Angel On Earth

Part 3

by Kenda

Chapter 10  

                Jim Garver walked to the bunkhouse door.  He stepped outside and looked down the road that led to Stockton.  Not a soul was on it, not even a distant dust cloud rose to indicate a rider coming.

               Pete Garver joined his brother. “See anything?”

               “Nothing.  I thought Doc Sheridan would be here by now.”

               “I did, too.  But you know how things go when an epidemic hits a town.  He’s probably got his hands full.”

               “Him not showin’ up here yet has gotta mean the quinine hasn’t come in.”

               “That’s what I figured.”  Pete looked at the mansion.  “I wonder how Heath’s doing?”

               The lanky Jim spit in the dirt.  “Who gives a rat’s ass.”

               “Jimmy!”

               “Well, I don’t care and you shouldn’t either.  It’s because of him that Billy’s sick.”

               “Come on, Jim, we don’t know that.”

               “Whatta ya’ mean we don’t know that!  Of course we know it!  Heath’s the first one on the ranch to get sick so that means he’s infected everyone else.”

               “And?”

               “And what?  The bastard’s gone and brought the sickness here, that’s what.  If Billy dies it’ll be his fault.”

               “I thought you liked Heath.  As a matter of fact just last week you said you’d never worked for a better boss or one who knew so much about horses.”

               “Never mind what I said last week.  Billy bein’ sick changes all that.”

               “You can be just as stubborn and unreasonable as Pa when you put your mind to it, you know that?”

               “What’s that supposed to mean?”

               “You lose all sight of your common sense.  You get angry over stuff you got no call to get riled about.”

               “And you’re not riled about Billy?”

               “I’m worried about Billy if that’s what your askin’.  But I don’t blame Heath for him bein’ sick.”

               “Well, maybe you should.”

               Jim turned on one heel and reentered the building.  Pete watched his brother walk to Billy’s bedside.  He let out a heavy sigh as he looked through the screen door.  They’d done a good job of transforming the bunkhouse into an infirmary.  Every surface had been scrubbed before fresh linens had been put on the beds.  Jessybell was keeping a table stacked with clean towels and sheets.  Even Phillip and some of the other hands were pitching in to help her keep up on the enormous amount of laundry that was being generated. 

               At Nick’s orders the two men who cooked for the hands kept chicken soup simmering on the stove for those who were ill.  Silas had brought out loaves of fresh bread as well.  Pete couldn’t imagine what more the Barkley family could do that wasn’t already being done.  Every couple hours Nick or Jarrod would come out to the infirmary to see how the sick men were.  Why Jarrod had even carried soiled linens back to the house on several trips.  Despite Jim’s feelings, Pete knew how lucky they were to be employed by people like the Barkleys at a time such as this.  On any other ranch Billy wouldn’t have stood a chance for survival.

               Aside from Billy, five other men had fallen ill.  There was a wrangler fifty four years old by the name of Fred whom Pete didn’t think would last more than a couple days.  Then there was Joe, a man in his early thirties who had just started working for the Barkleys in March.  He had a wife and four children who lived in a rented house in Stockton.  Pete knew Joe had to be going out of his mind with worry for his family.  His oldest kid was only seven.  Because they were quarantined there was no way to get word to Joe’s wife that he was sick.  At least not until Doctor Sheridan came out.

               The other men who were sick were all in their twenties.  Pete’s eyes fell to Jeb Galloway.  The cowboy with the raven curls was beginning to run a  temperature.  His face had a red flush to it that made Jeb look like he’d been out in the sun too long, and when he coughed he sound like a fog horn.

               Billy wasn’t in much better shape.  He’d started coughing so hard shortly after dawn that Pete was certain he’d choke himself to death.  That spell had finally passed, but Pete was well aware more like it were to come.

               The cowboy squinted.  Was that a buggy coming?  He waited until the object crested the last hill then smiled.

               “Hey, Jim!  Fellas!  The doc’s coming!”

               No cheers went up, but the smiles that lit the faces of the men who were taking care of the sick spoke of their relief.

               Finally, Jim Garver thought as he ran a cold cloth over his baby brother’s fiery face.  Help is finally here.

             ********** 

          The Grandfather clock was striking eleven when Silas led Doctor Sheridan to Nick’s room that Wednesday morning.  Nick and Audra were sitting with Heath while Victoria rested and Jarrod tried to concentrate on paper work at the desk in his room.  Silas knocked on the attorney’s door.

               “Doctor Sheridan is here, Mr. Jarrod.”

               “Thank you, Silas.”

               Jarrod entered the hall and walked to his mother’s room.  He knocked on the door, calling softly, “Mother?”

               The lawyer heard his mother moving across the floor.  The thirty minutes she’d spent in the bathtub followed by the breakfast she’d eaten had helped her appearance a little, but she still looked drawn and tired.  Jarrod doubted if she’d gotten more than two hours of sleep since this ordeal had begun.

               “Jake’s here.  He’s with Heath now.”

               Victoria nodded and followed her son to Nick’s room.  She smiled at Silas who hovered in the background.

               Jarrod and Nick lifted Heath from his pillows.  Jake spent a long time listening to Heath’s lungs with first his stethoscope, and then by placing his ear directly against the blond’s back.  No one missed the slight shake of Jake’s head as he straightened, nor the small frown that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

               With Jarrod and Nick still supporting Heath the doctor perched on the edge of the mattress.

               “Heath?  Heath, it’s Jake Sheridan.  Heath, I want you to open your eyes for me.”

               Victoria saw Heath’s eyes move beneath his lids as though he was trying to obey Jake’s command, but the effort appeared to be too much for him.

               “Heath!”  Jake reached out and flicked his fingers against Heath’s right cheek. “Heath, come on!  I need you to wake up for me.”

               When that action didn’t produce any results Jake stood and gave Heath a resounding slap. 

               “Doctor Sheridan!” 

               Jake barely glanced at Heath’s sister.  “Audra, I had to do it. It’s important that we wake him up.”  The doctor looked at Jarrod and Nick.  “How long has he been unresponsive like this?”

               “He fell asleep around seven last night,”  Nick said.  “Then at one-thirty this morning his temperature started to rise again and he had a hard time breathing. That’s why we brought him in here.  Mother had us hold him over a kettle of steam.  He calmed down just as the sun was coming up.”

               “And he’s been like this ever since?”

               “Well,...yeah.  But I thought he was sleeping.”

               “He’s far more unconscious than he is asleep, Nick.”

               The doctor turned his attention back to Heath.  Another slap finally caused Heath’s eyes to open halfway. 

               “Heath!”  Jake called, when the cowboy couldn’t seem to focus on anyone or anything.  “Heath!”

               Jake looked at Nick.  “You try.”  The doctor scampered around the bed, switching places with Nick.

               The dark headed man sat on the edge of the bed and grasped Heath’s upper arms.  His tone was both loud and firm.

               “Heath!  Heath, come on, wake up!  Heath, it’s Nick!  Come on now, it’s past time we got the day started!”

               Heath’s right hand reached for the distant voice he recognized.  He felt someone take the questing hand in a firm grip and knew by the calluses on the palm he should be able to put a name to the voice, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t.

               “Heath, open your eyes!  Open your eyes for me!  Heath!”

               Jake’s soft voice made a sharp contrast to Nick’s loud one.

               “Okay, okay, that’s enough, Nick.  You’ve done the best you could.”  With Jarrod’s help the doctor eased Heath back to the pillows.  Jake walked over to his bag and took out a thin black case.  He opened it and removed a thermometer.  He shook it hard four times, then returned to Heath’s side.  He placed the thermometer under Heath’s tongue and ordered, “Heath, I want you to hold that thermometer in place until I take it out.”

               Whether Heath really understood the doctor no one knew, but he didn’t fight the foreign object in his mouth either. 

               For the next three minutes Jake kept one eye on his pocket watch and one eye on his patient.  He didn’t even have a chance to read the instrument before Nick was asking,  “What’s it say?  How high’s his temperature?”

               “Too high. One hundred four point eight which explains why he’s having a difficult time responding to us.”  The doctor passed the delicate tool off to Audra.  “I have rubbing alcohol in my bag, Audra.  Pour some in a shot glass and put the thermometer in it please.”

               Silas hurried from the room to get the requested shot glass.  By the time he returned the doctor was mixing powdered quinine in a cup of water.  Jarrod and Nick held Heath up again while Jake placed the cup to his mouth. 

               “Heath, I want you to drink this.  Here, let me,...”

               Before Jake could finish his sentence Heath’s eyes popped open and a fist flew up.  If Nick hadn’t been anticipating what was going to happen next the precious quinine would have ended up on the floor.

               Amidst Heath’s incoherent cries Jarrod and Nick struggled to keep him in bed.  Audra rescued the quinine from the doctor as Jake was drawn into the fray.

               Victoria rushed to soak a towel in water.  She wrung it out and moved to the bed. She placed the cold towel on Heath’s forehead.  No matter how hard he tried to move out of her reach she stayed with him.  Silas was right there to help.  Just as soon as the heat from Heath’s fever caused the towel to lose its effectiveness Silas placed a fresh one in Victoria’s hands. They worked together in silent rhythm handing towels back and forth, until Heath finally started to calm down.  With the three men still holding onto Heath, Victoria indicated for Audra to give her the cup of medicine.   The Barkley matriarch sat on the mattress.  She continued to wipe Heath’s face with a towel while talking quietly.

               “Heath, it’s Mother.  Sweetheart, the only thing in this cup is water mixed with quinine.  No one’s trying to hurt you, son.  You need to drink this.  It’ll help bring your fever down.  Come on now, don’t fight us.  Drink this for me, Heath.  Please, honey, drink it.”

               Audra wondered if the cold towels had finally brought Heath’s temperature down to a point where he was no longer lost in a world of delirium or if he, like everyone else in the room, had heard the tears in Victoria’s voice.  Whatever the reason didn’t matter.  Audra was simply grateful that Heath allowed their mother to lift the cup to his mouth and was willing to drink from it until it was empty.

               Heath sagged into the pillows as Victoria handed the cup off to Silas.  The black man filled it with cold water, but try as she might Victoria couldn’t get Heath to take another drink.

               Jake released his grip on Heath.  Jarrod and Nick did the same.  The doctor began gathering up his things.

               “Jarrod, Nick, I’ll help you move Heath back to his own room.  I’m sure the steam helped him last night, but it’s too hot in here for him now.  I’ll leave enough quinine for one more dose.  Silas, if you could get me a clean cup please, I’ll pour it into there.”

               “Yes, Doctor.  I can do that.”

               “One more dose?”  Nick questioned as Silas left the room. “Why can’t you just leave the whole bottle?”

               Jake snapped his bag closed and turned from where he was standing by the tall dresser.  “Because I’ve got three dozen people in town who are just as sick as Heath and a limited supply of quinine.  I have no choice but to ration it, Nick.”

               “Well then, send for more.  I’ll give you whatever money you need,...”

               “I have sent for more.  But this epidemic is turning out to be wide-spread up and down the state.  The medical board has wired back east to have more shipped but,...”

               “But by the time it gets here Heath could be dead!”

               Jake’s eyes flashed both his weariness and anger at his inability to stop a disease that would take many lives.  “By the time it gets here a lot of people could be dead!  Now you have to face the fact that I’m doing the best I can.  Believe me, Nick, I know your brother is very ill.  And believe me, too, when I say I wish I could do more.  But I can’t.  I have to be fair to everyone.  You know that.”

               Jarrod laid a calming hand on Nick’s shoulder.  “Yes, Jake, we know that.  Now rather than focusing on what we can’t do, what more can we do to help Heath?”

               “Aside from getting him out of this room and trying to control his temperature, I have one last idea.”

               “What’s that?”

               “I’m going to leave a bottle of sulfur with you.  If he starts to choke again and can’t breathe like you described happening last night, then you put hot coals in a pan and sprinkle four healthy tablespoons of sulfur over them.  Now you’ll need to wear a flannel cloth tied over your own noses and mouths to protect yourselves from the fumes.  When you’re ready you’ll have to hold Heath over the pan.  He’s not going to like it. He’s not going to like it one bit, but the fumes will cause him to vomit which will bring up the mucus.  It’s hardly a pretty way to get someone to cough, but I’ve been told it can save a patient’s life.”

               “We’re not worried about pretty,”  Victoria assured.  “Whatever we have to do for Heath we will.”

               Victoria wasn’t sure why she saw a new kind of respect shining from Jake’s eyes when he looked at her and smiled. “I realize that, Mrs. Barkley.”

               The three men carried Heath to his room.  Jake shook one dose of quinine into a cup and told the family when it should next be administered, then left behind a small bottle of sulfur.

               “I don’t know when I’ll be back.”  The doctor picked up his bag and turned for the door. “I hope you understand.”

               “We do, Jake,”  Victoria nodded. “It’s bad, isn’t it?  In town I mean.”

               “Yes, Ma’am, it’s bad.  Unfortunately probably not as bad as it’s going to get.  Oh, Reverend Dyer wanted me to tell you he’s including Heath in his prayers.  He’s been a big help to me.  He’s allowing the church to be used as an infirmary among other things.”

               “William’s a good man,”  Victoria acknowledged.  “Please let him know I appreciate his prayers for Heath and that I don’t want him riding out here to see us.  He should stay in town and offer whatever he can in the way of assistance to you and the people there.”

               “I’ll make sure he gets the message, Mrs. Barkley.”

               “We’ve got half a dozen sick men in a bunkhouse,”  Nick said.  “I’d like you to look at them before you head back to town.”

               “Lead the way.”

               Jake’s examination of the sick ranch hands was quick but thorough.  As he stood to leave he complimented the Barkley brothers on the makeshift infirmary.

               “You’ve done everything correct out here from keeping it clean, to having plenty of water on hand, to having your cooks provide soup and bread.  I’ll leave two bottles of sulfur here.  Have your hands use it for the sick men in the same I described for Heath.  Other than that, it looks like everyone is doing all they can.”

               Jim Garver rose from his brother’s bedside.  He joined Jake and the Barkleys by the door.

               “What about quinine, Doc?”

               “I’m sorry, but right now I’m being forced to ration what little quinine I received.”

               “Okay, fine.  So ration some out to these men in here.”

               “I’m sorry, Mr. Garver, but I can’t do that.”

               “What do you mean you can’t do that?”

               “I have to distribute the quinine to those people who are the sickest right at this moment.”

               “These men are sick!  My brother is sick!”

               “I understand that, Sir, but I have people in town who are sicker.  Heath Barkley is sicker.  I have no choice but,.....”

               “Do you mean to tell me that Heath is getting quinine and my brother isn’t?  Do you,...”

               “Heath is desperately ill, Mr. Garver.”

               “But Billy’s ill, too.”

               “Not as ill as Heath.”

               Nick attempted to calm the man by placing an arm around his shoulders.  “Hey, Jim, come on now.  Jarrod and I are gonna do everything we can to see that Doctor Sheridan gets more quinine.  We’ll wire everyone we know between here and Boston.  It’s possible we’ll have a shipment headed our way by tonight.”

               “And what if that doesn’t happen?  What does that mean for Billy and the rest of these men!  Heath gets medicine but they don’t?  Is that the way it’s going to be?”

               “Jim, no,”  Jarrod assured, “that’s not the way it’s going to be.  Doctor Sheridan has already explained the reasoning behind rationing the quinine.  Heath didn’t get any special favors or privileges.”

               “Like hell he didn’t!  If he wasn’t a Barkley he’d be suffering like everyone else!  I don’t understand it!  Why do you care so much?  He’s only your half brother.  Only half a Barkley!  Only,...”

               Nick took a step forward.  “Jim, that’s enough now.  I know you’re upset about Billy so I’ll overlook that last remark. But,...

               “I don’t care if you overlook it or not because it’s true!  If Heath was still Heath Thomson, instead of Heath Barkley, he’d be layin’ out here in this bunkhouse goin’ without quinine just like Billy is!”

               Jarrod managed to get a firm grip on Nick just as Pete Garver appeared and managed to get a firm grip on Jim.  The two men struggled against their siblings until a weak voice caused everyone to turn toward a bunk in the corner.  Billy Garver struggled to prop himself on his elbows. 

               “Jim,.......Jimmy, don’t.”  The young man used a shaking hand to wipe at the sweat that ran into his eyes. “Don’t start a fight o,...over me. Nick,....Nick’s doin’ all he can.  I know that.  Please,.....”

               Jim hesitated a long moment, then allowed his body to relax within his brother’s grip.  He gave Nick a final glare before shaking himself free of Pete and crossing to Billy’s side.

               Jarrod released Nick.  Pete’s gaze took in both men.

               “I’m sorry.  Jim,...well, Jim’s really upset about Billy.  He didn’t mean what he said.”

               Nick simply nodded while Jarrod reached out to squeeze Pete’s shoulder.

               “We understand.  And like Nick said, we’ll do all we can to get more quinine here as soon as possible.”

               “I know you will. Thanks.”

               Pete nodded to the cowboy on the bunk next to Billy. “Doc, Joe’s wife rents a house in Stockton.  Can you get word to her that he’s sick?”

               “Sure.  What’s the last name?”

               “Edmonds.”

               “Edmonds?”

               “Yeah.”

               “Does he have children?”

               “Yeah.  Four of ‘em.  Two boys and two girls.”

               Jake turned away so his voice wouldn’t carry throughout the room.  “I see.”

               “What?” Pete asked.  “Whatta ya’ mean by that?”

               Nick and Jarrod had already guessed what Doctor Sheridan was about to say, but then by looking at Pete’s face they knew he had guessed it as well.

               “The Edmonds children are very ill.”

               “All four of them?”

               “Three of them so far.  But I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before the youngest boy is sick as well.”

               For a few seconds the only sounds that could be heard was that of the barking coughs that seemed to travel from bunk to bunk.  Pete stole a look at Joe Edmonds who appeared to be sleeping.

               “How do I tell him?”

               “You don’t.”

               “But he’ll ask me.  As soon as he knows you’ve been here he’ll ask me if I gave you a message for his wife.”

               “Then tell him you did. For now that’s all he needs to know.”

               “But,...”

               “Mr. Garver, at the moment there’s nothing your friend can do for his family.  Though none of us like this fact, the spread of diphtheria is not yet something modern medicine can prevent or control.  Therefore, it’s best to give a patient nothing but hope and encouragement.  Any words to the contrary can produce devastating results.”

               Pete looked from Joe to Billy. He finally nodded before joining Jim at Billy’s bedside.

               Jarrod turned to the physician. “Jake, if you’ve got just one more minute to spare I’ll write out a list of every person I can think of my family is acquainted with who might be able to get a shipment of quinine here.”

               Jake couldn’t help but smile.  “Considering how many people the Barkleys know I’d better spare you two minutes.”

               “That you had.”  Jarrod returned with a smile of his own. 

               The lawyer exited the bunkhouse and headed for the barn, Jake at his heels.  Nick kept a pad of paper and pencil on a shelf out there where the ranch hands recorded the supplies that were needed on a weekly basis.  Jarrod’s script was still neat despite writing quickly and while leaning his paper against a barn wall for support.

               “There’s just no possible way you can leave some of that quinine here for the sick men?”  Jarrod questioned as he wrote. “Not even one dose for each of them?”

               “Jarrod, no.  I’m sorry.  I wasn’t lying to Jim Garver when I told him Heath isn’t getting preferential treatment.  I don’t do business that way.”

               “I didn’t mean to imply any less.  It’s simply that,...”  Jarrod let his sentence trail off unfinished.

               “That you’re in-between a rock and a hard place, is that it?”

               “Aptly put, Jake.  Very aptly, put.”

               “Look, Jarrod, I understand that I’ve just given medicine to Heath that I’ve had to refuse to give your hired hands.  But again, I have no choice but to ration what little I received.  The bottom line is, Heath is sicker than the men in the bunkhouse.  Maybe two days from now that won’t be true, but with an epidemic of this magnitude I can’t worry about two days from now.”

               Jarrod paused in the act of writing and made eye contact with the younger man.  “Will Heath even be alive two days from now?”

               “I don’t know.  But,...”

               “But what?”

               “It would be best to prepare your mother and Audra for the worst.”       

               It took Jarrod a moment to regain his concentration.  When the lawyer started writing again Jake saw a slight tremor to his hand that hadn’t been present earlier.  

               Five minutes later Doctor Sheridan was on his way back to Stockton with a list that included the names of four United States Senators, two renowned Boston physicians, three wealthy Philadelphia businessmen, and two Harvard University professors.  Jake had no idea if any of these people could be of help, but if nothing else just knowing everyone on Jarrod’s list would soon receive a wire with a desperate plea for assistance brought comfort to the young man.  At least he didn’t feel quite as alone as he had just a few hours earlier.  As if Stockton had been cut off by the outside world and was in danger of losing a large amount of her citizens by forces beyond anyone’s control.

               Which, Jake supposed as he slapped a short whip against his horse’s rump in an effort to speed up the buggy, was all too true. 

********** 

               While Jarrod was giving the family doctor the list of  prominent Barkley acquaintances Nick remained in the bunkhouse.  He moved from bed to bed, making certain he spoke with any man who wasn’t sleeping. When he came to Jeb Galloway’s bunk the young cowboy struggled to sit up and put his feet on the floor.  Nick grasped Jeb by the upper arm.

               “There’s no need for that, Jeb.  Lay back down.”

               “No,...” The man turned his head to cough.  When he could speak again he faced Nick and motioned for him to sit beside him.  “No, I’m fine.  It feels good to sit up for a little while.  It’s easier to breathe.”

               Nick saw the signs in Jeb he’d seen out on the range just two days earlier with Heath.  Smoky gray circles under his eyes, pale skin, a twinge of red streaks on his cheeks.  The same twinge of red that Nick hadn’t realized was the beginning of a fever when he’d noticed it on Heath while they ate their noon meal on Monday.

               As if he was reading Nick’s mind, Jeb asked,  “How’s Heath?”

               “He’s doin’ okay.  He’ll be fine.  Just fine.”

               A crooked grin touched Jeb’s lips.  “Don’t lie to me, Nick.”

               “Me?  Lie?”

               “Heath always says,...” another coughing spasm interrupted the young man for a moment.  “Heath always says you can’t look a person in the eye when you fib.”

               Nick tried to act the part of put out older brother. “Oh he does now, does he?”

               “Yep.  And you wouldn’t look me in the eye just now so I know you’re lyin’.  Heath’s not okay.”

               Nick rubbed his palms over the thighs of his pants.  This time his eyes met Jeb’s.  “No, Jeb.  No, Heath’s not okay. He’s,...he’s pretty bad off right now.”

               “He’ll pull through, Nick.  I know he will.  Heath,...well him and I have gotten to be pretty good friends these last couple years.”

               “I know that.  And I appreciate how you looked past everyone’s prejudices regarding Heath and helped show the other men what a good guy he is.”

               “Don’t thank me, Nick.  Friendships,...well they just happen.  And because Heath’s my friend I know he hasn’t always had an easy life.  He don’t talk much about it, never says nothin’ in a way that would make a person think he wants anyone to feel sorry for him or anything.”

               “No.  Heath’s got too much pride for that.”

               “That’s some of it.  But some of it,...well, I don’t reckon he really looks back on his growin’ up years and thinks of them as all that bad.  He has a lot of good memories of his mother and the home she made for him.  I guess maybe her love kinda makes up for everything else in Heath’s mind.”

               Nick gave a thoughtful nod.  “Heath doesn’t talk to me about his mother very often, but I imagine you’re right.”

               “Anyway, what I wanted to tell you is that Heath’s made it through a lot of rough spots in his life.  He’ll make it through this one, too.”

               “I know that, Jeb.”  Nick smiled while patting the young man’s leg.  “Now come on, let me help you get settled back down on this bunk.  You want a glass of water?  Some soup maybe?”

               The cowboy shook his head as Nick helped him ease to a reclining position. 
He fought to keep his eyes open. “No.  No, I don’t need anything. Thanks for offerin’ though.”

               No, you don’t need anything but quinine. Nick looked around the room.  You and everyone else in this building.  And we have one dose for Heath.  One dose.  Will one dose really make that much difference in the long run?  Could that make the difference between life and death for Heath, or life and death for someone in here?  But Heath is sicker than these men.  Even Jake says so. 

               As Nick walked out into the sunlight he wished for the wisdom of King Solomon while praying for a shipment of quinine to arrive on the next train.                

               ***********      

               During the afternoon hours the quinine reduced Heath’s fever to the point he was no longer delirious.   Despite that, the disease had already taken its toll on the cowboy.  He was weak and lethargic, seemingly unaware of who was in the room with him and unable to comply with what the person was asking him to do.  As the day worn on Heath never became cognizant enough to eat which brought Audra to tears as she tried again and again to coax him into taking a bite of bread or a spoonful of soup. 

               The Barkleys worked in shifts that afternoon and evening.  Like the day before they took turns at Heath’s bedside, taking their meals at the dining room table, and getting some rest.  The normal exuberance that was a part of Victoria’s household by virtue of the personalities that lived there was missing. If Jarrod wasn’t helping with Heath then he was sitting at his father’s desk in the study attempting to do paperwork.  But more often than not Victoria found him staring out the big windows that overlooked the ranch yard with deep worry lines  creasing the skin of his forehead. Audra no longer bounded throughout the house as though she didn’t have a care in the world.  Gone was that beautiful  smile her father had loved so much and the teasing remarks she would normally toss to one of her brothers at the drop of a hat.  And Nick,...well, if Nick wasn’t sitting with Heath, or outside tending to the animals, or checking on their sick employees, then he wandered aimlessly from room to room.  Victoria knew he was barely eating or sleeping. Even when Nick went to his bedroom to rest his mother would hear him pacing the floor or tossing and turning on the mattress; getting up, then lying back down, getting up, then lying back down; this cycle of torment repeating itself for hours at a time. 

               It was ten o’clock that night when Victoria took over at Heath’s bedside.  She found Nick standing at a window, staring out at the moonless night.  She walked up behind her son and placed her hands on his upper arms.

               “Nick?”

               The cowboy turned his head just enough to look down at his mother.  He gave her a weary smile and voiced a quiet, “Hi.”

               “How have things been?”

               Nick’s eyes traveled to his brother.  Victoria felt, as well as saw, her son shrug his shoulders.

               “About the same as they’ve been ever since Jake left.  I’ve tried to get Heath to eat a couple times, but he’s too out of it to understand what I want him to do.  Jarrod stopped in a little while ago and helped me force some soup down his throat, but in the end I think we did more harm than good.”

               “It caused him to him choke,”  the woman guessed.

               “Yeah.  He got to coughing so hard I thought he was gonna,...well, let’s just say we won’t be doing that again.”

               Victoria patted a soft hand against Nick’s back before releasing him.  She walked over to the nightstand and straightened the items sitting on top of it.  Nick returned to staring out at the darkness while his mother added fresh water to a bowl, refolded the clean towels that had been knocked askew, gathered up the wet towels, and covered the soup that had now turned cold.  Victoria set the pot of soup on Heath’s dresser.  She bent and picked up the sweat-soaked linens Nick had taken off the bed at some point.  She folded them, laid the damp towels on top of them, then stacked everything outside Heath’s door for Jessybell or Silas to gather.

               Victoria tried to lighten the mood when she stepped back into the room.

               “We haven’t seen this much laundry since Audra and Eugene were both in diapers.”

               Nick didn’t even crack a smile, nor did he face his mother when he spoke. 

               “Speaking of Gene, the next time Jake’s out here do you think we should have him telegram Gene about what’s happening?  About Heath being sick?”

               Victoria didn’t say what she was thinking.  That by the time Gene got the telegram the crisis would be over and Heath would either be on the road to recovery or would be dead.  If the latter turned out to be the case Gene and his wife, Anna, would never be able to arrive in time for the funeral. 

               “I think the best course of action is for me to write Gene and Anna a letter at the end of the week.”

               Nick turned.  “End of the week?”

               Victoria did no more than nod her head.  In that instant she could see  Nick understood what she was saying.  By the end of the week they’d know one way or another if Heath was going to be alive to see another day.

               “I,...yeah, I guess we might as well wait.  I don’t suppose it makes much difference either way.  It’s not like Gene’s gonna be able to get here if,...if Heath,....if...”

               Nick didn’t have the heart to finish his sentence.   

               “Regardless of how far away he is, Gene would want to be here if he knew, Nick, and that’s what counts.”

               The cowboy nodded and once again moved to gaze out at the velvet sky. 

               “Honey, why don’t you try to get some sleep.”

               When her son didn’t answer Victoria crossed the room and placed a hand on his back.  “Nick?”

               “I,...I didn’t realize until this week how much I’ve come to depend on him.”

               “Heath?”

               “Yeah.”

               “I know you do, sweetheart.  We have a big operation.  Heath has been a great help to you since he came to us.”

               “No,.....I don’t mean that.  The work.  I mean,....I,...I guess ever since I was a kid I knew Jarrod would never be interested in running the ranch day after day.  And by the time Gene was no more than nine or ten I knew he would never be interested in running the ranch either.   But that didn’t really matter to me because there was Father.  I knew Father and I would work together for years to come. But then Father died, and even though I never said anything, I was,....lonely I guess you’d call it.  I missed him.  His laugh, his smile,...I missed just having another Barkley to turn to for an opinion on a sick animal, or for his thoughts on a string of horses I wanted to buy.  I missed having someone by my side that I could trust with my life.  Heath,....Heath’s given me back all those things.  I didn’t just wake up one morning and realize that.  It took a long time.  Maybe even a couple years.  But it’s like his presence has made me whole again.  Has made running this ranch a joy again.  I always wanted one of my brothers to be my partner.  Years ago I thought that dream had died when I realized Eugene was meant for other things in this world just like Jarrod.”  Nick shook his head as he looked at his sick brother.  “Who would have ever thought it?  The day he rode on this ranch and told me who he was,....jeez, who would have thought it?”

               “None of us,” Victoria smiled.  “Not that night, and not for many nights to come.  But God answers our prayers in very unexpected ways sometimes, Nick.  I suppose you could say Heath’s arrival helped start the mending of the heartache you’d been carrying around inside you since the day your father died.”

               “Yeah.”  Nick pulled his mother to his chest.  “Yeah, I suppose you could say that.  If he,....”

               Victoria craned her head to look up at her son.  His cheeks and chin were shadowed by beard stubble and dark circles ringed his eyes. In that regard he didn’t look any different from the sick man in the bed.

               Nick’s voice was no more than a whisper.  “If Heath,...if he,....I don’t know if I can bury my partner again.  I don’t know if I have it in me.”

               Victoria wanted to assure her son that without a doubt he possessed the strength he needed to face whatever life brought his way.  But right now she knew any words she said would be lost on him, so she settled for wrapping her arms around his waist and holding him as tightly as she could.  Nick clung to his mother a long moment, then released her without speaking. He paused for a second as he passed Heath’s bed.  He reached down and laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. 

               “Good night, Mo. I’ll be back in to check on you a little later.”

               Victoria smiled at the nickname.  She’d asked Heath once if it bothered him to have Nick call him that.  The blond man had tossed her a crooked grin and said simply, “It beats being called ‘boy.’  Now that I hated.”

               Without looking at his mother Nick shuffled out of the room. 

               Victoria turned the oil lamp to the softest glow possible then sat in the chair next to Heath’s bed.  Though she doubted anyone was getting a restful night’s sleep the house was quiet.  She heard Nick cross from the bathroom to his bedroom, then heard the slight squeak of his mattress as he laid down.  When Heath started coughing she got up and closed his door.  She moved back to her chair and sat by helplessly as the powerful spasms brought him off his pillows. There wasn’t much she could do to help him other than hold onto his shoulders to keep him from falling out of bed.  When the fit passed he slumped back to the pillows without ever having opened his eyes.  Victoria called his name, but he didn’t respond to her.  She felt his face and realized his temperature was on the rise.  She thought about giving him the last of the quinine, but decided to try to control the fever with cold compresses first.  The quinine might be needed more as the night wore on than it was needed right now.

               Victoria sponged the warm body.  The wet towel moved from Heath’s forehead, to his cheeks, to his neck, to his shoulders, and finally ran over his chest.  Time and time again the woman repeated this routine that she could now do in her sleep.

               Twenty minutes later Victoria left the room for fresh water and warm soup.  Even though she closed Heath’s door behind her Victoria could hear him coughing all the way in the kitchen.  By the look on Silas’s face when he appeared from his bedroom down the back hall Victoria knew he could hear Heath as well.  The black man didn’t say word as he took the pitcher from Victoria and filled it with cold water.  The woman got a deep bowl from the cabinet, found a tin lid that would fit it, then placed both items on a small plate.  She took the quilted pot holder Silas handed her and lifted the lid on the soup he’d left warming on the stove.  She cocked an eyebrow at her house servant.

               “Beef vegetable soup?  Now, Silas, I know Heath didn’t eat all the chicken soup you made Tuesday morning.”

               “No, Ma’am.  He hasn’t hardly been eatin’ a morsel of anything.  But Mr. Heath loves my beef vegetable soup.  He tells me so every time I make it. I thought maybe he’d eat some of it for us.”

               “It was very kind of you to go to the extra work on Heath’s behalf.  I know how busy both you and Jessy have been since he got sick.  I don’t know what we would have done without the two of you.”

               “Me and Jessy don’t mind none, Mrs. Barkley.  Not one bit we don’t.  Besides, I haven’t had much cookin’ to do ‘cause not a one of you is eatin’ more than a baby bird.  Why I put leftovers in front of Mr. Nick two nights in a row now and he hasn’t even noticed.”

               “About the only thing Nick’s going to take notice of is the day Doctor Sheridan pronounces Heath well and fit.”

               “And that day will come, Ma’am.  I know it will.  With as hard as we’re all prayin’ it just has to.”

               Victoria patted Silas’s hand.  He carried the pitcher of water up the stairs while she carried the soup.  Silas replenished the water in the bowl then lingered a moment to see if Victoria needed any further assistance.  The woman assured him she had everything under control.

               “You look tired, Silas.  Go on back to bed.”

               Silas nodded.  He paused for a moment beside Heath.  The blond man’s face was flushed and dark circles like bruises were sunk deep beneath his eyes.  Silas rested a hand on the cowboy’s shoulder.

               “Heath, it’s your old friend Silas.  I want you to eat all the soup Mrs. Barkley brought for you.  It’s beef vegetable.  I diced carrots, tomatoes, and potatoes in it just the way you like it.  I made ‘em real small so you can even swallow ‘em if it’s easier for you.”

               Heath’s eyes fluttered open. Victoria immediately noticed the glassy quality that broadcast the severity of his illness and fever.  Silas spoke to Heath again, but the blond man didn’t attempt to focus on him.  Silas waited a few more seconds, then gave Heath’s shoulder a squeeze before leaving the room.  The old man shut the bedroom door then stopped in the hallway long enough to retrieve the dirty linens and say another prayer.

               Victoria set the soup on the nightstand, then strained to pull Heath forward and rest his upper body against her shoulder.  She worked around his limp weight, straightening his pile of pillows with one hand while holding onto his slick shoulders with the other.  When she laid him back against the pillows he was almost sitting straight up.

               Heath couldn’t recall ever experiencing a stranger day.  Opening his eyes, something he’d always done automatically, now took all the concentration he could muster.  And even then, more often than not he failed.  It seemed to Heath as though someone was always moving him; carrying him from one room to another, rolling him from his right side to his left, trying to get him to walk to God knows where.  He remembered two men being on either side of him attempting to bear his weight.  He had no idea who they were, or what they wanted of him, or where they were taking him, and then his legs gave out from underneath him.  The next thing Heath knew he was back in bed and being encouraged to make use of a chamber pot so maybe he’d told one of the men he needed to go to the bathroom, but if he did voice any such thing he didn’t remember doing so. 

               Sometime during the afternoon the features of these people who were attending him grew into a foggy blur.  At times he could identify the blue of someone’s eyes, or recognize the gray in a shirt, but it was as if those splashes of color had been painted on nameless, faceless ghosts, and it scared him.

               The woman was back now though.  He wasn’t frightened of her.  Her touch was always cool against his hot skin and she never pounded on his back like that loud man did.  He tried to bring her face into focus as she spooned soup to his mouth. He didn’t feel like eating.  Nothing had any taste, and when he swallowed it felt like he had jagged pieces of broken glass sticking to the insides of his throat.  But she wanted him to try.  He could hear her saying it over and over again, “Try for me, Heath.  Please, sweetheart, try to eat a little something.”               So he did try because for some reason he knew he never wanted to disappoint her. When he started to cough and upset the soup bowl in the process she didn’t even get angry.   She jumped up as though she was worried the hot soup would burn him.  He felt the liquid splatter his naked chest and shoulders, but he was already hot so really, what harm could it do?