “Mother, he’s in terrible pain. Please get Jarrod, and keep Audra out of
here for a little while.” She nodded and stood. He turned his attention back to
his brother.
“Heath, it’s Nick. Come on, Boy. Can you talk to me?” Nick
could still see the hooded eyes, but nothing to indicate he was getting
through. It was as if Heath was conscious, but no longer reachable behind the
wall he had built to keep out the pain.
Unaware of his entrance, Nick suddenly realized Jarrod was
there, beside him, helping to support Heath’s head. Glancing at his older
brother, Nick nodded once in acknowledgment.
Turning his head, he said to the doctor, who was listening
with the stethoscope, “Doc?” Waiting until the doctor could hear him, Nick
continued, “His eyes are open a little. Should I try to make him drink this,
now?” He held up the small bottle.
Doctor Merar shook his head, “No, not until he is alert enough.
He is breathing okay, and his heart rate is steady, not too fast. I’m sure he
is reacting to severe pain, but normally that would cause both to be higher.”
Scratching his head, he added, “I don’t quite understand. Is he looking at
you?”
Jarrod answered, “No, Doc. I’m sure he is conscious on
some level, but it is as though he is not even aware of us. He’s so tense, I
think he is hurting terribly. Just look at his jaw, how it is clenched. I think
he is concentrating only on fighting the pain.”
Doctor Merar went to the hall, hearing someone knock
outside the door. “Thank you, Silas,” he said to the man who handed him a pan
of hot water and some cloths. Returning, he said, “Nick, move over for a
minute.”
Kneeling in front of Heath, he set the pan on the floor.
Then, he dipped one large, soft cloth in the water and wrung it out. Starting
one end near the floor, he lifted the other end of the hot cloth and slowly
applied it to the bruised chest and waist. Wrapping it around, Nick helped him
ease it beneath Heath’s tense arm and across to his back. Then, the doctor
moved around behind Heath, and both Nick and Howard held the cloth in place
against the battered body.
When the cloth became tepid to the touch, they repeated
the process, with Nick taking the lead and the doctor continuing to listen
using the stethoscope.
After the third try, with no change evident, Nick jumped
to his feet. “Dammit!” he exclaimed as he started pacing the floor. “This isn’t
helping either. There has to be something more we can do! Let’s try the
medicine, Doc!”
“No, Nick, he hasn’t had a bout of coughing in hours. We
certainly don’t want him to get choked and start up again now. Let’s just keep
trying this,” the doctor said emphatically.
“Come on, Nick, it’s all we have right now. Do it again.”
Not taking his eyes from Heath’s face, Jarrod added quietly, “It’s almost as if
he is in there somewhere, just not hearing or seeing us. I haven’t seen his
eyes move or even blink.”
Then, once more, Jarrod tried to get the pacing Nick to
come back to help them. “Nick. NICK! That’s not helping. Come use the water
again while it’s still hot.”
Nick gave a growl of frustration and hit his hands
together. Then, he stalked back toward the men on the floor and squatted down
by Heath’s chest. Removing the now cool cloth, he placed it in the hot water
again, twisted it to wring the excess water out, and began wrapping his brother
in its warmth once more.
Suddenly, he stopped. Looking down, he saw the bandaged
hand that he had just felt clamp down on his arm. Holding his breath, he raised
his eyes to look at Heath’s. Staring back at him, were the sky blue eyes he
knew so well growing up, the eyes of his father, and the anguished eyes he now
recognized as belonging to his little brother. “Heath,” he breathed out.
“N. . . i. . . c. . k?” the quiet voice asked, the eyes
echoing the pain, the confusion, and the hopeful question.
“Yes, Heath. I’m here. Right here, Little Brother.” Nick
said with a catch in his voice.
Heath closed his eyes briefly, as if to chase away any
remnants of an image from a dream. Then, he opened them again, and stared up at
the dark-headed man still kneeling beside him. “N. . .i. . .c. . .k?”
Nick answered the questions in the voice and in those
eyes. “No, Heath. I’m not dead. They shot me, but they didn’t kill me. I’m
right here. We’re both right here where we belong, Heath. We’re both here,
alive, on the Barkley. . . .”
Nick trailed off as he saw the eyes close again. Fear clutched
at his heart, as he looked up at Doc Merar.
“He’s fine, Nick, he’s asleep,” the doctor said
immediately, trying to dispel the fearful expression he saw on Nick’s face.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Nick sat back heavily on the
floor, and looked down at his brother. But, as he watched, the eyes cracked
open again, and Heath squeezed his arm. “Nick. . . . same . . . bossy voice, .
. . .same . . . .jingly spurs.”
Then, with the lop-sided, half smile still evident on his
bruised face and with his hand still on Nick’s arm, Heath’s tense muscles
finally relaxed.
“Audra, Honey, it’s not your fault. There’s nothing you
could have done to stop him.” Victoria sat with her distraught daughter on the
grey settee in the large sitting room. With one arm around her blond daughter
and the other hand wiping her tear-stained cheeks, Victoria soothed, “He’s
asleep, Sweetheart. You heard Jarrod. They have him back in the bed, and he’s
fine, now.”
“But, Mother! He was in such pain, and I didn’t know what to
do to help him!”
“I know, I know, Audra. None of us know how to help him; I
don’t think that even Doctor Merar is sure of what to do right now. We’ll all
just have to help him get through it together, somehow.” Then, patting her
daughter’s hand, she added, “Come on, Honey, let’s go help Silas get some food
together for everyone. I have a feeling it’s going to be another sleepless
night.”
After mother and daughter arrived in the kitchen, Audra
remained standing quietly at the window for a few minutes. Victoria bustled
around the large, cheery room gathering items for sandwiches as Silas stood at
the stove stirring a savory smelling pot of soup.
Keeping a watchful eye on her daughter, who hadn’t moved
for many minutes, Victoria knew she needed to distract her from her sadness.
She walked over to Audra, who was still looking out of the window, and touched
her shoulder.
However, her intentions were lost in the nearly inaudible
voice that said, “Mother, I saw his back.”
“Oh, Honey,” Victoria said sadly. “I’m so sorry you had to
see that.”
Thinking back to the night Heath had been so upset at the
mention of going to jail, thinking about the marks that she knew must have
caused him unimaginable agony at sometime in his life, Audra added quietly, “He
needs us, Mother. Even if he never admits it to us, I know he needs us.”
Turning to look into her mother’s eyes, Audra reached out to hug the woman she
adored. Victoria returned the embrace, the tears in her eyes threatening to
overflow.
“I want him to stay with us, Mother. I want my brother to
always stay here with us.” Then, she kissed her mother on the cheek, turned to
open the outside door, and ran toward the barn.
Watching her daughter leave, Victoria said to her
retreating back, and to the silent older gentleman standing behind her, “I want
that, too, Audra. More than I can ever explain, I want that, too.”
* * * * * * * *
Entering the large, welcoming red barn, Audra headed
straight for the closest horse. The sleek chestnut with the irregular white
blaze was Jarrod’s Jingo. Knowing this horse, above all the others, appreciated
the cubes of sugar Audra often offered, she stroked the shiny neck and turned
toward the tack room and her tightly-guarded supply.
Suddenly, she stopped, the small, nondescript, black horse
in the next stall catching her eye. Speaking softly, she entered the stall and
touched the welcoming, though untrimmed, very velvety nose. “Well, little
horse, I know someone who is going to be very happy to see you, when he finally
gets back on his feet.”
Remembering the day Heath had quietly asked Nick if he had
heard anything about his horse, remembering the instant rapport he had
developed with Nick’s colt the night of the fire, she thought she had an idea
about how he probably felt about his mount. While she knew most of their hands
did not even own the horses they regularly rode, and that most would not
understand how someone could become so close to a single horse, she knew that
it was not that way with the members of her family. Though Heath had not grown
up as a Barkley, she had no doubt that his connection to his horse would be
just as strong as hers or Nick’s.
Still speaking quietly to the little horse, she ignored
the fact that her pale green linen dress was hardly appropriate for barn work,
and began currying the dirty, black coat. As she moved her hand in small,
consistent circles, she felt her worry and guilt begin to dissipate.
Feeling much better as the condition of the horse’s coat
improved under her careful attention, Audra worked her way around to the off
side. Suddenly, she stopped. Looking carefully, her eyes widened, and her hand
began to shake slightly. She backed up until her shoulders touched the wooden
wall of the stall behind her. Drawing in a deep breath, and covering her mouth
with her hand, she caught a sob before it escaped from her lips.
Then, walking toward the mare slowly, but deliberately,
she touched the dark, matted hair along the point of her shoulder, and followed
its trail, down, as far as the horse’s foreleg. The knowledge that here was a
remnant of Heath’s ordeal, that this was his blood, dried and caked and still
worn by the horse that was dear to him, tore at her heart.
She thought back to the scars on his back, the bruises and
blood she had seen covering him when Nick and Jarrod brought him home, and she
knew with certainty that the fierce fire she felt fanned to a fevered pitch
within her heart was an intense desire to protect her brother from any more
pain.
With sparks shooting from her blue eyes, she attacked the
matted hair with a vengeance, a vengeance she only wished she could share with
the remaining members of the gang that had held her captive, that had shot one
brother, and that had brutalized another.
Still munching on the hay in her rack, the little mare
turned her head to look at her self-appointed groom. Seeing the long-suffering,
dark, liquid eye staring at her so patiently, Audra slowly smiled and
apologized aloud.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to be so rough.” Audra paused to
rest one arm and to scratch behind the closest black ear with the other. Then,
she resumed her currying motions, working slowly, and much more contritely.
By the time she traded the currycomb for a firm brush, and
the circles for short, brisk, even strokes, her smile was like bright afternoon
sunshine breaking through a dark, cloudy sky.
By the time she finished pampering the little horse, the
Modoc’s black coat was free of dirt and blood, and Audra was ready to return to
the house and the family she felt ready to assist once more.
* * * * * * * *
There.
The sound penetrated his brain, interrupting his attempts
to concentrate on his breathing, to find his rhythm, to focus on taming the
twisting, bucking pain inside him.
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t push the
irritating noise away.
The turbulence of the pain was quickly escalating beyond
his attempts to corral it, beyond his attempts to ride the cresting surges of
its power, beyond his attempts to control it. The sound was keeping him from
being able to rise above his agony.
In desperation he struggled to shift his focus to include
the sound. He concentrated on finding an image to contain it, to use it, to
help him control the pain.
Breath by agonized breath, the noise slowly melted into
memory.
There.
It was becoming easier.
With less and less effort, he could breathe in the sharp
scents of green pine and dampened earth. He could see the ridges now, the
snow-covered peaks of the Eastern Sierras high above him. Glinting off the snow
in blinding patches of light, the sun reflected down on him with crystal
clarity, bringing with it an exhilarating mixture of warmth and refreshing
crispness. The trees flashed by, a blend of cool shadow with bright sunlight
shining through.
The rhythm of the team in front of him created a perfect
harmony of hoof beats, creaking leather, and loudly jingling harnesses.
With each breath, the persistent sound now enhanced his
ability to focus on the rhythm of the six-horse hitch and the stage it pulled,
to focus on the rhythm of the lines in his hands, on the cadence in his head
that allowed him to harness the pain inside him.
As he lay on the bed, muscles locked in agony and unblinking
eyes open only a crack, he kept a tight rein on his concentration.
As he lay there, aware only of the sound he could not
quite identify, he saw only the sun flashing through the trees as he guided his
team around the next bend in the stage road high in the mountains.
He could neither hear the concerned voices of those around
him, nor see their weary faces, as they kept their vigil beside him.
He didn’t hear the voice that implored, “Please, Nick, sit
down. Stop pacing!”
Suddenly, the sound stopped.
Without warning, the coach beneath him careened out of
control. He fought to bring the team up sharply, the swing pair rearing to
avoid running up on the slightly smaller lead pair in front, the two wheelers
crashing into them from behind with a sharp, piercing cry. As the coach beneath
him slammed to a halt among the trees, and he was thrown toward the precipice
below, he realized the sharp cry was his own.
Abruptly, the missing sound was replaced by a voice.
From his resting place at the bottom of the steep slope,
where he lay battered and bruised against a cold, unyielding rock, he could
hear his name from far above.
“Heath. Heath!”
He had no breath for a reply. But, he struggled to reach
up, to offer one hand toward the voice.
“Heath! I’m right here. Come on, Boy. Hold on, now!”
Searching, his hand grasped the arm that belonged to the
voice. His weak grip was immediately strengthened as another hand was placed on
top. “I’ve got you. It’s okay, Heath.”
The deep voice seemed closer somehow.
There.
It was right above him now, right beside him in the
searing pain of the ice and snow that burned through him relentlessly.
“That’s right. Open those eyes, Boy.”
“N..i..c..k?”
“Yes, Heath, I’m right here.”
Struggling to open his eyes, to push away the daggers of
sunlight glinting off the snow that threatened to blind him with pain, Heath
staggered up toward the voice.
“Still here?. . . . Not dead, Nick?” he rasped.
The relieved chuckle reverberated all around him, “No,
Heath, I’m not dead. Remember, Boy? I’m here. I’m right here beside you.”
He eased his eyes open, and suffered another stab of
searing ice, deep inside, for his efforts. “Cold, Nick.” The chills choked back
any more words, and he closed his eyes to keep out the pounding of the ice.
“Here, Heath. Drink this.” Nick lifted him, coaxed the
foul liquid down, and eased him back into the pillows. Leaning across the bed
from the other side, Victoria piled two more blankets on Heath’s shaking frame.
“Nick, his fever is down. I don’t understand why he is so
cold. I’m going to go wake Howard,” she said, as she turned to leave.
“Mother, wait, don’t wake him yet. I think he’ll be
alright,” Nick stopped her. “He is in so much pain every time he comes around,
I think the shaking is just a reaction. Let’s give the medicine a chance to
work.”
Nodding her head, Victoria came around to stand behind her
tired, dark-headed son. She rubbed his back as he remained leaning forward,
both of his hands bound up in Heath’s grip.
“Where’ve ya’ been, Nick?” they heard Heath ask.
Smiling, Nick answered, “Right here, Boy. I’ve been right
here, and I’m not going anywhere. You just rest.” Then, he asked, “Heath, are
you warmer now?”
“Boy Howdy, Nick, . . . it’s not time. . . for spring thaw
yet.”
“What? What are you talking about, Heath? It’s late
summer!” Nick laughed.
With a little wider crack of light blue eyes showing,
Heath said with a half smile, “The elevation. . . must be higher than I thought.”
“Heath, where are you, Boy? Come down out of those
mountains and get back here in this valley and in this bed!” Watching closely,
he could tell that Heath was slowly relaxing. His eyes were almost open, the
pale blue starting to focus on the two of them as he and Victoria moved
deliberately into Heath’s line of sight.
Heath struggled to sit up, then he dropped back into the
pillows elevating him. Nick’s strong hand on his shoulder did not allow him any
room to try again. “Whoa, Boy. You just stay right there. It’s taken long
enough to get you here in this bed for more than a few hours, you just plan to
stay put a while longer.”
While he grimaced again as a sharp pain tore through his
side, Heath kept his eyes on the dark-headed figure leaning toward him. When he
could breathe normally again, he asked, “Thought you were shot, Nick . . . .
Why ya still wearing your spurs?”
Victoria smirked at the comment. She couldn’t help joining
in. “Yes, Nick, please, do tell us. With the doctor confining you to this house,
why ARE you wearing your spurs?”
Nick glared at the blue eyes looking up at him, and turned
to glance at the grey ones beside his good shoulder. Then, he growled
good-naturedly, “Thanks, Little Brother!”
As he closed his eyes after sharing a weary wink with
Victoria, Heath replied in a sleepy voice, “Anytime, Nick. . . I heard they tie bells. . . on cows back
East. . . I’m sure Mrs. Barkley
wouldn’t want you to get lost, . . . so maybe . . .”
“Go to sleep, Heath!” Nick said quickly. “And don’t think
I didn’t see that wink you two exchanged, either!”
As he jumped up from the chair to retrieve another blanket
from a bureau drawer, he turned quickly to hear Heath mumble,
“Good-for-nothing, . . . aggravating, . .
jingly spurs,” and to see Victoria’s smile that suspiciously matched
Heath’s lop-side grin.
To be continued…