Grace Will Lead Me Home

Part 2

By Star

The train whistle announced it's departure from Stockton, as it slowly gathered steam, the chugalug sound getting stronger as it picked up the pace.  The occasional uneven bumps in the track, seemed to go unnoticed as Victoria's gaze held fast to the front page of the daily paper.  The previous prison break from San Quentin was old news, but still the main topic of newspapers around the valley.  Victoria skimmed down the page, preferring to skip the familiar facts of which she was already well acquainted.  The ongoing and well publicized story, hashing and rehashing the escape of Captain Rizley, along with Pete Sinclair and a bloodthirsty psycho called Tinsler, had become old and stale.   

She scanned down several more paragraphs and soon became intently absorbed in the latest findings.  It had been suspected all along, that there had been inside help, but now, the local authorities had solid evidence that one of the guards had been key in helping the convicts escape.   

She continued to read and drew a sharp breath.  The trial for Captain Rizley, and all the other's involved, had been long and tedious.  Supporting her three sons by her presence, she had sat through the entire trial listening to testimony after testimony of the horrors inflicted on the prisoner's working Rizley's road gang.  She remembered well, the rancher called McGowen.  Though the sentence he had received was significantly lighter, she had considered him just as guilty as Rizley, himself.  Now, using her sons as bartering pawns, he was willing to make a deal.  He was willing to exchange some valuable information that may be vital in the safe return of her boys.  The public officials had agreed to a plea-bargain arrangement, and the manhunt was now in progress.  The article was vague in it's detail, but gave every indication of foul play and vengeful retaliation.  The San Francisco Police Department and The District Attorney's Office had been waiting for the wires to be repaired in order to verify the whereabouts of the Barkleys.  Victoria made a mental note to wire the San Francisco Police Detective, a man by the name of Pierce Summerfield, at their next stop. 

Victoria glanced over at Audra, who seemed to be boring a hole through the train's glass window, as she peered out at the bleak, winter landscape.  Victoria set the paper aside and settled back in the plush velvet seat of the private railcar.  The rhythmic vibrations sang a lullaby as she closed her eyes and tried to relax, as each of her missing children enshrined a place in her heart. 

The familiar tick of the grandfather clock was soothing as it helped her pass the night away.  She had come to think of it as a dear friend, as on many solitude nights, it reminded her that she wasn't alone.  It had been in her family for generations, making it's journey west when she and Tom were newly weds.  They had purchased a large section of land, and though the house in which they now lived would someday be the bunkhouse, she was content.  Almost nine months pregnant, soon she would deliver.  They had hoped for many children, and Tom promised that as the babies started to arrive, he would build her a house big enough for all of them.  Her hand caressed the rounded abdomen as a powerful kick reminded her that truly, she wasn't alone.   

Her own flesh and blood.  A child that would be hers to raise and nurture.  Their firstborn.  She hoped it would be a boy.  Tom had always talked about having a son that would someday help him run the ranch.  A son that would toil hard by his father's side, helping to carve the vast empire that Tom Barkley had envisioned when he and Victoria first arrived on their recently acquired land.  Building up a dream from the rocks and clay had proved challenging, indeed.  The couple had spent many long days working side by side.  Tom had several other interests and investments around the valley, and often Victoria spent evenings alone.  She picked up her worn copy of Pilgrim's Progress and began to read.   

She hadn't read much, when the labor pains started.  They had come upon her suddenly, and were now fast and furious.  She lay down on the sofa, breathing deeply, trying to calmly work through them.  They had no hired help in those days, and the nearest ranch was miles away.  Having a baby alone wasn't what she had planned, but now, it seemed as though that was the route she was going to travel. 

The loud rap at the kitchen door was heaven sent.  She called out and soon some young neighbors were there at her side.  Wally and Jenny Miles had been out for a drive, and knowing Tom was away, had decided to stop in for a visit.  Half an hour later, Victoria was cradling a raven haired, baby boy.  They named him Jarrod, and the relationship of tender love that developed between mother and son, was so much more than any woman could ever even imagine.  He was a quiet boy.  Refined and well mannered, it was always Victoria that he would confide in.  And then came Nick. 

The four years following the birth of Jarrod, had been prosperous ones.  Tom's strong business sense had proved to be successful and the families assets greatly increased.  Staying true to his promise, Tom had built that large mansion for Victoria.  It's great white pillars, crystal chandeliers, real carpets and indoor plumbing made it one of the finest homes in the area.  With a few ranch hands and a house servant, Tom and Victoria were definitely working their way up the ladder of success. 

It was late November when Victoria gave birth to their second son.  From the moment she heard the doctor's slap against the baby's wrinkled bottom, she knew she had a screamer on her hands. 

"That boy really has a set of lungs," Tom had joked.  "Someday he'll make a fine foreman, barking out orders to the crews." 

Nick was similar to his brother Jarrod in appearance.  Both boy's shared Victoria's dark features, but inwardly they were as different as night and day.  Nick was her wild child.  Always on the go, getting into things, and trying her patience.  At night, after getting him settled into bed, she would come down to the parlor, ready to collapse.  Tom would always smile at his wife's fatigued face, knowing that soon he'd be grown and all that boundless energy used in a positive light.  He admired the boy's spunk and independence. 

"You just watch," he'd tell Victoria.  "Someday that boy will own this whole valley.  There's not one obstacle too great for him to conquer." 

"And Jarrod," Victoria would question. 

"I'm proud of both my sons," Tom would reassure her.  "I predict that someday Jarrod will become president." 

Victoria shifted her weight and continued her doze, as her third boy came to mind. 

Neither Tom or she had been there to witness his first cries as the doctor of the small mining camp handed him to his single mother.  She never had the privilege of watching him grow and develop into the fine young man that she now knew and cherished.  Her first introduction to Heath had been in the foyer of the families home just four years earlier.  From her bedroom, that night, she had heard his wild accusations and rants, accented by the sounds of tinkling glass as he stormed around the library so angry and hostile.  Nick and Jarrod had driven him away, but stubbornly, he came back.   

With the boldness of one who had every right to the good things bestowed a rightful son, he had barged into the home and helped himself to a bowl of apples she had set out.  As she confronted him, looking deep into the steely, blue eyes, she knew, without doubt, that this was Tom's son.  He had been invited to stay, and though the adjustment was difficult at first, he was now permanently grafted into the family tree.  How she loved that boy...just as much as if he had been her own.  No more, no less. 

The lonesome whistle told Victoria of the waterstop up ahead.  She brushed the moisture in her eyes and smoothed her skirt and then reached into her small handbag for a hanky.  She blew her nose, thinking of Heath and how sick he had been.  If only she had insisted.  If only... 

"What's the use," she grieved silently.  "What's done is done." 

Lifting her head, she squared her shoulders.  She was proud of her sons, all three of them, and with the same courage so evident in each, she would walk tall, facing whatever trials life had to dish out. 

**********

He stood like all naval personnel do in the "at ease" stance.  Feet squared and hands clasped behind his back.  His dark eyes had an unhealthy glow as he waited for the steward and first mate.  Why the devil was it so hard for this inept crew to follow a schedule?  As Captain of this ship, it was his duty to see to it that order and discipline were adhered to at all times.  Sighing in frustration, he turned as one of the crew called to him.   

"We're ready for the burial detail, Sir.  Will you be coming?" 

"Burial at sea, an old and stalwart tradition.  A time-held rite passed on from generation to generation.  Very well, call arms and let's have at it." 

"Sir?  Uh...We're not at sea.  We're in the mountains, remember."  

"What's that you say, Sailor?  Mountains?"  

Rizley rubbed his eyes as the officers' quarters melted away.  He was in the front room of a cabin, a fire crackling in the fireplace.  He frowned.  Where had the ship gone?  How did he get here?  He took a sip of the hot coffee near his hand and rubbed his eyes again. 

"Are you all right, Sir?"  

He felt the hand on his shoulder and threw it off, standing up and issuing a loud reprimand. 

"Get your hands off of me, Man.  I'm the commanding officer, or have you forgotten that?  I'm very aware of what's going on here," he stated loudly for Johnson as well as the large man who'd entered with him.  "Don't you threaten me!  I know you've been talking mutiny with the crew.  You'll never get away with it, I'll see you all dead first." 

"Sir, maybe you should take a rest.  We can take care of the burial detail." 

Rizley stood with his back to them.  Bear and Johnson exchanged a worried glance.  They'd all noticed that sometimes times he slipped away, but this was the most severe episode. They'd have to keep an eye on him at all times.  His lunacy and mental instability had been kept in check in prison.  Now, without supervision and medication, he was losing his battle with reality.  They watched him ease down onto the sofa by the fire and close his eyes. 

"Let's go, Bear," Johnson replied as he left the room.  

A loud crack in the fire snapped Rizley back into reality.  He looked at the clock...almost noon.  He'd get Johnson and go in town for their weekly supply run.  He needed to pick up some personal items and send a wire.  He couldn't trust the men to do that.  He stood up, walked into the hall and put on his coat, muffler and gloves.  He saw Bear and Johnson in the barn preparing the body for burial.  Sinclair was running his mouth, torturing Nick Barkley whose surly responses were earning him several blows.  The delay was due to Barkley's digging efforts being slowed down by the broken arm. 

"Johnson, let's go." 

Johnson nodded at Bear and followed Rizley to the wagon where Jarvis was already waiting.  Taking the reins, he turned to the depraved Captain.

"Ready, Sir?" 

"Carry on, Johnson, we have to get the supplies and be back in short order."

 **********

The holiday fervor and glorious spirit of the season showed her full feathers in town.  The town square was full of greens and red bows.  There were carolers on the corner singing holiday songs, vendors selling roasted chestnuts, spiced apples and hot pretzels along with hot chocolate and cider.  Shoppers and tourists crowded the streets and the clear blue sky and brilliant sun put everyone in a good mood. 

Johnson pulled the team in behind Abe's Mercantile.  Rizley had been dropped off out front and was already inside.  Johnson withdrew the small flask from inside his coat and took a good gulp.  He heard Jarvis jump off the wagon and handed over the flask.  Captain Rizley didn't permit drinking alcohol of any kind, loudly stating that it dulled the mental capacities.  But they all had a stash and used it carefully so as not to get their leader vexed.  He stomped the snow off his boots and made his way around the corner to the front door.  Jarvis followed several paces behind. 

"Yes, Sir, we got most all of this stuff," the young clerk nodded suspiciously at the bearded man, "It should only take me fifteen minutes or so to get it ready," he lied.  "Do you have your wagon outside?" 

"My man Johnson here...JOHNSON!" he bellowed impatiently. 

"Here, Sir," replied Johnson, sidling over to the Captain. 

"As I was saying, Young Man, my man Johnson here will assist you.  Johnson, Jarvis, I'm going to the telegraph office.  Be ready to leave when I get back." 

"Aye, Sir," he shuddered at the retreating back.  Jarvis caught his eye and nodded. 

"I can handle this if you want to get the wagon around to the front," the clerk suggested. 

"Good enough, Kid," Johnson replied as he took a handful of candy and motioned to his partner to follow him out of the store. 

Danny Rivers looked around to make sure they'd gone.  He looked again at the morning paper.  There on the bottom of the front page was a picture of the bearded man who'd just left.  He quickly scanned the article and gulped.  An escaped convict, maybe planning a murder?  He quickly got the order together and out on the sidewalk.  Not seeing the wagon or the man's aide, he ran to the sheriff's office.   

Rizley waited impatiently in the long line.  The wires were only working for a few hours now, and dozens of people were waiting to send telegrams.  He looked over the shoulder of the woman in front of him, his eyes grew wide in alarm when he saw the photo in the newspaper the woman's child was holding.  Backing out of line slowly, he tried not to create attention as he left.  He saw the young boy with the woman look at his photo, then at him.  He saw the child pulling on the woman's coat.  She turned and saw him, too.  He didn't wait, but rushed out the door.  Stopping briefly at the train station, he checked the posted departure information on the wall outside.  He made a quick decision and bought a one way ticket. 

Johnson pulled the wagon up and put the order in the back.  Jarvis went inside to pay the clerk, but the kid wasn't there.  Leaving the money and signing the receipt, that was still on the counter, he turned to leave...and then saw it.  He spent the next minute reading the paper's headlines.  Weighing his options, he decided the little bit of money Rizley had offered him was not worth being caught and tried for murder. 

He snatched the money from the counter and hit the cash register sale button, the drawer opened and he took the few dollars that were inside.  He eyed the new pile-lined coats on the rack nearby and shed his old beat up cotton coat for a warmer one.  He was just leaving when he heard his name called. 

"Johnson, get a load of this," he said, handing the paper up to the driver's seat. 

Johnson read the article under the photo of their leader.  These Barkleys were more trouble than they were worth.  He knew by Jarvis' troubled face that he felt the same way. 

"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?" he offered and saw Jarvis nod. 

"That five-hundred bucks he promised ain't worth a neck stretchin'.  I'm gettin' outta here on the first train.  Here," Jarvis handed him half the money he'd taken, "that oughta get us up to Oregon.  Let's go!" 

Johnson jumped down and the two turned to beat a hasty retreat.  As they tromped away from the wagon, they could hear their names being called. 

"Johnson, we must leave immediately, there has been a change in our plans.  Jarvis get that order packed.  Let's go."  

Rizley climbed on board only to see the two scrambling up the street.  The devil take them, their presence wasn't required.  Rizley picked up the reins and urged the team forward.  The executions would be moved up.  He'd pack his things, take his money and go.  That motley crew wouldn't get a red cent.  

**********

"Are you sure, Danny?" Sheriff Colt Adams asked. 

"Yes, Sir, it's him.  I seen the guy with him a few times before, getting supplies.  They must be holed up in a cabin nearby." 

"Let's go!"  

The sheriff grabbed his coat and followed the teenager up the street.  They were just about to the store when a woman called to him. 

"Sheriff, Sheriff wait a minute!" 

"I'm a little busy now, Ma'am, if you'd just wait in my office, I'll be right back," he nodded to the woman and her son. 

"We saw this man in the telegraph," she said, pointing to Rizley's photo. 

"When?" 

"No more than five minutes ago.  He knew he'd been recognized.  He got out of line and ran up the street...to the train, I think!" 

"Thanks, Ma'am, you've been a big help." 

The sheriff and Danny raced to the store.  Finding it empty, they ran to the train station.  Rizley wasn't there, but the ticket agent recognized his photo and told the lawman so. 

"Yes, Sir, that's him.  He bought a one-way ticket.  Couldn't be more than ten minutes ago." 

"Where to?" 

"St. Louis...leaves at eight tonight." 

The sheriff left Danny with instructions to keep a sharp lookout.  He rounded up his deputies and gave the assignments.  One would be posted at the train station and one in the town square.  He wired Pierce Summerfield at the San Francisco Police Department, giving him the news that Rizley was in the area and the three Barkley men were missing.  He got on his horse and headed for the lodge, leaving his top deputy, Sam Heinz, in charge.

 **********

Pierce Summerfield rubbed his temples, hoping the massage would quell the headache that raged between his dark brown eyes.  Sighing, he ran a hand through the ebony hair and shook his head, his handsome face screwed up in contempt.  Rizley, a cretin, not worth his salt; subhuman, not fit to breathe the same air as Jarrod Barkley or his brothers.  He considered himself fortunate to know Jarrod Barkley and privileged to be considered a good friend.  He'd known Jarrod for over ten years now, their initial meetings were of official capacity, dealing with homicides, assaults and other crimes.  But over the years, the two had really bonded.  How many hours over those years had the two debated the right to life vs. death sentences over long dinners and brandy.  Jarrod was one of the finest men he'd ever known.  Someone who was a walking, breathing example of Integrity.  Although their  philosophies on law and justice differed, the intangible factors that gave both men such incorruptible moral fiber only cemented the relationship. He knew Jarrod respected him, and that meant a lot to him. 

He never realized how very strong his feelings for Jarrod were until these last few weeks.  Since the first wire was sent about the escape, he'd begged his blue eyed friend to take the protection the that Pierce could offer through the department.  Jarrod turned him down flat, not that he was surprised.  After the first two weeks went by with no sign of the lunatic, they suspected he'd gone north to Canada, something that was a rumor in the prison.  Then word from Mrs. Barkley at Pine Meadows just ten minutes ago.   

He thought back on how Jarrod had saved his life.  Just two years ago, after being wounded in a gun battle at the docks, he thought about quitting the force.  He'd been shot before, but not this seriously. He nearly died and it took months until he was able to return to work. During that time, he thought of his new bride and the fear in her eyes.  Something else to thank Jarrod for.  He'd introduced Pierce to Claire at a fundraiser for the centennial celebration.  Jarrod had known Claire and her family for years.  Her lively personality and terrific sense of humor made it seem a match in heaven.  Her beauty only added to the attraction.  Jarrod came to visit weekly, encouraging him, prodding and challenging him.  When all else failed, he hollered, his blue eyes flashing, his face reddened...stating that men like Pierce, whose honesty, and courage Jarrod had come to admire were too scarce.  San Francisco needed him, Jarrod said, chastising the detective's wallowing in pity and self doubts, citing that he was never a quitter.  Jarrod didn't come back the next week and it was then he absorbed all his friend's words.  He decided to stay on the force.  Now he was Lt. Pierce Summerfield and he thanked God for his decision.  Without being in this capacity, he couldn't use every fiber in his being, officially and otherwise, to see Rizley hang.  It was his turn to save Jarrod's life.  He only hoped he wasn't too late.   

"Lt. Summerfield, Captain Malone is waiting." 

"Thanks Mike, I'll be right there." 

He strapped the holster on and glanced at the photo on his desk of Claire and their baby son.  John Jarrod Summerfield, named for his grandfather and his godfather.  Rizley would be sorry he ever set foot out of that prison. 

***********

Audra swiped at the foggy window with her hand and gazed at the winter wonderland just a wall's width away.  The majestic beauty she beheld would have taken her breath away under different circumstances.  Now, it was more like a glistening veil enshrouding a murderous, savage wasteland.  Like a wolf in sheep's clothing, the stately trees, elegantly adorned with miniature drifts, held much lure, an endless number cloaking the mountainside.  The beguiling slopes seemed to beckon, but it was those same mountains that held her brothers captive.  Lost in the storm, the snow and wilderness had sealed their fate. 

Audra sighed, knowing that if fate had captured the three in the storm, their chances of surviving would supersede the odds against wanton killers bent on revenge.  Just a week and a half until Christmas, the season of giving was all around her, especially here at the lodge as sojourners prepared for the holidays ahead.  Inside she felt like dying, her misplaced brothers occupying all her thoughts. 

Jarrod had been her father figure.  Even before the death of Tom Barkley, her oldest brother had treated her like his little princess.  Her father's loss only deepened their relationship.  Tom had always been the disciplinarian, but Jarrod didn't have to assume that role during her early years.  After he was gone, Jarrod's reprimands had always been gentle. 

Nick was the brother she had always admired as a young girl.  She loved to tag along at his heels, even though her efforts weren't always appreciated.  He loved his little sister, and was always readily available when she needed a brother's assistance.  The petty bickering that would arise sometimes between the two were more of what was typical between a brother and sister. 

It was Heath, however, who had always been the one to captivate Audra.  He had been so many places and seen so many things.  His spirit had always seemed so free and untamed, though his creed of ethics was solid.  The two had bonded rather quickly after his arrival and though he could be someone soft and gentle for Audra to confide in, when opposition arose, he was as tough as nails.  From the understanding and respect established between the two, Audra knew he would defend her honor without hesitation, but had the grit to face her and tell her when she had overstepped his boundaries.  Yes, there had always seemed to be something mystical about Heath.  Her reminiscing took her back to their very first encounter. 

Audra trotted through the woods, her horse well acquainted with the familiar path.  With a gentle set of the bit, she stopped and peered through the trees at the young man kneeling beside her father's grave.  He was a stranger in these parts, perhaps a vagrant or one of Crown's hired guns.  His worn clothes told the story of hard times and self survival, but even with his shabby appearance, he carried an air of pride and dignity.  There was something about this young man that intrigued her.  She wanted to get to know him, but a formal introduction seemed awkward.  It was hard to pinpoint what made her hesitate.  Perhaps, even from a distance, she could detect his wild and rebellious nature.  Without giving it much more thought, Audra charged in.  For some strange reason, it just seemed like the thing to do. 

He was angry at first.  When he first felt the sting of her leather whip biting into his back, his prowess was cocked and ready.  He turned to meet his attacker head on, not sure what he would find.  The spunky little blond with fire in her eyes came as quite a shock.  Amusement swept in and masked his defense.  She was a tough little rascal, but restraining her was easy.  When she had finally given up her struggle and was ready to talk in a more mature manner, he could sense her desire for friendship.  She wasn't going to hand it over to him on an engraved platter, but he could read it in her eyes.  Somehow he felt as if she were a person he could trust. 

The assault had taken him quite off-guard, and he wasn't prepared for the words to follow.  He felt a distant kindred with her for a moment...a young girl who was still grieving the loss of the same man that he had yearned for during the early years of his life.  His anger suddenly began to surface.  It was apparent that she had been raised with all the good things that he had missed out on as a child.  Solid family ties, wealth, a name...but most of all a father's support and guidance. 

Audra watched as the young stranger swung into his saddle with a smooth leap and cantered off towards the ranch.  She had a feeling about this young man.  A feeling that she would someday know him with a greater depth.  Later that evening her predictions came true. 

He had claimed to be her brother.  A product of her father's adulterous affair with a single woman, and now he was here to claim his birthright.  How dare he.  She had long since tired of all the goldseekers trying to cash in on Tom Barkley's fortune.  So this had been his plan all along.  Audra's lips tightened as she turned to retreat to her room.  Jarrod and Nick had thought they'd handled it; sent him on his way.  He hadn't backed down from his claims and accusations, but she would be the one to unveil the truth.  She would be the one to present her brothers with the evidence they needed.  After all, what saddle tramp would pass up the opportunity to wet his whistle with Midas' golden daughter. 

Quickly saddling in the family's stable, she hid waited for him to ready his pony.  The Modock was corralled along with the horses belonging to the ranch hands, separate from the ranch stock.  He galloped towards the direction of town and Audra followed.  At two in the morning, the town was alive.  Drunken railroad men and hired guns infesting the streets like maggots on decaying flesh.  When derelict hands pulled her from her steed, she knew she was a girl in trouble.  Kicking and fighting like a cougar, she clawed and bit, until from out of the darkness, her deliverer swept her to safety. 

"I'm hurt!" she whined. 

"You Little Fool, you're lucky you ain't dead!" 

"Nobody, talks to me like that!  Nobody!" 

"Oh, yeah?  Try them!" 

As he shredded a cloth for bandages, she baited him.  Moving in close, she tried to seduce him.  She could feel his breath radiating warmth on her upper lip as he mouthed out the words. 

"To test your brother?" 

He hadn't taken the bait.  At first she didn't want to believe it, but now she found herself questioning her own denial, believing that this man's claims were possibly true.  Hadn't she been good enough?  Had her father been lacking in the love she, her mother and brothers had always so freely given?  So many questions left unanswered and so many emotions loose and unsettled.  It was at that moment that Audra made her decision.  She had laid out her fleece, and the answer was clear.  Heath may have yet to prove his heritage to her mother, Nick and Jarrod, but she would stand by him, casting her vote in his behalf. 

She felt a touch on her shoulder and turned to embrace her grieving mother.   

"You looked lost," Victoria murmured, "and I know how hard this must be on you." 

"It is," replied Audra, using her hand to squelch a tear, "and I miss them so.  I guess I just wanted to spend a little time with them in my thoughts...remembering the good times...and the growing times as well." 

Victoria offered her daughter a faint smile, fully understanding the grieving process and so desperately wishing she could stop the pain.  As the afternoon lengthened into evening, the two women sat together, lending strength and comfort to each other through shared loved and mutual concern. 

*********

"Make a decision, Jarrod, you're time's running out," his mind challenged over the pounding in his ears.  He had little air left as the searing pain in his lungs reminded him that he didn't have long.  Struggling to move his free hand pinned between him and the tub, he managed to make a fist.  He sent it as hard as he could into Heath's side.  He heard a loud roar and everything went black.  

The shock of the bitter cold snow jump-started his system.  Gasping and sputtering, he raised himself on all fours, unaware of his surroundings.  His stomach threw itself backwards, tossing up everything it held.  Jarred wretched until he nearly passed out from the stabbing pain in his abdomen.  Wiping his mouth, he stared dumbfounded at the snow beneath him.  His confused state was short lived, as he was roughly yanked up by the collar. 

"Welcome back to Sunshine Acres, Mouthpiece," Tinsler snarled. 

Jarrod turned and cried out, covering his eyes, unaccustomed to the blinding late afternoon sunlight. He felt himself propelled forward and landed  a few feet from a new grave.  He saw the steam rising as Sinclair spewed a mouth of chaw-juice on the burial mound. 

"See you hell, Boss Man!" Sinclair saluted as he turned away from the grave. 

"No!" Jarrod cried turning back to look at Tinsler, shock preventing any further words. 

"We tried to wake you up for the final words, but..." 

Tinsler's speech was cut off by a pained cry.  Jarrod turned and crawled towards a fetal ball curled in the snow.   

"Heath," he lifted his delirious brother and held him close, trying to give him a little warmth. 

"As much as this little reunion warms my heart," Sinclair mocked, "it's time for this boy to join his brother in hell."  

"I'll pay you three times what Rizley is offering," Jarrod pleaded.  "Name your price, I'll meet it." 

He cradled his shivering brother, rubbing the burning flesh, trying to keep the circulation going. 

"Yeah, Mr. Lawyer Man, I'm sure you got more 'an enough to buy your way outta this," Tinsler sneered, enjoying Jarrod's pained blue gaze.  "But you can also buy me a lotta other things...like life in Quentin.  No Dice!" 

"Get movin," Sinclair ordered, motioning towards a box in the snow. 

Jarrod held onto Heath tightly, refusing to budge.  The click of the gun at Heath's ear changed his mind.  He staggered, dragging Heath with him and collapsed against the iron door.  Crying out, he rubbed his hand where the icy metal, burned it.  The stabbing realization of what was about to occur cloaked him like a ghoulish blanket.  He felt Heath torn from his numbed grasp and heard the taunting squeak as the large door opened.  He pulled at Heath's leg in desperation as his brother was thrown in, the blond hair lolling against the tattered blue shirt.   

"Heath!  Heath!  Wake up!" he pleaded, raking the blond man's ankle hard with his nails. 

Heath fought hard to open his eyes, the cold air and wet ground caused him to tremble violently.  His chattering teeth tried to answer the voice he recognized as Major Harris.  He'd been like a father to Heath since he arrived in the unit a year ago.  The major always listened carefully to what he had to say and treated him with nothing but respect.  Heath never had a father, and Major Harris' was the shoulder he leaned on, the advice he sought, and someone he became very close to.  He forced the lids to open and struggled to see.  The form was very blurry, dark hair, blue eyes...Major Harris' face disappeared and Heath closed his eyes. 

"NO, HEATH!  Look at me!" Jarrod pleaded. 

Heath squinted and saw someone else inches away.  Someone whose caring and depth of emotion was written on his face and in the intense blue eyes.  He cocked his head and for a brief moment, reality set in.  His fearful gaze took in the jaws of the iron beast that bit into his skin.  His heart pounded against his chest, his fevered eyes bore into his oldest brother's.  He reached out and grabbed Jarrod's hand. 

"Jarrod, help me, please..." 

Jarrod's heart broke at the plea, and his numbed fingers tried in vain to grasp the weak hand.  He put what little hope he had left into his voice, hoping it was enough to keep his brother fighting.

"Heath, I'm trying.  You must hang on.  Fight, Heath, fight as hard as you can. Somehow we'll get help.  We'll..." 

"Closing arguments are all done, Lawyer Man," Sinclair razzed, pulling Jarrod from the brotherly bond.  "Don't worry, Cowboy, you'll have company where you're going.  That loud mouth brother of yours is already there, waitin' for you." 

The last thing Jarrod saw before the door was slammed shut was an indescribable look of raw pain and sorrow on Heath's face as the reality of Sinclair's words hit his heart.  Heath looked hard at him, right into his eyes and nodded in farewell.  Then the blank stare returned as his tormented brother returned to the world in which he couldn't feel any pain.  Jarrod fought and screamed as they tried to drag him away, clutching at the snow.  He heard the almost childlike voice crooning from the box. 

"Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail, and mortal life shall cease,

I shall possess within the veil, A life of ...." 

The verse from Amazing Grace ended abruptly.  Jarrod shook his head in despair.  The crude laughter behind him faded away.  The decision came quickly, followed by a reassuring calmness.  He looked at the box and back at the two armed guards. Rising to a crouching position, he unleashed a feral cry and pounced, slamming the startled Tinsler into a tree and stunning him.  Sinclair hauled on his collar and Jarrod turned, hitting him in the throat.  The keys dropped into the snow.  Jarrod grabbed them and gouged at Sinclairs face as the guard tried to stop him.  He staggered over to the box and fumbled with the lock, cursing his numbed fingers.  The shot came suddenly; he slammed into the box and dropped without a sound.    

Heath heard the unearthly cry and looked out the small window in the box.  He saw Jarrod and Major Harris meld, and blinked in confusion as the landscape kept changing from the mountains to a battlefield.  He saw the figure stumble forward and heard the keys jingling.  The shot caused him to cry out, but Jarrod never did.  The last tendon holding Heath's frazzled mind together snapped with sight of his beloved brother's body sliding down the box.  He never flinched as his brother's blood hit his cheek and mixed with the tears running freely.  

**********

"Nice work, Boss Man," Sinclair mocked as he propelled Nick ahead of him, through the open door of his cell.  "Another one bites the dust," the fiend grinned.  "That bastard brother of yours will be next, and I'm gonna make sure you've got a front row seat." 

"You'll have to kill me first," Nick growled, turning and squaring his tormentor straight in the eye. 

"Now, Look!" Sinclair snarled.  "Around here we don't take orders from mucky-mucks like you, Barkley.  If I say your gonna watch, that's the way it's gonna be.  Even if I have to make use of a stock to hold that hard head of yours!" 

"You make me sick," Nick voiced angrily as he spat in his former employee's eye, glaring at Sinclair with all the hatred he could muster. 

"Why you..."   Sinclair's anger was evident as we used his hand to brush away the loose spittle.  "Okay, Mr. High-N-Mighty-Boss Man, you're gonna get your wish...right now," Sinclair's eyes flashed as he brandished a long, double edged knife.  "I'm gonna carve you up, bit by bit, and feed the pieces to that mongrel brother of yours." 

Nick saw the glistening steel and the murderous look in the avenger's eye.  He felt a warm rush and positioned himself to meet the attacker head on.  Sinclair circled and made a swipe, barely glancing Nick's arm as he blocked the stab with his right arm. 

"You're as good as dead, Barkley," he seethed, getting ready to lash out again. 

With a swift, sudden flick at the knee, Nick used the toe of his boot to send the assailant's weapon flying.  Sinclair's eyes followed the soaring toad sticker as Nick cuffed him hard on the left side of his head.  The element of surprise was in Nick's favor, but days of torture and starvation were definitely his handicap.  Grabbing the stick in his belt, Sinclair advanced, swinging like a madman.  Striking the dark haired cowboy across his back, Nick fell to his knees, momentarily stunned.  It didn't take but a split second for Sinclair to scramble for the fallen knife and give his boot a resting place in Nick's ribs.  His lips covered in blood and slobber, Sinclair was practically foaming at the mouth.   

"Okay, Boss Man, say your prayers," he menaced, pressing Nick's throat to the ground with his boot heel. 

Nick struggled with all his might, both hands grasping the booted ankle, in hopes that he would have the strength to topple Sinclair.  Crouching down and compressing his weight, Sinclair was anchored and unmovable.  Pressing the steely tip under Nick's chin, he applied just enough pressure to draw a red bead. 

"I was gonna go easy on you, Boss Man," he hissed, teasing Nick with the knife, "but you had to go and play it stupid.  Well, now I'm gonna start dissecting you, one piece at a time." 

"Sinclair!" 

Sinclair turned and saw that it was Tinsler who had barked his name from the doorway. 

"The Captain ain't gonna like it," Tinsler warned.  "You heard what he said about us gettin' our cut and all.  It's got to be done accordin' to plan...his plan.  Now get that sorry hide of yours back upstairs.  Rizley's gone into town and left us in charge.  We're supposed to be keepin' a good lookout while he's away." 

Reluctantly, the tall man stood, glowering at Nick and then at Tinsler as he defiantly crossed the floor of the cell.  Nick closed his eyes and breathed a silent prayer of thanks.  When he reopened them a menacing, gold-toothed smile came into view. 

"You're gonna be all mine, Barkley...it's all part of the contract." 

Sealing the promise with a kick in the ribs, Tinsler departed, leaving Nick to dwell on his words. 

What a mess he had made of things.  First it was his stubborn determination to be the one to single handedly rescue Jarrod, and then he had drugged his equally stubborn half-brother, not even stopping to consider what might evolve when the medication wore off.  Wasn't he the one who had assumed the position of shield and guardian after his father was killed?  What a great mantle of responsibility had been placed on the shoulders of the young Nick Barkley.  The head-of-household role had seemingly gone to Jarrod, but it was Nick, the lionhearted, who would use his strength and savvy to protect the Barkley lair.   

Nick lay his flushed cheek on the cool earthen floor.  He felt as is all the fight he had left had just been spent.  His reservoir was drained.  What big shoes his father had left for him to fill.  What would he say if he could see him now?  Jarred was dead and Heath was just about there, as well.  Soon it would be his turn.  Hell, he hadn't even been able to take care of himself, much less his two brothers.  Surely his father would be ashamed to call him 'Son'.  Perhaps, now, death would be something for him to welcome rather than to shun.  How could he go home and face his mother and sister alone?  He closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep, his spirit broken as his strength waned. 

"Nick, wake up, Son!" 

Nick opened his eyes and looked around the darkened cell.  Yes, he was still here, but the voice was distinct and clear. 

"Father?  Is that you?" 

"Yes, I'm right here, Son.  I just wanted to let you know how proud I am of you." 

"You?  Proud of me?" Nick ventured, defeat in his voice. 

"You're a son that would make any father proud, Nick, and I'm so glad that the Lord in Heaven decided to give you to me." 

The cell was unlit, but Nick could see his father's whiskered face as sure as if it was broad daylight.  Though the gentle eyes told a story of love and respect as Tom Barkley placed a hand on his middle son's shoulder, Nick was too downcast and dejected to hear what his father was trying to tell him.   

"Yeah, I guess I just paint a real rosy picture of what a father would want for a son," he scoffed, wallowing in self pity and disgust.  "Just charging ahead like I always do, not stopping to weigh out the consequences.  Who cares if I lose a couple of brothers in the process," Nick dramatized, sneering at his own ineptness to bring his brothers to safety.  I've got plenty more in my hip pocket." 

"You stop right where you are, Nick, and listen to what I have to say.  You're a Barkley, Nicholas Jonathan Barkley, my son, and I didn't raise you to be a loser or a quitter...and I certainly won't have you wallowing in that mudhole of self pity you're in right now!  You're no longer a boy of fifteen, Nick, you're a grown man...and someone that I admire very much, just as I do your brothers." 

"It's too late, Father.  I've got nothing left..." his voice trailing, he cast his eyes to the dirt floor of his cell. 

"You've got your pride, Nick, and no one can ever take that away from you.  Now you pull yourself up by those bootstraps, Boy, the family can't survive without you.  You fight with all your heart, Nick.  Be the man that I saw in that fiery boy so many years ago!  You did your best, Son.  You fought like a Barkley and you continue to fight!  You bring your brothers home!" 

Nick opened his eyes again, only this time it was for real...the stabbing pain in his left arm and cracked ribs told him that.  He felt his chin and scratched off the crusted spot of blood.  Yes, it had only been a dream and this was all real.  Oh, how he wished that it were the other way around.  To wake up, finding his father by his side, and knowing that all this pain and suffering had been nothing more than a wild nightmare.  Nick groaned as he tried to ease himself up.  He was weak, but that spirit of fight and survival had been renewed.  He would heed the words of his father, even though it had only been a dream.  Somehow, someway, he would bring his brothers home...both of them.  Nick swallowed the lump in his throat as he thought of Jarrod.   

"You're going home, Pappy," he vowed.  "Home to be with Father, and that's one promise I ain't gonna break." 

**********

The darkness closed in, and Jarrod's tormented thoughts finally lulled themselves into temporary tranquility.  From a distance, he could hear the strains of an old familiar hymn being sung.  It had always been a favorite of his, and the powerful stanzas of the song seemed to lift him up in spirit as his unconscious roamed to find rest.  Everything was pitch black, but the words and notes echoed so vibrantly that he could feel his weakened soul and body drawing on the much needed strength.  The music seemed to be coming closer as the volume and intensity of the message grew louder and louder.   

"Why is it so dark?" he thought.  "That music has to be coming from somewhere." 

"Open your eyes," his subconscious seemed to answer. 

"Okay," he reasoned, obediently lifting the swollen lids, "I'm willing to give that a try." 

He squinted in the darkness as a warmth seemed to permeate his body.  He couldn't exactly explain the sensation of what he was feeling...it was something that he'd never quite experienced before.  Suddenly he began to feel an overwhelming joy inside and a peace that surpassed anything he had ever known.  He peered off through the darkness from where the music seemed to coming.  Gazing up, he saw a beautiful star, much like the one that he had often imagined led the three kings to the Christ Child.  Like the magi had done in days of old, if he could just follow that star.  If he could just somehow....    

Jarrod closed his eyes again, knowing it was futile.  His spirit was willing, but his flesh, so weak.  No, he wouldn't follow the star this time, but he would bask in it's presence.  He would allow the heavenly shafts of it's bright beams to renew his strength and faith.  He listened, as from inside his innermost being a promise that he had once read in the Bible seemed to be magnified within his soul. 

"I will never leave you nor forsake you." 

Jarrod meditated on those words, feasting on each tender mercies of truth and grace.  Somehow he would make it through this ordeal.  Somehow he would be reunited with his brothers and the three of them would journey home together, and they would not be alone.  Jarrod lay back, continuing to drift in his bliss, not wanting the moment to end.  He knew that much too soon, he would have to travel the path that led back into that dank, dark cell and the painful reminder of how mortal his flesh truly was.  Sooner or later reality would wake him, but for now his weary soul would find rest.

 **********

"Pierce Summerfield, San Francisco Police.  Open the gate!" 

The dark haired detective held out his badge as the uniformed guard squinted at it in the lantern light.  Lieutenant Summerfield cantered through the heavy, spiked, iron gates of San Quentin as the keeper of the post granted him passage.  The tall, stone walls of the states largest prison loomed before him, somber and silent.  Once inside the warden's office, Detective Summerfield got straight to business. 

"I understand you're housing an inmate by the name of McGowen," he stated bluntly, staring over the desktop of Warden Buxley. 

"Yup, sure enough do," the warden answered, stoking his stubbled jowls.  "He was almost involved in that prison break a few months back, but didn't quite make it.  We've been holding him in maximum security ever since." 

"I'd like to have a word with him, if I may." 

The matter-of-fact tone and piercing dark eyes made the statement more of an order than a request.  Though young in years, Pierce Summerfield had a reputation as an investigator who was fair, but tough.  He was a defender of rights and justice and didn't believe in coddling the criminal.  Though Warden Buxley had been known to take bribes from time to time, he wasn't even going to attempt such a foolish move with this man.  He would surrender himself in an utmost cooperative manner, not wanting to agitate this badge-toting professional.   

"Clemmens!" he called to his personal aid.  "Cuff McGowen and have him brought into the interrogation room." 

"I'm on it, Sir!" 

Summerfield paced, his tension increasing, as the guards left to prepare the prisoner.  Fifteen minutes later, Lieutenant Pierce Summerfield was standing face to face with the man who had one time been one of the states leading businessmen.   

"So you're the infamous McGowen," Summerfield stated as he tried to keep his anxiety from showing.  "I've read an awful lot in the papers about you, Mr. McGowen." 

"I reckon I've made a name for myself," the imprisoned rancher replied cockily. 

"You're probably wondering why I've called for you," the detective continued, "so I'm not going to hold back any punches.  I want you to tell me everything you know about the escape that happened here last fall." 

"What makes you think I've got answers," McGowen tried.  "Just 'cause Rizley and I knew each other, doesn't mean that in here, his business was mine.  Around here you stay out of trouble by keeping your nose where it belongs.  I just keep to myself and people leave me alone." 

"Come now, Mr. McGowen.  You can do better than that!"  Detective Summerfield was now leaning on the small table behind which McGowen sat, drilling deeply into his shifty eyes.  "I happen to know that you were in cahoots with Rizley the night those three escaped.  I also happen to believe that you had just as much reason to want to get even as he did.  Now, what do you say you and me talk a little business." 

"What kind've business you got in mind?" McGowen questioned suspiciously. 

"I'm talking about a plea bargain arrangement, McGowan.  Ever heard of that before?  It simply means that you scratch my back and I scratch yours.  Now, are you willing to cooperate?" 

"Might be," the rancher replied thoughtfully.  "What exactly is in it for me?" 

"Well, for starters I can tell you what is in it if you withhold any information leading to the capture of Rizley and there are some people hurt in the process.  You may be guilty of aiding and abetting murder, Mr. McGowen.  So far the charges brought against you are strictly parolable offenses.  If you get a murder rap in addition, it could be the gallows."  

McGowen eyed the detective, not sure whether to believe him or not.  He hadn't planned on doing any squealing but maybe he could work things to his advantage.  Two years in prison and the game was getting old.  He wanted out. 

"Maybe you could sweeten things up for me a bit," he drawled, placing his cuffed wrists on the table before him, looking Pierce straight in the eye.  "Maybe you could be talkin' to that warden about an early parole." 

"I've got certain authority invested in me as a member of the Police Department in San Francisco," the detective bargained.  "You just cooperate with me a bit here, and I'll do what I can.  I can talk to the judge about getting your sentence reduced." 

"Can I have that in writing?" the rancher requested. 

"Guard!" the detective summoned.  "Bring me a pen and something I can write on!" 

Grasping tight onto this sliver of new hope, the detective's faith was kindled.  He would gather what information he could from McGowen and board the next train to Pine Meadows.  Through his perseverance and determination, justice would prevail. 

  **********

"Come on, talk!" 

The fervent demands accompanied by the sound of leather slapping leather, caused Sheriff Adams to abruptly set down the coffee pot and hustle back to the rear section of the jail where he had left Detective Pierce Summerfield to interrogate the kidnapping suspects. 

"I already told you once, Mister.  I ain't talkin'!" 

Johnson's voice was defiant as he sat handcuffed in a cell, deliberate disrespect etched in his fleshy face.  In one cell over, Jarvis sat wearing a very similar expression. 

"Oh, you'll talk, all right," the detective vowed.  "If I have to get me a wooden club and beat it out of you, you'll talk!"

"Summerfield!"

The sheriff's voice was sharp.  His deputies had come across two men, often seen with Rizley, trying to board the West Coast bound train.  It hadn't been difficult to put two and two together and come up with four.  The men, Johnson and Jarvis, had been surly and insubordinate from the start.  The Sheriff had all but given up, when the San Francisco Police Detective had shown up at the front desk. 

"Let me try," Summerfield had insisted.  "I'll handle them!"

Figuring that what he hadn't been able to do, this man, an expert, quite possibly could, Sheriff Colt Adams had led the slender built detective back to face the burly thugs.  It became quite apparent, as the interrogation commenced, that this man, Pierce Summerfield, had more than just his job at stake.  It was obvious to this small town sheriff that the execution of duty was much more personal than a policeman carrying out his orders for a manhunt.

"That's not the way we do things around here," the sheriff continued sternly.  His tone mellowed as he added, "Let's lay off for right now, Lieutenant.  Maybe he'll feel more like talkin' later."

"I'm sorry, Sheriff," Summerfield replied, brushing back the ebony locks in fatigued exasperation.  "Guess I just got a bit carried away, but I'm just about positive that these Mongoloids know where those three missing men are being held and I don't plan on taking 'won't talk' for an answer!"

"Well, you know what they say," Sheriff Adams offered as the door of the jail cell clanged shut behind them.

"What's that?" the detective huffed.

"You can attract more flies with sugar, than vinegar."

"Look, these aren't flies we're dealing with, Sheriff, they're more like leeches.  Leeches on society who more than likely have some strong leads to the whereabouts of my good friend, Jarrod Barkley.  Now, if my assessments of the situation are correct, we have precious little time available to us before it's too late."

"Come now, Lieutenant.  You don't know that for a fact."

"I'm not going to argue with you, Sheriff.  If Rizley made a ticket reservation for eight o'clock this evening, do you really think he's going to be leaving behind any witnesses when he leaves?" Summerfield's dark eyes furied as he pounded his fist against the wall. 

"Now look!  You gotta cool down!  You losin' your head won't do Barkley any good."  The sheriff pushed the irate policeman through the door past his desk. 

"With all due respect, Sheriff," Summerfield countered, throwing the arm off, "you don't know him.  He's more than a friend, and I won't let these animals get away with what they've done.  If it means me pounding a little flesh..." 

Pierce tried to strong-arm his way back to the cell and felt a strong set of hands pull him back. 

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Sheriff Adams demanded, pulling Summerfield outside.  "You don't set one foot back in here until you cool down!  Do I make myself clear?  This is MY house, Detective, you don't dictate the rules!"  

Pierce's dark eyes blazed as he grabbed his coat as it was offered.  The sheriff's strong grip didn't subside until he nodded and walked away, towards the town square. 

Summerfield noticed the late afternoon sun as it started start to fade and worried that he was allowing his personal feelings to interfere with his professional duty.  He offered a silent prayer, hoping his rash actions wouldn't prove fatal for Jarrod or his brothers.

 **********

Bear slouched on the sofa, enjoying the freedom as much as the whiskey.  He looked up as Tinsler entered the room, carrying a bottle of scotch.  Flopping on the floor next to the fire, he pulled the cork out with his stained teeth and offered a toast.

"To dead Barkleys!" 

"Here, here," Bear saluted and took a healthy gulp. 

"When's Rizley comin' back?"  Tinsler asked. 

"Dunno.  Not for a while, I hope.  He's getting to be a real pain in the..." 

"BEAR!"  Sinclair's voice bellowed from the hall. 

"What ?" the guard answered.  

"Why'd you leave your post?" 

"Cause it's cold out there and it's warm in here."  

"Yeah, well he's gone!  He's not in the box!" Sinclair accused. 

"Would you relax.  Here, have a shot of this, it'll calm them jumpy nerves of yours," Bear grumbled. 

"Take it easy, Pete," Tinsler offered, "I moved him back inside." 

"Why?" Sinclair demanded. 

"Cause that's what the orders were.  Only leave him there to make the lawyer nuts.  Then move the bastard inside.  Use 'im to drive the lawyer mad, like some kinda ghost.  He's just about gone anyhow.  I left him in the cellar." 

"Well, I'd better check. " 

"You do that, Pete," Tinlser rolled his eyes behind the guards back as Bear laughed in delight. 

Sinclair returned and brought a bottle of brandy with him.  Soon all three were drunk, celebrating the freedom from the tightrope Rizley kept them on.  Talk was light and foolish at first, but as the evening waned, the liquor acted as a catalysis, fueling bitter feelings of hatred and vengeance.  Sinclair had been sullen all day, still nursing a headache after his earlier encounter with Nick.  He could still feel the warm, goop running down the side of his face and the cloudy vision right after the wad hit his eye.  Even more vividly, he could still see the stoical face as Nick gave testimony against him on the witness stand during his court trial.  He owed that Barkley pig bigtime, and this time it would be on his terms.  Tonight would be the night...Sinclairs mind was set.  Pulling him self up from the table, he grabbed the bottle of brandy, and tilting it to his lips, sealed his vow. 

"I'm gonna kill that S.O.B, right now," Sinclair stated, staggering to the door. 

"No, you aint'," Tinsler ordered.  "You do and we won't get any of that two-thousand bucks Rizley's supposed to fork over, so get back here.  NOW!"  

Tinsler stood, and roughly gripping the scarfaced man's arm, pulled him back in attempted restraint. 

"Get offa me.  He's mine," Sinclair cussed as he threw Tinsler off, sending him hard into the wall. 

"What's the matter, Gus," Bear needled, between rounds of laughter.  "Too sleepy to stay sober?" 

"Don't be givin' me none of that smart mouth of yours, Lumphead," Tinsler seethed, using a chair to haul himself off the floor.  "I need that two-thousand bucks and neither one of you's goin' to go pokin' no stick in the spokes.  You got that...Bubba?" 

By this time, Tinsler was on his feet and about three inches from Bear's face. 

"Hey!  Who you callin' 'Bubba'?" the large man spat angrily.  "I reckon I could think of a few..." 

Sinclair didn't hear the rest, nor did he see the tussle that ensued before the two intoxicated scoundrels passed out on the floor.  He was already out the door, bent on carrying out his mission.

**********

Nick heard coughing and the sound of something metallic being knocked over, as Sinclair staggered down the corridor for Nick's cell.   

"Damn!" he heard the scarface cuss as he kicked at the bucket from where it blocked his path.  

Crouching behind the door, Nick saw Sinclair's silhouette pasted against the back wall as the lamp in the hallway illuminated the darkened cell.  He smelled the liquor and saw the ornery guard stumble into view. 

"Where are you, Boss Man?  It's Judgment Day," he slurred, wobbling on sea legs. 

"I'll see you in hell first," Nick gritted as he charged Sinclair head-on, using his right shoulder. 

The force propelled the plastered guard, who was already unsteady, hard into the cement wall.  Nick kicked the tormentor's wrist, sending his gun flying.  The next kick caught the felon hard in the throat.  Nick's boot pressured the windpipe and he waited until Sinclair slid sideways to the floor.  Crouching warily, he felt for the pulse, not surprised that there was none.  Picking up the gun, he peered cautiously in the hall and started for the upstairs of the house. 

**********

"Get up!"  Bear smacked Tinsler's face hard. 

"Whaddya want," the bleary-eyed man moaned, completely blank of the argument they'd had a few minutes prior. 

"Time to check on the prisoners.  You take the lawyer, I'll check on Blondie." 

"Yeah, okay."  He climbed to this feet and wobbled down the stairs. 

Entering the cell, he spotted the unconscious man, just where he'd left him.  Squatting down, he felt the neck and the pulse was still throbbing steadily.  Sure did lose a bit of blood though...all over the white shirt and covering his face.  He smacked the face hard, rousing the groggy victim. 

"Wake up, Mouthpiece!  Sad to say you're still among the living." 

The pain in Jarrod's head seemed to reach a horrendous crescendo with every word spoken.  Wincing, he squinted at the triple faces of someone leering at him.  He sat up and put a hand to the sticky mess on his head.   

"Who are you?  Where am I?" he asked weakly.  

"You kiddin' me?  You can't remember?  Hah, what luck.  You're a dead man, that' s who you are...and this, here, is your prison." 

"Prison?  What are ...you ...talking... about?"  Jarrod struggled to stay conscious. 

"Shut up!" Tinsler slapped him hard. 

"Leave him alone," the strong voice gritted in determination. 

Tinsler's stood up, fear racing up his back.  He knew before he turned, who was standing behind him.  He felt his waistband, and cursed, realizing the gun was upstairs.   

"Now look, Barkley, maybe we can make a deal..." 

His thought ended rather abruptly as a lethal force sent him into the concrete wall.  Spitting the blood from his mouth as he slid away, he turned to face the menacing force.  Nick Barkley stood before him, like a malevolent vision.  Tinsler could swear the cowboy's eyes were glowing red.  He had no where to go, he was already backed into the corner.  He shrank down and covered his head, cowering. 

"Get up, you stinkin' coward!  You're gonna pay!  Oh, are you gonna pay...for every bit of hell your put me and my brothers through!" 

Tinsler tried crawling away, but Nick's strong boot sent him flying across the floor.  Tinsler dove hard at Nick's bad arm, but the grim Barkley wouldn't be denied.  He turned deftly, and Tinsler flew into the wall.  He slumped against the wall and one strong hand closed around his neck, cutting off his air supply. 

"Give my regards to Satan when you see him," the voice gritted. 

He reached for the gun and the two struggled, resulting a lone, fatal shot.  Tinsler's eyes widened in surprise as his last breath died out. 

Nick kicked the vile form out into the hall and leaned against the door, gasping in pain.  Turning he staggered and dropped next to Jarrod.  His hand found a good pulse before he wandered back into the hallway, looking for Bear.  Spotting the pitcher of water in the laundry room, he took it and some cotton towels back to where his brother lie injured.  Gently, he washed the blood from Jarrod's face and dabbed softly on the head wound across the right side of the lawyer's scalp.  Several moans caused him to stop and pull the wounded man upright.  

"Jarrod?  Can you hear me?" he tested. 

Not waiting for a reply he looked around and spotted a tin cup.  He filled it with water and took a good sip, then supported Jarrod's head and encouraged him to drink as well.  Finally, the blue eyes opened and Jarrod looked around the room, his face a puzzle. 

"Look, I know you hurt bad, but we gotta find Heath and get outta here before Rizley gets back. Heath ain't in his cell.  Do you know where he is?" 

Jarrod looked at the stranger blankly.  Heath?  The name sounded familiar, but...he looked back over at the dark haired man speaking to him.  He flashed to a scene with the man whipping a younger, blond man who was tied up.  He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. 

"I know your head hurts, but we gotta get moving.  Come on, I'll help you," Nick coaxed, pulling at his brother's arms. 

Jarrod saw the blond man again, his blue eye hurt and pleading; he was holding the blond's hand...a pain in his chest...a shallow grave.  He saw the dark man raising his hand and the whip, hitting the boy's bare back.  Opening his eyes, he felt the arm trying to pull him upright.  He threw it off and skittered to the other side of the small cell. 

"Get away from me, you killed him.  I saw you.  You're....you're one of them.  I'm not going with you," Jarrod cried as his eyes frantically raced around the room. 

Nick sat back stunned, Jarrod didn't recognize him.  The head wound was more serious than he had thought.  Thinking quickly, he used another approach.  Raising his hands in front of his chest, he showed his confused brother he meant no harm. 

"Look, that crease in your head's given you some kind of amnesia.  I'm your brother, Nick Barkley.  You're Jarrod Barkley.  Heath, our other brother, is missing.  We've been held prisoner by Rizley. You gotta remember, Jarrod.  Please try.  Where's Heath?  I can't find him." 

Jarrod's confused mind was a swirling mass of color and confusion.  So many images...the whip, the box, the blue-eye boy, a mean face with a beard.  He put his hands over his eyes and screamed. 

"No, cut that out!  Bear will hear you!" 

Nick covered the small space in one move and put a hand over Jarrod's mouth.  Jarrod panicked, squirming with all he had against the stronger man.  They wrestled briefly and something silver, dangled in front of his eyes and caused him to stop. 

"No, look Jarrod, I'm tired of foolin' around, you gotta...." 

Nick's voice stopped when he saw Jarrod fingering the coin around his neck.   

"It's Heath's.  He dropped it the first night we were here.  I'm gonna give it back to him when..." 

"He's dead," Jarrod croaked, leaning against Nick's right shoulder. 

"What do mean?" Nick demanded, pulling the confused form upright. 

"I...saw...they...he went in a metal box, outside.  There was a grave...a body....he's gone, Nick," the blue eyes mourned. 

"You show me.  I don't believe it."  

********** 

Bear squatted down next to Heath Barkley and felt for a pulse.  Damned if the kid didn't have nine lives.  The skin was hot to the touch and the breathing raspy.  He'd not last too much longer in this weather.  He had found Sinclair's body and saw Tinsler's in the hall.  The burley guard had one more gift for Heath Barkley before he made his getaway into town.   

"Shame we didn't have more time together, Blondie, I'm gonna miss you." He said with a hand on the flushed cheek. 

Hauling the unconscious man over his broad back, he stepped out into the night.   

**********

Nick stopped at the sight of the two woolen coats by the door.  He managed to get Jarrod into one and put one on himself.  Checking his gun, he frowned at the two bullets remaining.  He'd have to make them count.  Taking the lantern by the back steps, he turned it up and motioned for Jarrod to follow.  He helped Jarrod make the steps and they found themselves out in the yard.  Nick thought on Jarrod's words about a grave.  Without speaking, they stumbled to the fresh dirt and starting digging.  They didn't have to dig far.  The mud didn't cover the blond hair and familiar blue shirt.   

"Oh God, no!" Jarrod moaned, frantically clawing at the dirt. 

Nick's broken arm impaired their progress, and time seemed so much longer, but it was only seconds before they laid their brother on the frigid ground.  Jarrod's shaking hands went for the throat.  His face wore unbridled grief, giving Nick the awful answer.  Jarrod shook his head and lifted Heath, holding him close.  Nick laid a hand on the lawyer's back, his eyes dry, his heart broken. 

"Well, it would appear 597 left without permission.  Pity." 

Nick's head shot up as Rizley approached.  He threw himself at the startled man and they struggled.  Rizley hit Nick hard in the left arm, sending waves of hot pain searing through the bone and marrow.   

Kicking the cracked ribs, Rizley scrambled away.  Nick felt numb to the pain, but his anger raged.  He was on his feet in a flash, following Rizley through the dark.  The woods were no place for amateurs and Rizley knew he shouldn't wander far.  He waited behind a large tree with a rock, ready to extinguish Nick's wrath, once and for all.   

The woods were still and silent except for the sounds in the woods of Nick's boots crunching the virgin snow.  Nick tuned his ears, keenly picking up any sound.  The labored breathing was getting louder and he knew he was close.  The moon was but a sliver, making it difficult to see.   

From out of the brush, Rizley sprang, catching the victim unawares.  Nick went down hard, loosing his hold on the gun.  Rizely noticed the silver glint as it tumbled to the ground.  Releasing his grip on the rock, he dove for the gun.  Grabbing it, he hauled Nick upright, holding the gun to his throat. 

"Let's go 370, it's time for and your brother to be sentenced." 

Jarrod hugged his brother's lifeless body against his chest.  Heath's head resting just below his chin. He wrapped his arms around Heath and rocked, the tears freezing to this cheeks before they could trickle down to the shoulders of tattered, blue shirt. 

"I'm so sorry, Heath." 

Jarrod stopped rocking and listened.  Did he imagine it?  Pulling Heaths nose and mouth closer to his ear, he listened intently.  

"HEATH!  HEATH!" Jarrod slapped the cold face forcefully. 

A wet cough was his answer.  He laughed, the tears he spilled, now sprung forth with joy and gratitude.  He hugged his brother close and slowly pulled him into the house.  It seemed like an eternity, the dizziness and nausea working against him.  But he was hell-bent on a mission and no one would stop him.  Laying the frozen form by the fire, he stumbled to the nearest bedroom.  Pulling the blankets with him, he fell several times, and gasped as the reeling walls dancing before him.  Not wanting to put faith in his own legs, he crawled, pulling the blankets behind him.  He rubbed the frozen arms and legs briskly and then nodded as the skin became pink and warm.  He wrapped his youngest brother in blankets and held him close.  Swallowing back the nausea, he ran a hand through the blond hair and kept a steady conversation going, leading with Heath to fight back.   

Heath felt the icy fingers of death leave him, defeated by a much stronger force.  He felt the warmth and basked happily.  He heard the words and did as ordered.  Alerted by the moans, Jarrod reached for Bear's abandoned whiskey flask and knelt over the stirring form. 

"Heath, here, drink this."  Gently, Jarrod tipped the whiskey into the parted, bluish lips.   

Heath sputtered briefly and swallowed.  Jarrod smiled as two blue slits appeared.  The mouth worked but no words came.  The hand fought against the pile of blankets covering it.  Jarrod opened the blanket and took the weak hand, gripping it. 

"You going to be fine, Brother.  I've got you and I'll keep you safe.  You just rest." 

Every breath was painful and the blue eyes were growing weak.  He looked at the bloody shirt and awful head wound.  Heath's hand reached up to touch the face of 'Major Harris'. 

The soft touch against his abraised cheek, reminded Jarrod of the reason behind his brother's worried face.  He smiled back down at him, offering words of reassurance.     

"Stop worrying.  I'm fine.  It's much worse than it looks." 

Heath tried to talk, but fell asleep before a thought could form itself into words.  Jarrod put the arms back under the covers and settled in beside his brother.  Holding the gun he found on the table nearby, he tried to stay alert.  The gun dropped to the floor as the lawyer's head slipped down onto his brother's chest.  The two slept peacefully, unaware of the villain who lurked nearby. 

"WAKE UP!"  

The harsh words and the cold water in his face caused the eyes to open.  Jarrod blinked hard and looked down at his hands, secured to the chair beneath him.  Across the room, the only face that could match the hellish voice, looked back at him.  Jarrod's heart sank.  Rizley was standing between Heath and Nick.  Both were seated on the sofa, Nick's right hand tied to the back of his belt.  The dark cowboy's eyes glared at him defiantly.  Nick wasn't defeated yet.  Rizley stood behind the two, a gun at Heath's ear.  

"Choose, Mr. Barkley. Which one gets the bullet. There's only one in this chamber." 

"What?" Jarrod's confounded stared completed the reply. 

"CHOOSE!  I believe I've made myself quite clear." 

Jarrod looked at Heath's slumped head and then to Nick who's unblinking gaze was unsettled and fierce.  He cast an eye back to Rizley.  The beast's eyes were glazed over in lunatic's delight. 

"No," Jarrod confirmed. 

"Will you beg, Mr. Barkley?" 

"What game is..." 

"WILL YOU BEG.  HOW MUCH DOES THAT BARKLEY PRIDE MEAN TO YOU! DECIDE NOW!  I'M THROUGH WAITING."   

He cocked the pistol in Heath's ear. 

"NO!" 

Jarrod looked at Nick briefly.  The hazel eyes were full of fire, his mouth a grim line.  Shaking his head, Nick mouthed the word 'no'.  Jarrod knew what Nick wanted.  He couldn't do it...trade one life for another.  He'd rather die first. 

"Very well, then.  We'll let the crew decide," Rizley canted.  "Johnson!  Tinsler!"  Rizley's head swiveled.  "Where the devil are they?  Mutinous bunch of losers.  Spineless, all of them!  They'll never get away with taking over this ship.  Once we get into port..." 

Jarrod saw Nick's mind working as the pained hazel eyes flicked back and forth.  Rizley was walking the fine of reality and illusion.  Maybe if they could stall him somehow... 

"Somehow, what?" Jarrod debated himself. 

"The time has come, Mr. Barkley, decide."  Rizley's eyes gleamed demonically as he waved the gun, his fingers itching.  "The cocky one or the bastard?" 

Jarrod felt his heart leap into his throat as it almost choked him.  Nick never wavered, he sat up straight and proud, wearing a mask of grit and steel.  Unblinking, unemotional, he leveled his gaze at Jarrod.  Something in those eyes reached Jarrod and his pounding heart slowed it's pace.  He took a deep breath and kept his eyes fixed on Nick.   

Jarrod could see Rizley tense up as he pulled the hammer.  It came without warning.   

"NO!" Jarrod screamed, as the shot rang out. 

 **********

"Jarrod?  Jarrod? Can you hear me?" 

The voice seem to come from far away.  Jarrod struggled through was seemed to be an endless abyss.  His eyes were so very heavy.  Finally, he managed to open them a little and squinted at the blurry face before him.  He felt the gentle tap on his cheek and the strong arm around his back.  The voice seemed familiar, somehow. 

"Who...are ....you? " he croaked. 

"Now, that's a fine thing to say to the father of your godchild!" 

No, it couldn't be, could it?  He closed his eyes and opened them again and the world became much clearer. The fuzzy face became .... 

"Pierce!  My God...how on earth...what happened...my brothers..."  He struggled in vain against the strong arm. 

"Take it easy, Jarrod.  They're fine, see."  Pierce pointed across the room. 

Jarrod's shaky hands accepted the brandy and he sipped it as he watched the sheriff and his deputies tending to Nick and Heath.  Nick's arm was being splinted and Heath was being wrapped in blankets, both men were unconscious.   

"But Heath...the shot ...how could he miss?" 

"That shot was mine.  I took Rizley out." Pierce cast a dark eye to the blanketed figure on the floor. 

Jarrod hand grasped his friends and his blue-eyes conveyed what the words 'thank you' couldn't.  The nightmare was finally over.  How long had they been gone? 

"Pierce, I don't know what to say..." 

"You said it just fine, Jarrod."  Pierce patted his back and smiled. 

"What day is it?  My God, I feel as though we've been gone for weeks," Jarrod winced. 

Leaning back, he tried to stem the fierce throbbing on his head and the desire to vomit.   

Pierce looked at the pale face, spotted with blood, and the shirt that matched.  His gaze went over to Jarrod's brothers and he shook his head.  One minute longer, well, he didn't want to think about what might have been.  What was important was that he'd gotten there in time.  He had sent a man back to town to have the doctor meet them at the lodge.  All three were suffering from exposure, exhaustion, dehydration and a variety of other injuries, but they were alive.  

"How long, Pierce?" Jarrod asked weakly, eyes closed. 

"It's December sixteenth, Jarrod." 

"Five days?  It seemed like weeks.  I can't believe it's over.  It was a living hell, Pierce.  An unfathomable nightmare of a world." 

"From what I saw on a quick run through the place, it looked like a dungeon.  We found two dead men downstairs." 

"Two?" Jarrod's eyes shot open. "You mean three, right?" 

"No, just two plus Rizley." 

"There's one missing.  Was one of them a huge, burly man?" 

"No.  Who's he?" 

"A guard from Quentin, the inside man.  They called him 'Bear'.  He used to work at Carterson.  He brutalized Heath there, as well.  Pierce, what they did to Heath was...," Jarrod swallowed as he saw the blond man carried out to the wagon. 

"I'm sorry, Jarrod, for what they did to you, but it's all over now.  You'll be fine," Pierce said, pulling Jarrod up. 

"Not while he's loose," Jarrod pulled on the gray sleeve of his friend.  "You must find him.  He has to pay.  There's no punishment befitting a monster like him." 

Jarrod gave Pierce a description of Bear and the detective immediately dispersed men to seek him out with orders to shoot to kill, if necessary.   

"Pierce, I'm almost certain they used a drug of some sort on Heath.  They bent his mind, he was hallucinating, back to the darkest days of youth and past abuses.  It was...ghastly.  They put him through hell all over again.  Whatever it was, we may need it.  There's no telling what damage has been done and how to correct it." 

"I'll search this place from stem to stern.  You have my word.  Right now, you need a doctor.  Let's go, my friend," Pierce promised leading the dazed, battered lawyer outside. 

Jarrod eased himself between Heath and Nick and welcomed the warm blankets.  With one arm around each, he pulled them close. Nick's head fell on his shoulder, Heaths under his chin.  He never felt closer to anyone in his life as he did at this moment.  Pierce saw the look of raw emotion as Jarrod held his brothers close.  Giving his friend a moment to collect himself, he waiting until Jarrod caught his eye. 

"I'll see you at the lodge after I get done here."  Pierce patted the bloodstained shoulder and nodded to the driver.  He felt a hand grab his shoulder. 

"Pierce, I...," Jarrod swallowed hard, his blue eyes full. 

"It's okay, Jarrod, I understand.  You saved my life too, remember?" 

The air didn't seem so cold or was it that the warmth of having his brothers near.  The wagon lurched and Jarrod eased his head back, looking at the brilliant starfield that seem to wink at him.  His eyes sought out a star above him, a beautifully brilliant, majestic marvel.  It was all too familiar.  Smiling, he eased back, understanding, perhaps for the first time, the depths of divine intervention.  Here on this icy mountain at the edge of reality, he felt God's breath and inhaled, savoring the moment. 

"I will never forsake you...," Jarrod nodded, remembering, aloud.  

With renewed strength of soul, he watched that star, and as they climbed down the road to freedom, his heart soared. 

**********

The china tea cup in Victoria Barkley's hand clattered as she jumped.  Did someone call her?  Looking across the crowded main room of the Pine Meadows Lodge, she saw Max waving frantically.  Crossing the room, with Audra in tow, Max met her halfway, sweeping her off her feet in a jubilant frenzy.   

"They're alive, Victoria, they're alive!  Pierce found them!  He sent one of his men ahead so we could be ready!  I'm so happy for you, Dear Friend!" 

"Thank God!" she said as Max released her, only to find herself in Audra's embrace. 

"Oh Mother, I can't believe it.  Are they hurt?" 

Victoria waved at the deputized messenger, who made his way over. 

"Yes, Ma'am?" 

"I'm Victoria Barkley.  My sons? How were they when you left?" 

"Jarrod was awake and talking to Pierce.  He was able to walk to the wagon, he's got a nasty head wound.  The other dark haired one's got a busted arm and the blond one seemed to have a fever.  We didn't check them that close, we got a doctor on the way over." 

Victoria saw something else in the young man's eyes as he hesitated. 

"What aren't you telling me?" she asked suspiciously. 

"Ma'am you need to prepare yourself.  They look awful.  The place they were held in was set up like a prison.  The men Rizley hired, beat them up pretty good.  The blond fella's got whip marks all over his back.  All of them will need lots of rest and some food.  They're pretty weak." 

Victoria nodded, her mind racing to absorb all the information.  No matter what condition they were in, they were alive and once they were well enough, they'd go home and celebrate Christmas.  What her boys needed more than anything, was a good dose of old fashioned love and nurturing.   

"Thank you, Mr...." 

"Todd, Ma'am, Jeremy Todd.  I work with Pierce and have had the pleasure of meeting your son, Jarrod, on many occasions.  He's a fine man.  I was glad to help." Tipping his hat, he left to aid in the manhunt. 

"Victoria, why don't I have them taken right over to the house," Max said, holding the small hand. "Elsa and I don't need all that space. We're over here all the time anyway.  There's plenty or room, you can have the house all to yourself.  Those boys will need the privacy.  We have a suite over here we use most nights anyway." 

"Thank you Max, that's very generous.  I can't thank you and Elsa enough for all your prayers.  I know they helped." 

"Come along, we'll have bandages, towels...." Max's voice died off as Elsa and Victoria walked arm in arm behind the list maker.   

The Schmidt house was a short walk from the lodge.  A sprawling two story Alpine wonder, it was as warm and inviting as it's owners.  Like the lodge, it featured a large main room with a huge stone fireplace and oversized, stuffed leather sofa's.  Wooden tables with gingerbread wainscoting, graced the floor, The kitchen was also large and well stocked.  Two bedrooms were on the main floor and three more were upstairs, with a bathroom on each level.  

**********

The young army nurse bent over him, dabbing at the beads of perspiration that formed on his feverish brow.  His eyes were as slits as he peered up at her through his delirium.  He didn't know where he was, but with a face like that, it certainly wasn't Carterson.  He reached up and weakly fingered the thick, golden strands.  Her smell of perfume reminded him of a place he had been before, so long ago.   

"Welcome back," she whispered.   

Her voice was kind and gentle.  An angelic smile lit her face as her lily soft hands caressed his scarlet cheek. 

"Here," she coaxed as she lowered a glass of water to his dry, weather-chapped lips.  "Try to sip on some of this." 

She lifted his head with her left hand and tilted the glass with her right.  He gratefully took several long gulps before she tenderly eased his aching head back down to the pillow.  With a damp cloth, she bathed his burning face in cool water. 

"Your fever seems to be down a bit," she murmured, trying to sound cheerful.  "That's a good sign.  Soon you'll be up out of this bed and..." 

Her sunshine seemed to dim as he stared up at her with moisture glistening in his eyes. 

"Heath, are you okay?" she ventured, her hand reaching for his. 

His eyes pleaded with hers.  He wanted to tell her how glad he was that she was here, at his bedside, tending him.  He wanted to hear her tell him that it was all just a nightmare, and none of this had ever happened.  He wanted to erase the caustic memories of abuse, the war and Carterson from his anguished mind forever.  He wanted to tell her what a beautiful girl she was...but the words just wouldn't come.  Feelings of shame, sadness and frustration overwhelmed him as he turned his head and a lone tear ran it's path to his pillow.  Using her delicate fingers, she brushed the moisture from his cheek and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.  Closing his eyes, he shut himself away from her, away from the world. 

"You just rest, Heath," she soothed.  "I'll be right back." 

Audra stood up and left the room. 

***********

Breakfast was eaten in relative silence.  Christmas Eve was usually a festive affair with the whole family in high spirits.  There was so much to be thankful for, Victoria mused over her coffee.  Her sons were alive, two were well on the road to recovery.  She sighed and thought of her lost boy, Heath.  Initially they thought coming home would heal the awful open wounds in his mind.  Although Professor Moreau was hopeful, citing other veteran's he'd worked with, Victoria's heart was heavy.  He'd opened his eyes over a week ago and her heart rejoiced then sank quickly when the vacant eyes stared at her unknowing.  He'd yet to utter a single word.  Mutely doing as ordered, lost in a world unknown.  

"I'll take his tray up, Silas. Thank you," Victoria said. 

Rising from the table, she took the tray and was ready to exit the Dining Room when there was a loud rap on the front door. 

"Who could be here at this hour?" Jarrod wondered, reading the time of seven a.m. on his watch. 

"I'll get it, Mother," Audra offered.   

Victoria set the tray down and was about to follow Audra into the foyer, when the voice stopped her. 

"Good Morning, Mrs. Watson.  You're up early." 

"Good Morning, Audra.  I'm here about the party today.  Early bird gets the worm you know." 

"Let's go into the parlor and I'll get Mother." Audra charmed. 

"Oh, no," Victoria loathed out loud.  "Olivia Watson!" 

Jarrod threw down his napkin and Nick paused over his platter, scowling.  Olivia Watson was married to one of the most influential men in the Valley.  They were well connected and she was very active in volunteer work. Not that she had a good heart, if there was one in her chest at all, she liked the attention and lived for the praise and seeing her name in print.  She was a bigot of the worst kind and had made more that one unsavory remark about Heath. 

"Who let her out of her cage?" Nick complained 

"The party? My God with all that's gone on, I'd forgotten that the orphans will be here this afternoon ."

Victoria realized suddenly, wringing her hands.  

"Maybe they could go somewhere else." Nick offered. 

"No, it was very important to your Father that the Orphans Christmas party be celebrated here on Christmas Eve. We started that tradition the year you were born Nick.  It must go on.  We have the gifts, more than enough food and decorations." Victoria mused. 

"Well, then, the problem is solved," Jarred rose and walked to her side. 

"Yes, I suppose it will take a little doing but...Oh No." she dismayed, shoulders slumping 

"Oh no, what?" Jarred asked. 

"Heath...the last two years he's been the one who gives the gifts and tells them stories.  He sits in the middle of the floor; children on his lap, next to him, they are entranced.  He goes often with Audra to the orphanage and they've become so attached to him.  This does present a problem." 

"I'll do it." Jarrod offered. 

"Thanks dear, but you are going back to bed. You heard what Dr. Merar said yesterday.  That blackout you had was because you're pushing too hard.  A week in bed is what he said.  I'll think of something.  Let's go greet our guest" 

"Good morning, Olivia," Victoria greeted as she entered the room. 

"Victoria" the matron nodded. 

"Mother, Mrs. Watson is here about the party.  I told her two p.m. would be all right." 

"Yes, I think that will do nicely, " the dowager added.  "Of course, there is the matter of the gifts.  A suppose a change is in order and high time.  I know you've taken him in, but his type shouldn't be allowed to mix freely with small children." 

Nick growled and Jarrod held him back, trying to quell his own anger as well.  

"Mrs. Watson, that was uncalled for and under the circumstances very out of line. My brother's suffering is a tragic loss for all of us.  Those children love Heath, for the wonderful, warm human being and gentle soul that he is.  You could learn a great deal from him," Jarrod's eyes blazed. 

"The fact remains" she spat back "that a change is in order." 

"I'll do it." Nick said suddenly "YOU?" she repelled. 

"Yeah, me.  I won't be able to fill his shoes, but I'll do my damnedest in his name."  Nick said pulling her up with his good hand and ushering her to the door. "Now if you don't mind, we've got a lot to do.  Good Day." 

"Well, I never...," she huffed as she left. 

"Lady, I think that's half your problem," Nick muttered, causing Jarrod to chuckle. 

"Nick, are you sure," Victoria asked grabbing his hand.  

"I said so, didn't I'?' he glared.  "How hard can it be?  Tell a couple stories and give out some presents." 

"I think you'll be great," Audra said kissing his cheek.  "And thank you, Nick, I'm proud of you." 

"Stop fussin', I got a lot to do before ten o'clock."  He brushed her aside, then smiled and winked at her as he went upstairs.  

"Nick, playing Santa Clause?  Christmas may never be the same," Jarrod teased. 

 **********

Jarrod woke up to the sounds of many little feet on the floor downstairs.  This was followed by a chorus of tiny voices and one loud on booming "HO HO HO!"  He smiled at Nick's rendition of the time tested greeting and put his slippers and robe on.  Padding down the hall, he stopped briefly to watch Nick maneuvering in the sea of small bodies.  Turning the knob to Heath's door his joy at the scene below died.  Heath sat by the window, staring at the wall. 

"Hello, Heath.  I'm going down to get something to eat.  I'll stop back up, I'm sure you're hungry." 

Heath nodded and started to stand.  Jarrod firmly sat him back down. 

"That's okay, Heath, you stay here.  It's kind of noisy downstairs, the orphans are here for the party.  I'll be right back with a big piece of pie for you." 

Heath nodded and watched Major Harris leave.  It was a nice house and Jordy's family sure were good people.  Major Harris visited here a lot.  He wanted to go home, and hoped that he'd be well enough soon. The doctor sure came a lot.   Despite the fact he felt better, the terrible pain in his heart wouldn't leave.  An unbearable sorrow left him unable to speak.  He tried, no one knows how hard he tried.  He stared out the window at the falling snow and waited in his silent world. 

"What happened then, Mr. Nick?" the little girl named Anna pleaded from Nick's lap. 

"Well, just when that Old Bear thought he'd gotten away with takin' the children's toys, Santa saved the day." 

"How?" a seven-year old freckled face boy named Bobby asked. 

"Well," Nick said putting the tiny girl down and standing up, "He said HO HO HO! Mr Bear, those toys don't belong to you.  Then the Bear turned, his claws raised and..." 

"And then what!" several voices clamored. 

"Then Santa walked right up that Bear and shook his paw, asked if he could be his friend.  Turns out the Bear had no friends and Santa was the first person who tried to get to know him." 

"So the Bear gave the toys back?" Anna asked, pulling on Nick's pants "He sure did, Honey, and loaded them right onto Santa's sleigh.  Then he climbed up and took the reins and started to leave for his big night," Nick embellished.  "He said, 'Ho ho...hold it right there, Jarrod, I got plans for that pie.  I was savin' it for later!" Nick hollered, scattering a pack of giggling children as he approached his brother who was headed towards the stairs. 

Jarrod had stopped in the doorway of the parlor and enjoyed every minute of Nick's performance.  Whether he'd ever admit it, Nick enjoyed it too.  His mother and sister were in the kitchen getting the food ready.  Turning, he defended his stance. 

"Sorry, Saint Nick, you're out of luck.  And you can't "save" a piece of pie.  It's against the First Order of Leftovers." 

"What First Order of Leftovers?" Nick asked suspiciously, his face screwed up. 

"The one I just invented," Jarrod smiled.  "Besides, it's not mine, it's Heath's." 

"Oh, well okay, then.  Tell him I'll be right up," Nick reposed. 

The sudden cease in activity and deathly silence caused both brothers to turn towards the parlor in unison.  There behind them, by the French doors, stood Heath, staring transfixed at the tree.  

"What's he doing loose?" Olivia Watson cried indignantly.  "He shouldn't be running around in public.  Please put him back where he belongs," she loathed at the brothers. 

Jarrod couldn't hold Nick back this time.  His brothers' eyes were hot and he didn't control the rage in his voice as he pulled her away into the foyer away from the children's listening range.  

"I've have had all I am going to take from you and that filthy mouth of yours.  That," he emphasized pointing to Heath, "is my brother, Heath.  I realize that something like caring and compassion are lost on the likes of you; he's got more integrity in his little finger than you'll see in a lifetime.  This is HIS home where HE belongs.  You live with it and keep that mouth of yours shut or you leave, NOW.  Do I make myself clear?" 

She pulled her arm free and huffed her displeasure but nodded.  Nick left her and approached Heath.  The children had been told only that Heath had been hurt and couldn't talk.  Most of them seemed a little frightened, sensing something was very wrong.  However, one boy, who had become especially attached to Heath, came forward. 

"Hello, Mr. Heath, it's me, Danny White.  You remember me, don't ya?" the dark eyed, solemn boy asked. 

Nick started to approach the boy, but Jarrod pulled him back motioning with his head at Heath's face.  Heath looked down at the little boy, who called to him.  He knew this boy, but from where?  He felt somehow this boy had suffered and those dark eyes reached out to him.  Squatting he touched the boy's cheek and nodded.  

"Boy am I glad, I knew you'd never forget me, Mr. Heath.  You and me are best buddies, remember?  Like when I first came to the orphanage and the big bully was picking on me cause I stuttered.  You worked with me and I stood up to him finally.  You told me how proud you were. You were the first real friend I ever had.  I come along way since then, Mr. Heath.  I'm getting a new Mama and Papa today.  Ain't that great?" the boy said excitedly. 

Heath knelt and took the small shoulders, nodding again, stone faced.   

"So, I was thinkin'.  Since Miss Audra said you got hurt and can't talk...well, maybe you'd like to have this." 

Heath looked down and saw the small bear the boy offered.  He took the woolen animal and studied it, his head cocked.   

"'Member that, Mr. Heath? You gave that to me, right after we met.  I couldn't talk at all then, on account've I stuttered so much and all the other kids laughed.  You told me when I was alone, to talk to him; he'd never laugh.  It worked, I don't stutter no more.  So you keep him, Mr. Heath, he listens real good.  You'll be talkin' real soon, okay?" 

Jarrod wiped his moist eyes and turned as his mother approached, tears on her cheeks.  He turned back and saw Heath hugging the boy, eyes closed and then the solitary tear that snaked it's way down his cheek.  Then as he released him, Danny kissed his cheek and Heath smiled at him. 

"Out of the mouths of babes," Nick choked. 

"Indeed, Nick.  The first sign of emotion, maybe he's on his way back," Jarrod suggested, hopefully. 

Audra gathered the children in a circle and organized a game to keep them occupied while Nick and Jarrod got Heath on his feet.  Clutching the small bear, he followed them down the hall into the kitchen.  He sat at the table, cradling the bear and nodded at Jared's request. 

"You hungry, Heath?  How about a sandwich?" 

While Jarrod got a sandwich from the tray his mother had prepared, he watched as Heath's eyes followed Nick around the kitchen.  Nick paused, carefully pouring a cup of coffee and saw the emotional look on Heath's face.  Forgetting the cup, he crossed the room and knelt by the chair.  His hopes soared when his brother's free hand made it's way to Nick's shoulder, the blue eyes paining on the casted arm.  

"What is it?  Come on, Boy, talk to me," Nick pleaded, his hand on Heath's cheek. 

Heath looked at Jordy and desperately wanted to say how sorry he was for the mess he'd caused.  He hadn't intended on upsetting their family party, but he wanted to see the tree.  Missing his home, he had wanted to go home for Christmas.  He tried to tell Jordy, but no words would come.  He held the bear close and retreated, seeking comfort elsewhere.  

But just as quickly the light faded and once more the stone face returned.  The hand dropped down and Heath was gone once more.  Nick turned away, not wanting Heath to see his disappointment.  Jarrod patted Nick's shoulder and put the plate in front of Heath. 

"Go on now, Heath, eat up." 

Heath went through the mechanics of eating and then walked up the back stairs without glancing back.  Jarrod turned back at the curse and fist pounding the table, causing the silverware to jump up in protest. 

"Take it easy, Nick, it's a step in the right direction.  We can't force him back.  That's the first sign he's fighting." 

"I know, but ...it's killing me Jarrod.  What if he never comes back?" Nick emoted. 

Jarrod couldn't see Nick's face, but knew the sorrow it held.  This seemed to be harder on Nick than any of them.  Jarrod knew Nick was punishing himself unduly, blaming himself for Heath getting caught. 

"Come on, Nick, you're audience awaits you," Jarrod tried. 

"I'll be right in, I need a....a...coffee," Nick lied. 

"You got it, Brother," Jarrod patted his back understanding and retreated. 

Nick regained his composure and straightening up, reentered the parlor area. 

"Santa's back!" many little voices exclaimed with glee. 

Nick forced a smile and responded to the children's welcome with his best "ho, ho."  But underneath the red and white hat and the thick white whiskers, Audra couldn't help notice the dismal spirit trying so hard to keep from surfacing.  He'd been through so much, but the lost relationship with his beloved brother was the worst than the hell he had survived.  Audra thought hard, wondering what she might do that could lighten the spirit.  With an impish grin, she beckoned the children to gather round her. 

"Now, I've got a Santa story," she volunteered.  "A Santa story that involves Mr. Nick, here, when he was a little boy.  Would you like me to tell it to you?" 

"Yes, yes, please, Miss Audra!"  the children chorused. 

Audra winked at Nick as his befuddled expression told her that he wasn't sure of what was next. 

"When I was a little girl," Audra solely began, "it was my job to leave the cookies for Santa.  You know how cold it is and how hard Santa has to work delivering all those nice toys you receive on Christmas morning!"  The children nodded in agreement as Audra continued.  "Well, when we were growing up, it was up to me to decide which cookies were going to be left for Santa and his reindeer.  That and a big glass of milk was just what Santa would need to get him to the next ranch.  Mother and I had been baking cookies all afternoon and I had wanted the ones for Santa to be extra special." 

At this particular part in the story, a loud moan was distinctly audible and Audra glanced up at Nick to catch the dramatic roll of the eyes she knew was coming.  The little eyes of her young audience were all glued forward in sincere fascination as Audra continued to remember that special Christmas so long ago. 

"Up in my room I had a nice sized bar of chocolate that I had been saving.  The mercantile in town had been short on chocolate that year, and this bar that I had purchased earlier in summer was a treat to be treasured.  Nick knew about the chocolate and he had been trying to get me to give him some.  I told him 'no' that I wanted to save it.  He begged and he begged, but I just wouldn't give in." 

Giggles filled the room as the children envisioned this grown cowboy trying to persuade his little sister to share her chocolate.   

"Well, Mother and I were almost done with our baking when I had an idea.  I had been thinking about how bored Santa must me with all the cookies everyone leaves him and maybe this year he would like a rich, chocolate cake.  Mother agreed to help me and so I ran to my room to retrieve the bar of chocolate.  Nick hovered over us the entire time.  He even pretended to want to help, but when Mother saw his hand reaching for the candy, she whacked him with her wooden spoon." 

"Did he get any of it?" Tommy asked, looking at Audra and then at Nick. 

"I'm getting to that, Tommy," Audra savored, enjoying each word of the tale.  "No, I managed to get a beautiful chocolate cake baked.  Thick and gooey with rich chocolate frosting.  I proudly displayed the cake on one of Mother's nicest platters and poured a tall glass of ice cold milk to go with it.  I carried the cake out to the tree, with Nick following, and went to bed, dreaming of all the wonderful presents I was going to get.  Father had sent Nick to bed, as well, and then he, Mother and Jarrod all turned in.   

Suddenly, I was awoken as a loud clatter coming from the parlor aroused all of us from our sleep.  We all got up and raced to the top of the stairs and what do you think we saw?"

"Santa?" 

"We saw Santa, alright," Audra grinned, looking directly at Nick. 

The small heads turned to look at the blushing Santa that stood in their midst.   

"You mean it was Mr. Nick?" Sally asked. 

"That's exactly what I mean!" Audra exclaimed, bursting into giggles and a bright smile.  "He had snuck downstairs and carefully cut the center out of the cake I had worked so hard to bake.  Then he pushed the ends together and tried to smooth out the frosting on the top.  He was trying to sneak back upstairs when he tripped over the lampstand and broke the lamp.  There he sat in the middle of all that broken glass with the telltale signs of chocolate crumbs gracing his guilty face." 

"Did Santa leave him any presents," Mary wondered.  "I don't think Santa leaves things for naughty boys." 

"Well, since Nick hadn't been really, really naughty, Santa did leave him his gifts," Audra paused, looking back at Nick who was violently shaking his head, wanting the story to stop right there.  "...But, the next day, Santa made a personal appointment with Nick...the meeting place was out in the wood shed." 

By the time the story was finished, everyone was laughing, even Nick, as he reminisced the year he got spanked by Santa. 

***********

"Are you okay?" Victoria asked, worried at Jarrod's pinched features and pale face. 

"The headache's just a little feisty today.  I'm fine Mother."  

"Well, maybe I ought to get Doctor..." 

"On Christmas morning?  Mother he has a family too.  I'll be fine.  That aspiring powder will kick in soon." 

"Mother, the buggy's ready," Nick popped his head in the parlor.  

"All right, Nick.  I'll be right out." 

"We'll be fine Mother," Jarrod reassured her, indicating Heath as well. 

Kissing him good-bye, she took Nick's good arm and they left for Christmas services at church.  Jarrod closed his eyes, warding off the pounded between his temples.  He'd been weaning himself of the pain killers and for some reason, early mornings were still very painful.  He didn't realize he'd been dozing until Silas shook him. 

"Mr. Jarrod, wake up.  I can't find Mr. Heath." 

"What!" Jarrod was awake instantly and on his feet. 

"He ain't in his room.  I looked everywhere.  His coat's missing." 

"Oh No!" Jarrod fretted, eyeing the gray sky that had just started to spill snow. 

"I'll go out and find him."  

"But you're not supposed to be..." 

"It's okay, Silas, I'll be fine.  You look upstairs again, maybe you missed something." 

Heath patted the mane of the horse from Jordy's stable.  He loved horses and he made sure he was very careful saddling this fine bay.  He heard the bells ringing and they seemed to call him.  He stared out of the room he was staying in and realized about church.  That's where his Mama would be, she'd be waiting for him at church. He'd stopped to tell Major Harris, but didn't want to wake him.  He'd go on his own. 

He followed the graceful bell sounds and soon was at the church. He looked up through the swirling snowflakes at the bell tower, where the bells pealed so wonderfully.  He tied the horse up and entered. 

Jarrod noticed Charger's empty stall and followed the fresh tracks in the snow.  He lost hem on the main road and decided to go to church and find Nick.  The sheriff would be at service as well.  They'd need his help, finding Heath, in his state of mind in a snowstorm.  Pulling his collar closer, he hurried Jingo onward.   

The church was dressed in all her finery, respondent in greens and the lit candles gave it a warm, rosy glow.  Victoria knelt and said a prayer for her lost son, asking God for all a little help.  The organ sounded as the choir sang "O Holy Night."    

Heath stood unsure in the doorway of the church.  He cocked his head and heard the beautiful voices.  He stood in the back and listened, enjoying the feeling inside.  He saw the candles and the crowded church pews.  The preacher nodded to the choir as they finished and start to speak.  He saw Jody and his family up front.  He was about to make his way there, when he saw her.  His heart pounded so hard, it felt like it would come right through his chest.  He staggered up the side aisle, unnoticed and knelt before her.  His face basking in her glorious glow. 

Jarrod spotted Heath's horse tied out front and nearly fell off his own horse in relief. Hurrying to the door, he entered and scanned the crowd. He found his family, but Heath wasn't with them.  It was then he noticed the back of the blond head.  Not wanting to draw attention, he crept up the side aisle and stood next to his brother.  He was about to shake Heath and call his name when he saw the look of unbridled love and emotion on the windburned face.  His curious gaze followed Heath's emotive line of vision.  It was the Mary, Heath knelt before.  She was with Joseph looking down at the infant Jesus in the large manger that sat by the side door.  It was a gift from Padre Carlos, who was a very close friend off the minister.  

Heath looked at her face and smiled broadly, reaching out toward her hands.  He knew she'd be here, the bells were a sign, her calling to him.  She always found him when he was lost.  She'd help him get home.  His mother smiled at him and he felt the warmth of her breath as she touched his face.   

Jarrod knew something was happening inside Heath.  He watched in awe at the glow on Heath's face as he touched the outstretched hand of the Madonna.  He heard the sounds buried in his brothers chest fighting to come forth.  He watched the mouth struggling and the tears in the overcome eyes.  Jarrod got a chill up his sensing somehow, he was about to witness a miracle.   

The preacher nodded to the choir to sing the recessional hymn.   

"Amazing Grace! How sweet the sound

That saved a wretch like me.

I once was lost but now am found,

Was blind but now I see.

Twas grace that brought me heart to fear

And grace my fears relieved.

How precious did that grace appear

The hour I first believed." 

The choir stopped so the organ music could be heard doing a refrain. 

Heath felt her hands pull away and the joy on her face reflected on his own.  He closed his eyes and felt her warmth invade him.  Basking in her love, his eyes shone as he thanked her silently.  "I understand Mama" he conveyed through his thoughts.  Opening his eyes, she nodded her encouragement, and was gone.   

Waiting patiently, every head in the room turned as a voice was heard.  

"Through many dangers, toils and snares, I have already come... 

"My God that's Heath!" Nick cried, racing to where Jarrod knelt in stunned silence next to the soloist. 

"Tis grace that..." Heath slowed and looked around, confusion on his handsome face.  Not understanding where he was and why Jarrod was staring at him, overcome with emotion. 

"...hath brought me safe thus far," Nick saved, his deep voice booming, as he pulled Heath to his feet 

"And grace will lead me home!" Jarrod joined in, finishing the miraculous chorus. 

"Heath!  Heath!" they called, hugging him.   

He looked from one to the other.   

"Jarrod?  Nick?  How'd we get here?"

"On the wings of a dove, Brother," Jarrod replied. 

"Heath, oh Heath," Audra sobbed into the confused man's chest. 

She stood back and closed her eyes, sending God a special thank you.  On this day of all days, there was something truly to rejoice.  The most wonderful sound had opened her eyes. 

"Mother?" his soft drawl called her. 

She ran into his open arms and sobbed, "Oh Heath, Thank God, you've come back to us." 

"I was just thinking that myself," Nick added, encircling his family. 

"I don't understand?  What happened?  When did we leave the lodge?  How did you bust your arm?" he implored of Nick. 

Nick and Jarrod shared a wary look and Nick just shook his head.  Before he could respond, the congregation rejoiced as well.  They'd all known about Heath's loss and a few claps slowly turned into a thunderous ovation.  They'd come that morning to celebrate the birth of the greatest King the world had ever known.  They left doubly blessed; witnessing the awesome power of his divine love as it pierced the lost heart of one of his beloved sons and drew him home.

**********

The fire blazed, basking the room in warmth, although the love that radiated from each face, was doing that pretty well on it's own.  Heath sat by the base of the tree Max sent down, still wearing the scarf he'd tied to it.  He heard Victoria and Aura's voices by the piano, and smiled at the wonderful feeling he held.  Like every color of the rainbow was ready to burst forth, in a colorful concert of love.  He turned at Jarrod's voice and the hand on his shoulder.

"Looks like Nick and me owe you some money, Brother Heath, you won the bet." 

"Don't go giving away me hard earned cash, Jarrod. Some of us really work for a living," Nick joked "Besides, my bet was double or nothing, and since them fine woman at the lodge missed out on the chance of a lifetime by not gracing the dance floor with me, the bet is still on, I'll pick up my cash next year, okay little brother?"  Nick's good hand extended. 

"Anytime you want to give your greenbacks away, Nick, I'll be first in line. You got a deal," Heath agreed as he shook on it. 

"What's that?" Jarrod squatted down and pulled out a gift that hadn't been unwrapped.  The others were all oohed and ahhed over and piled neatly under the tree.  Jarrod lifted the red flannel draped package and placed it on the small marble table in front of the tree, right beside Heath.  The lawyer lifted the fabric off to uncover a manger, mounted to a wooden base.  There were new pieces of wood where the old ones had rotted and the porcelain figures had been cleaned up.  Jarrod would have known this tender gift anywhere. He massaged Heath's quaking shoulders, he blue eyes pierced Nick's hazel ones with affection. 

"It would appear this fine gift belongs to you, Heath." 

Heath's hands shook as he ran them along the wooden roof.  He fingered the new straw, freshly laid under the holy family.  The figures had been cleaned up, their chipped faces repaired with great care and affection.  He hadn't seen it since the year he left to go to war.  He thought it was lost forever.  This wonderful childhood memento, something that meant more to him that any words would be able to describe.  A treasure, created out of love and more valuable that all the gold in the world.  He dropped his head in his hands and tried to compose himself, but a couple stray tears worked their way loose.  

Audra knelt beside her stunned brother, who's shoulders shook and who's tears splashed onto the roof of the nativity.  She picked up each piece reverently and finally lifted the shocked face.  Her manicured finger wiped the tears away and she kissed his cheek. Wrapping her arms around his waist, he soft voice beckoned. 

"Can you tell us about it, Heath?" 

With a deep breath, he started, slow and halting, stumbling at times, to tell this family, who meant so very much to him, about his best Christmas.  

It was an especially hard year, there was no money and his mother had been so very ill.  Long hours in the mines and extra time at the livery, the boy worked feverishly to get the meager pennies saved for her gift.  His mother never said a word, but the ten-year old boy knew from the look in her eye while they read an old catalog, that she wanted a nativity set.  He had saved what pennies he could for most of the year and tried to buy her one.  The cost was much more than the meager amount he offered. The store manager found him Christmas week and told him there was a broken set, he'd sell Heath.  The greedy merchant took every cent from the poor boy.  There were only four figures that were able to be saved, Joseph, Mary, the infant and a little shaped boy holding a lamb.  They were cracked, and broken but the ten year blond boy, used grace and great care to mend the pieces.  Heath got scraps of wood from the livery and set about to make a proper manger. His small fingers using gobs of glue to keep the uneven, unmatched wood in place.   

 Nick sat across from Heath got as angry as he had the first time Heath told him this story, his first year at the lodge. The deep seeded anger at this unknown stranger who'd taken advantage of his brother.  Heath had seen that dark look and smiled at his brother gratefully that night, over a beer.  "It's okay Nick, it was a long time ago, and I was used to being treated like that." It wasn't okay in his brother's eyes then or now.  He swirled his brandy and scowled at someone who'd take advantage of the brave little boy, he was so proud to call brother. 

He drifted back as Heath's quiet voice continued the story of that magical year.   

"She was so sick that year, I almost lost her.  The money ran out before we could get more medicine.  Reckon I never prayed so hard." He remembered "She pulled through and on Christmas morning I put it beside her bed, so as she see it first thing when she woke up.  I tried sitting up, staying awake, but I must have dozed off. Next thing I remembered was waking up to the crying.  I looked over..." Heath swallowed hard and fought off tears, remembering.  "She was holding the baby Jesus and sobbing.  I thought she was mad, that she wanted the one in the book.  I started to tell her I was sorry and she shook her head. She pulled me close and told me..." His voice broke and he was unable to continue. 

Victoria walked over, tears running freely and lifted the face.  Heath smiled up his mother, who's face masked the identical look of pride and love, his mama wore that fateful Christmas.  

"How much she loved you and you very proud she was to have such a fine son.  That this nativity is the most beautiful one she'd ever seen?" Victoria's broken voice completed. 

"How'd you know?" Heath choked in amazement with wide, wet eyes. 

She knelt and drew him close, hugging him tightly. "Every mother knows, Honey.  I know just how she felt. I love you Heath Thomson Barkley." 

She remained a minute longer and then taking Audra's hand, she left him with his memories.  

The story of that magical Christmas was now complete and caressing the little figure in his hand, he rose. He crossed the room and stared into the fire, sending a silent prayer and message to his mother.  Turning back he knelt reverently in front of the holy family.  With on last thought of his mama's smile, he finally put the shepherd boy back into the manger.  The tears he held in check would no longer be denied.  They ran down his cheek as looked at the treasure.  He fingered the repair work, eyed the fresh straw under the figures and turned at the small hand on his shoulder.  He looked up to see his mother eyes brimming as well.  Standing, he hugged the small frame close and kissed the top of her head. 

"Thank you, Mother.  You have no idea what this means to me.  It's the finest gift I could have received." 

She looked up and took the tear-streaked cheeks in either hand.  How wonderful it was to see the light of life back in those wonderfully expressive blue eyes.  God had given her son back, a priceless gift.  

"Heath, the gift of life is the greatest gift we get from God.  Tonight in that church, God gave us a miracle, and that," she paused, her voice breaking, "is the most wonderful gift of all." 

She looked past him at the crooked wooden manger with globs of old glue still scarring the frame, and the cracked projecting pieces within, with the love and appreciation only a mother can know. She could see a small towheaded boy, blue eyes light up in anticipation as his mother opened this wonderful treasure.  The love that boy possessed still shone strong in the man before her.  Looking back at him, she squeezed his shoulder. 

"Sweetheart, as much as I would love to take credit for bringing that beautiful manger back to you and letting it shine her for all of us, as it should, it wasn't me." 

Heath looked around the room to Audra first, who shook her head then to Jarrod who also denied being the gift bearer.  Nick continued to stare into the fire, poking at it with his good hand.  Heath smiled at the uncomfortable look, all too familiar, that his older brother was wearing.  

"I guess this proves that there really is a Santa Claus," Jarrod added, taking Audra's and Victoria's elbow "And if he were here, I think he' d say "Let's eat!" Realizing Heath wanted a moment alone with Nick. 

The trio started for the dining room.  Heath walked over and laid a hand on Nick's back, squeezing his shoulder.  They stood for a minute, lost in thought, Heath tried to find the right words to tell Nick just how much it meant to him. That Nick would, despite his own healing process, take the time to remember the story shared long ago and make the trip to Strawberry to find the missing piece of Heath's heart.  He sighed several times, his mouth forming invisible words.    

"Nick, can you do me a favor?" he managed with a crooked grin. 

Nick met his grateful eyes and nodded, a little confused, "Sure Heath." 

Heath turned and led them towards the dining room. Pausing and looking back at the manger, he made his request known.   

"Can you tell Old Saint Nick 'Thanks' for me?  It seems he's about the best man I know.  With everything else he had to do, he found time to get them reindeers over to Strawberry and..." He swallowed and sighed, "...I hope he knows I'll never forget it and how much he means to me." 

Nick laughed and ruffled the blond hair, "He knows brother, believe me, he knows.  Come on, I'm starved and Jarrod's in there polishing off that roast." 

**********

"Goodnight son, don't stay up too long." Victoria spoke softly, placing a kiss on Jarrod's cheek left.

Taking a sip of brandy, he watched her cross the room and pause behind the chair where Heath sat by the fire.  She bent down and whispered in his ear.  Heath squeezed the small hand and nodded as she walked away.  Audra had gone to bed already and Nick slipped out to the barn to check on a sick mare.  The crackling of the fire was the only sound in the parlor as each man was lost in thought.   

The burst of cold air filled the room as the French doors opened and Nick reappeared. He struggled out of his coat, careful of the castled arm, resting in a sling. 

"How's Sheba?" Heath asked. 

"She's better. I got Russ to sit with her," he said of a new hand, "I'll check on her later." 

He picked up a glass and laid it inside his sling.  Carefully carrying the brandy decanter over, he placed it in front on Jarrod and sat down next to him.  Pulling the glass out of his sling, he offered it over. 

"Thanks Jarrod, I do believe I will join you. " Nick invited. 

Jarrod eyes took in Nick's battered face, which matched both his and Heath's.  He filled both glasses and motioned for Heath to join them.  Heath carefully walked over and winced slightly as he eased himself onto the small bench by where his brothers sat.  Jarrod thought on the past weeks events and felt for the first time, he really understood the meaning of the spirit of Christmas.  Those dark hours in that desolate confine, he thought he'd never see his family again.  Some very spiritual happened this day and Jarrod wanted to celebrate that fact. 

"Ya know, considering everything that happened," Nick reasoned, "I believe this has turned out to be a very special Christmas." 

"Nick, you read my mind," Jarrod raised his glass and waited until his brother's followed suit, "gentlemen, here's to the reason for the season." 

The clink of the glasses and the crack of the fire were the only sounds as the men savored the toast.  Jarrod watched Heath studying the glass he rolled between his hands.  He watched the expressive sky blue eyes drift left and right as Heath relived some moments for the past.  How many more painful memories hid within his brother's fragile soul? He thought of those dark hours, when he lay curled in a ball in that dank, cold cell. Near naked, shivering and in pain. Thinking Heath and Nick were lost to him forever. He had no sense of time, it may have been days, or weeks in his mind. The feeling of murderous rage at his tormentors, thinking they'd killed those he held dear.  

Nick watched the contrite blue eyes next to him and knew what Jarrod was thinking . Before he could react, his oldest brother spoke. 

"Heath, those horrid days last week made me see a lot of things a little clearer.  I want to say how sorry I am about that episode with Matt Bentell, " Jarrod paused as Heath's head flew up and his brother scowled. 

"Jarrod, please don't go there, it's done. You don't owe me anything." 

"Yes, Heath I do." Jarrod blue eyes reached out "I mishandled that badly.  My first concern should have been to you, and the pain you suffered.  I never realized just how much more of a man you were than I until last week.  I was wrong Heath, and I am very sorry." 

"You ain't alone in that boat, brother," Nick added.  "I should have spoken up that day, instead of holding my tongue, you deserved my full support, and for that, Heath, I 'm sorry." 

Heath looked at Jarrods bruises and bandaged head, then his eyes took in Nicks abrasions and broken bones.  Such good men, strong men whose broad shoulders he was so grateful for.  Shoulders that were too often unappreciated.  He nodded, his expressive blue eyes were followed by a thankful voice. 

"Reckon I'm sorry too. For not learning sooner that I have two fine men I call brother and for being too proud to know when to lean on them.  A lesson I learned the hard way.  So, thanks to both of you," he finished raising his glass. 

"To brotherhood." 

"Here. Here." his brother's echoed.  

"Heath, you know if you ever want to talk about the war, or anything else that you've buried too deep, that's all a part of being a brother, and a friend.  We'll be here to listen." Jarrod ended. 

"You don't have to suffer in silence, Boy," Nick supported. 

Jarrod rose to leave for bed and Heath stood and hauled his brother upright.  They embraced and with a final swig of this brandy, Jarrod left.  He paused at the foot of the stairs and Nick's deep laughter followed him. He turned and watched Heath doubling over as Nick's animated hand and face were busy in the middle of a story, involving a girl and exaggerated no doubt.  As he passed the bathroom another burst of laughter floated into the foyer below.  Jarrod smiled, it sounded like music to his ears. 

As he eased into the soft mattress of the large bed and closed his eyes, Jarrod thought of the last line to the hymn that had unlocked the door to Heath's dark dungeon and set him free.  

"And Grace shall lead me home." 

It was late when Nick's weary body made it's way upstairs.  The hours between dusk and dawn had become a burden.  Endless nightmares, waking in a cold sweat, sometimes curled on the floor.  He pauses at his door, and walked to the end of the hall.  Glancing at Jarrods' door, he was relieved to see a light shining from underneath.  Tapping lightly, he called quietly. 

"Jarrod, you still up?" 

"Yeah Nick, come on in" a tired voice replied 

Nick padded to the bed and sat down.  Jarrod's face bore the same fear Nick's did.  His brother cast him a wane smile. 

"You're fighting it too?" 

"Yeah, it's much better since I've been talking Professor Moreau.  I owe you big time for bringing him here." Nick lauded gently. 

"No thanks necessary for that Nick, we've all benefited from his help." 

Jarrod got up from the chair near his fireplace and made his way across the room.  He sat down next to his restless brother and waited.  Something else was weighing on his troubled brother's mind.  

"Spit it out Nick, what's eating away at you?" 

"Anybody ever tell you to consider entering the field of law?" Nick teased at Jarrod's ability to read him. 

Sighing, he rose and walked to the window, paced across to the fire and then back to Jarrods side.  Jarrod watched the journey and pulled Nick back down. 

"Come Nick, it can't be that bad.  What's wrong?" 

"I asked him Jarrod, I had to know.  He uh...He don't remember anything." 

"About the confinement?" Jarrod queried. 

"Confinement?  That's a damn lousy way of putting it!" Nick flashed. 

"All right Nick, you know what I meant. What about Heath's recollections" 

"He's got none.   He hadn't asked about it all night.  I mean, I had to know.  He told me the last thing he remembers is me giving him that spiked coffee, then being in church by that manger." 

They sat in silence for a moment, Jarrod kept glancing at his younger brother.  He saw the shadows of doubt and guilt cross Nick's face.  He knew before Nick said a word, he was about to address it when Nick spoke in a low, agonized voice. 

"What am I going to do if he remembers, Jarrod.  My God, I took that whip..." Nick ate the rest of the thought  

Jarrod saw the terrible pain in Nicks eyes.  What to do indeed.  Maybe it would be better for Heath to know it all upfront, before he started getting nightmares or flashbacks.   

"Maybe we should tell him everything Nick, before he remembers it on his own. He'll think we were hiding the truth from him. He won't like it.  It might be a lot worse, do more damage." 

"Yeah, that's what I think.  I was wondering if you'd help me.  I ...I don't know how to find the words. What can I say," Nick tortured "Heath, I beat you raw with a whip" or "Heath, I left them open scars on your back, or..." 

"Nick stop it!" Jarrod urged, squeezing the downcast shoulders.  " You're not the only one carrying a cross.  I still see that pained look on his face when they shut that iron door. He pleaded with me...." His voice trailed off momentarily "We'll ask Vincent what to do, he's the pro "Jarrod said of the Professor. 

Nick rubbed a hand across his burning eyes and nodded.  He waited a couple minutes, then made his way to the door.  Pausing, he looked back at Jarrod and smiled. 

"You know something, I think God sent the right one first.  You sure are one helluva big brother.  Thanks, Jarrod." 

Jarrod nodded, "Goodnight Nick, we'll get through this, like we always have: together-forever, right." 

"Right." Nick smiled, remembering their boyhood pledge. 

Victoria tied the robe around her waist and walked from the bathroom back to her bedroom.  She paused at Heath's open door and studied the empty bed inside.  Padding down the stairs, she peeked into the parlor and found her youngest son, asleep on the sofa.  She covered him with a blanket that was nearby and bent to kiss his cheek. She paused and spotted the little shepherd boy clutched in his hand. Smiling, she pried the prize loose and set it carefully on the table.  Kissing his cheek, she ran a hand through the light hair. 

"Merry Christmas sweetheart, welcome home." 

*****END*****

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