When he opened his eyes at the freezing cold enveloping his whole body, he didn't know why he was there or what had happened. He was surrounded by the water. There was water below and there was water above. His eyes open wide with fear, he struggled to reach the surface, his lungs yearning for air. His movements were slow, too slow.

He wasn't feeling any pain but his left leg didn't seem to do what he wanted it to do. It was there, stiff and useless. He didn't even feel it. He struggled in vain for what felt like an eternity. He was weak, tired, his mind beginning to be incoherent.

This was his end. There, alone, he would die.

The surface was nearer now. But he hadn't time anymore.

One last thought crossed his mind before the darkness sucked him in.

A name.

Victoria.

A sweet, melodious sound. A voice, the voice of a young woman, penetrated his dreams.

He tried to lift his heavy eyelids. The voice was still there, encouraging, comforting, promising. He blinked and managed to open his eyes just a bit. He focused on a face. Maybe he was dead and was watching an angel. She was a vision, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, smiling the sweetest smile right at him.

But, his eyelids were heavier with every passing second. He closed his eyes again and surrendered to his weakness.

Then, someone was slapping him lightly on a cheek, urging him to wake up. The voice of an aged man, this time. He opened his eyes and saw a bearded face, heard the voice ask who he was. He couldn't give that man what he wanted… It was too hard, and he didn't remember, he didn't CARE to remember, not now. But, the voice insisted, again and again. Couldn't he see he just wanted to sleep? No, he wouldn't leave him be.

"Tom", he managed to murmur, at last, just to make him stop. All he wanted, all he needed right now was to go back to the smiling vision in his dreams. Finally, the man left him alone and he immediately sank back into his dreams, where she was still smiling at him.

He certainly was home; a familiar aroma was coming from the kitchen where he knew Silas was preparing his special chicken soup. He heard his stomach grumble in yearning. He opened his eyes and managed to keep them that way, this time.

As he tried to move, an unexpected stab of blinding sharp pain struck him. He stopped, breathing hard, fighting the wave of nausea that immediately pervaded him, dangerously gripping his stomach, forming sweat on his forehead. His considerable strength was deserting him. He was in great pain, and he was sick. Helpless, he sank his head back in the pillow and turned his eyes around the unfamiliar room. No, he wasn't home, but lying in a white-sheeted bed, in a small room he had never seen before.

The only window was open and the small room was full of light, the light of a sunny day. A light breeze was coming in, making the curtain wave, floating in the air.

In that light he saw her again, coming graciously toward him with a tray in her hands. "Wake up Mr. Tom, you must be hungry. Hannah made her special chicken soup just for you, it will bring back your strength in no time. Make a try for me, will you?"

So she was real, not a figment of his imagination. Like in his dreams, her beauty was breathtaking. Her features were perfect, her golden brown curls resting softly on her shoulders. Again, he tried to rise but the pain and the nausea were there again. He groaned, his whole body aching.

"Don't try to move, your left leg is broken". Here, I'll put another pillow under your shoulders." She put the tray on the night table to help him change his position. Through the thick fog of his physical pain, he never diverted his eyes from her. She couldn't be more than nineteen or twenty.

His mind was urging for answers. "How… How do you know my name?", he managed to ask, his voice feeble and hoarse.

"You regained consciousness a couple of times yesterday, and said your name to the doctor, but slept since. You have stitches on your head, your leg is splinted… and you have too many bruises to be counted".

"How long have I been here?"

"Since the day before yesterday"

"What happened?"

"Someone beat you and throw you into the river… My friend Rachel and her husband found you on the shore, they thought you were dead. Do you remember anything?"

She sat on the edge of the bed he was lying on, the worry evident in her warm eyes.

Tom's last memory was… Yes, he was having an animated exchange of views with his foreman at the mine. He had discovered that the man had the bad habit of using young boys to set the charges. Later, he had had his lunch at the hotel. He had gone for a little walk in the streets of Strawberry. The town was growing; it was a boom town, bursting with life. But it was also dangerous. Now, he could certainly tell.

"No", he simply said, staring at her with his expressive light blue eyes.

"Oh, I see. I'm sorry, Mr. Tom", she said disappointed, a pretty little pout forming on her lips, making his heart flip, regardless the pain. But very soon her sweet smile was there again. It lit up her eyes, lit up her whole pretty face, and Tom had to smile himself.

"Well, welcome to my humble home, Mr. Tom...?"

"Barkley, Thomas Barkley".

"Thomas Barkley… The owner of the mine?"

"Thomas Barkley, the one who was beaten and almost died if it wasn't for you and your friends, Miss….?"

"Leah, Leah Thomson".

"Call me Tom, Miss Thomson".

"Alright, Tom. But it's just Leah ", she said somewhat mischievously, blushing slightly. She diverted her eyes and took the tray from the night table. "Now let's put some nourishment into you, Tom".

Hannah's special chicken soup was just as delicious as Silas'.

In a way, he was actually home.