Simon came by that evening after he closed the medical office to see how the injured man was doing. "Pretty good, I think," Doralice told him and welcomed him inside. "Considering he's been bombarded with children today, and nothing is familiar to him."
"Kids give him a hard time?"
"Maudie did, crying and wailing for her daddy. He and Belle got along well; I was surprised. She was respectful of his predicament, and they agreed she should call him Bart until his memory comes back."
"What about Beauregard?"
Doralice laughed. "Beauregard was Beauregard, as always."
Simon laughed with her. "A formidable opponent, to say the least. How did Bart do with the laudanum?"
"He wasn't happy with it, but he took it and slept most of the day. I have to tell you, Bart without his memory is a far more cooperative patient than Bart with his memory. But I still want my Bart back."
"I thought you might. Let's see how the patient is doing."
The doctor followed Doralice into the bedroom, where they found the injured man sleeping. He hated to disturb Bart but needed him awake and alert to answer questions and complete his examination. The stitches held and the wounds had begun the healing process. "You both should know – I'm pleased with the way everything is progressing. I'm hopeful that one more day in bed will be enough."
"Then what?" Bart asked
"Nothing changes unless you remember who you are," was the answer from Doralice.
"What do I do to make money?"
Simon had a question of his own. "Do you remember how to play poker?"
"Well, yeah. Why?"
"Before you and Doralice married and you settled down, that's the way you made a living."
"Playin' poker? For a living? So I was a gambler, eh?"
Doralice stepped in with clarification. "Not like that. You were a professional poker player. You played cards honestly."
That statement was met with skepticism. "Really? And I made a living playin' like that?"
"Yes, you did. And a good living, too. You and Bret both."
"Who's Bret?"
"Your brother. I'm sure they don't know what happened. Do you want me to send them a wire?"
Doralice nodded. "Please, Simon. Bret's been through this with him before. Maybe he can shed some light helpin' him to remember."
"Slow down there, Mrs. Maverick. You mean to say I've had amnesia before?"
"In a manner of speaking. You were caught in an avalanche that almost killed you. You had no memory and had someone else's identification on you and thought you were that person when you woke up."
Simon and Doralice waited to see if the injured man had any more questions. They didn't have to wait long. "This brother, Bret, he don't live here in town?"
"No, him and his wife live in Claytonville. It's a few hours away. Bret plays poker, too."
A startled look descended on Bart's face. "Does he play honest too?"
"He does."
The doctor spoke up. "I better get home before my wife comes looking for me. Keep an eye on these stitches. If they hold, he can get out of bed this time tomorrow. If they don't hold, send for me. I'll come by if I can."
"I'll walk you out, Simon."
"Goodnight, Bart."
"Thanks, Doc."
The two adults had only been gone a minute when four-year-old Beauregard stumbled in, hand in hand with an even smaller version of himself, two-year-old Breton. Both had black hair and black eyes, and the littlest one watched Bart intently, seemingly fascinated. When they got close enough, Beauregard explained. "Brother wanted to see you for himself. So I brought him."
Breton shook free of his older brother and reached up a hand to touch Bart's face. "Pappy?"
"Yes and no," the man in the bed answered.
Breton patted again. This time it wasn't a question. "Pappy!"
"No sense trying to explain," Beauregard insisted. "He's too little to understand. He just wanted to see that Pappy wasn't dead."
"He looks just like you."
Beauregard nodded. "And I look like my Uncle Bret."
"Like your uncle and not your father? Isn't that odd?"
"Uncle looks just like Pawpaw." He looked down at his little brother, who had lost interest and was pulling on his hand to leave NOW! He turned loose of Breton's hand, and the littlest Maverick went running from the room.
"And Pawpaw is still alive?"
"Oh yes. I am named for PawPaw. It's a fine name."
"Why no Bart Junior?"
"Uncle has a Bart."
The man in the bed chuckled. "And who does he look like?"
"Like Uncle."
"Doesn't anybody look like your Pappy?"
"You do."
Doralice returned and asked, "What are you two talking about?"
"Uncle Bret." Beauregard decided there was nothing more to say and followed Breton out of the room.
Doralice waited for an answer from Bart, but none was forthcoming. "You were talking about your brother with a four-year-old?"
"He's not a typical four-year-old."
"No, he's not at that. Look, you slept thru supper. I have beef stew and cornbread. Do you want some?"
"Yes, please." He had more questions about this brother of his, but Doralice didn't give him time to ask them.
"I'm going to get your food. I'll be back." She turned abruptly and disappeared, and when she came back she carried a tray that held his supper.
"It smells good. Would you stay while I eat?"
"Alright. Why don't you take the laudanum before you eat?"
"You're determined that I drink that foul-tasting stuff, aren't you?"
"Simon said you needed it."
"Will he send a wire to my brother?"
"He said he would. Are you anxious to meet Bret?"
"I am. I'm curious about him. I've got questions for him. And I wanna know more about this 'honest gambler' business."
"I'm sure he'll come as soon as he gets the wire." She turned her attention to his plate; he'd only eaten about half of what she'd given him. "You didn't eat much."
She was encouraged to see a trace of a smile appear on his face. "Hard to work up an appetite when all you do is sleep. Speaking of sleep, are you gonna bring the twins back in here?"
"Do you want to see them before they go to bed?"
"I'd like . . . I'd like to see Belle."
"You can't visit with one and not the other."
He knew she was right. "Alright. Both of them."
A few short minutes later the girls were back; Maudie sat on the bed and Belle on the chair next to him. It was funny, but he knew immediately which girl was which. There was something calm and composed about the child in the chair; he knew instinctively that was Belle. Maudie watched him anxiously from the bed, her eyes darting back and forth across his face, looking for some kind of recognition.
"I wanted to tell you both goodnight."
"Do you . . . do you remember . . . are you Daddy yet?" Maude asked anxiously.
"No," Belle spoke up. "He's not. He's still Bart."
"Why?"
He took one of Maude's hands in his and felt her tremble. "I don't know, Maude. I just can't remember yet. We have to wait and see what happens."
"But what if you never remember us?"
He gave her hand a squeeze. "I'll remember you."
"Goodnight kiss?"
"Sure."
Maudie leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, then whispered, "Goodnight, Daddy." She crawled down off the bed and waited for her sister to do the same.
Belle got down from the chair and smiled at him. "Goodnight, Bart."
"Goodnight, Belle." He watched them walk out of the room hand in hand. When they got to the doorway, Belle glanced back at him and winked, and for one second he had a visual in his head of teaching her to do just that. It was the first memory he'd had since waking up in the doctor's office, and he winked back at her. At last there was hope of something more substantial, but he kept the memory flash to himself. The laudanum was doing its job and he was sleepy, and if he told anyone they might keep him awake for hours, waiting to see if he remembered anything else.
If the memory was real, it would still be there tomorrow morning. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what a grown-up Beauregard would look like, and before he knew it he'd drifted to sleep.