Beauregard woke with a start, unsure what had roused him. He was trying to get his bearings when a soft moan drew his attention to the bed. Straightening, Beauregard leaned forward, wincing at the twinge he felt in his back. "Bart?" Bart's eyes were closed but at the sound of his father's voice he tossed restlessly. "Bart?" Beau asked again.

His only answer was another moan, but Bart did slowly open his eyes. Those eyes still looked pitifully sick, and they twisted Beauregard's heart, but he forced a smile. "How you doin', boy?" he asked, wiping at the sweat that was once again dotting Bart's brow.

Bart coughed. "It's still cold." His voice was even scratchier now than it had been before.

"Does your throat still hurt?" Bart nodded. Heaving a sigh, Beauregard picked up the glass that was sitting on the nightstand and helped Bart take a drink. Gently placing his son's head back on the pillow, Beauregard re-wet the cloth in the basin next to the bed and processed to wipe Bart's face and neck down again. It didn't seem like much, but Bart was obviously soothed by his father's actions. As Beauregard moved down Bart's face, Bart turned his head slightly exposing his neck and what Beauregard saw made his heart skip a beat. On the right side of Bart's neck was a cluster of small red spots.

Beauregard tried not to react to the sight as he finished wiping Bart's face. He had known this was coming, he'd been looking for it all day, but to actually see the rash appear was unsettling. Some part of him had hoped that Doc had been mistaken with his diagnosis, and all that Bart really had was a simple fever that would be gone in a day or two. The sight of the rash dashed all those hopes. Doc was right, his son had Scarlatina, and things were going to get a lot worse.

"Do you want some broth?" Beauregard asked, remembering what the doctor had said about getting Bart to drink. Bart soundlessly shook his head. "Is your stomach still bothering you?" Again Bart shook his head.

Beauregard knew Bart could probably use something in his stomach. He hadn't eaten at all today, and thanks to the ipecac his stomach was now completely empty. Broth would help him more than just water, but if Bart didn't want it he wouldn't push the matter; not yet anyway. It was getting late and he didn't want to disturb the whole house by banging around in the kitchen if the boys were already in bed. It could wait until morning. "Can you drink some more water for me?" Bart nodded.

Beauregard helped Bart take another drink, and settled him back in; unfortunately that was about all he could do. He did what he could to make Bart comfortable, but he couldn't totally stop the restless tossing or the occasional moan. He hoped Doc had some more insight on ways to help after seeing Bart tomorrow because Beauregard wasn't sure he was going to be able to stand sitting here for the next week and be able to do no more than what he was doing now. After several minutes, Bart turned his fevered eyes on Beauregard.

"Pappy?"

"What?"

"Can I . . . " Bart stopped causing Beau to prompt him.

"What is it, son?"

"Can I . . . sit in your lap again?"

Without a bit of hesitation, Beauregard moved over to the bed and scooped Bart up. It took Bart a minute to get comfortable, but he soon had his head back against Beauregard's shoulder. Beauregard smiled wistfully. "Try to go back to sleep, son," he said rubbing his thumb down Bart's cheek.

Bart didn't reply, but Beauregard soon felt him relax as sleep claimed him once more. Looking down, Beauregard noticed the dreaded red rash had started to appear on Bart's cheek as well. Tightening his grip on his son, Beauregard took a deep breath. How was he going to get through this? And what on earth would he do if Bret came down with this? The idea was almost too terrible to think about and Beauregard felt a knot grow in his stomach.

"I don't think I can do this, Belle," he whispered quietly. Jennings had told him what to expect if they were lucky, but Beauregard had noticed the man had deliberately avoided talking about how bad things could get. Beauregard could only assume that meant things could get really bad, perhaps fatal. What would he do without Bart? What would Bret do? That thought was too terrible to think about. There was no way he could handle losing his baby.

'Stop it,' he firmly ordered himself, feeling his stomach roll. He wouldn't think that way. At least he was going to do his dead-level-best to not think that way. Doc and Ben were right, Bart was tough, he always had been. They just had to get through this, but that was where the problem was. Beauregard didn't know how to get through this. He had promised Belle he would take care of them, that he would raise them up right, and God knew he was trying. He'd felt inadequate many times during the last year-and-a-half, but it had been months since he'd felt this lost. "What do I do, Belle? He needs you. How am I supposed to help him?"

He wasn't expecting an answer and didn't exactly get one now. The answer wasn't from Belle, but there was a small voice in the back of his head that seemed to say, 'You're doing it, Beau. All you have to do is be here for him.'

XXXXXXX

Sunlight was pouring through the window when Bret sluggishly opened his eyes. He blinked in confusion; this wasn't his room. Then he remembered he was in Pappy's room, and why he was in Pappy's room. Miserably, Bret wrapped Mama's quilt around him and thought about Bart. He wondered if Bart was any better today, or if he was worse. He wondered if Bart knew why he wasn't there to take care of him, and if Pappy could really take care of Bart by himself. He didn't figure he'd find out the answers. He also didn't figure there was much point in asking Uncle Ben if he could go upstairs today. Sighing, Bret rolled over on his back.

Bret was staring at the ceiling wondering if there was any way he could get upstairs today when his cousin began to stir. "What time is it?" Beau asked rubbing his eyes.

"I don't kn . . . ." Bret's eyes widened as he inhaled sharply. "No." Jumping from the bed, he gave his cousin a hard nudge. "Beau get up now."

"Why?"

"Because we're late," Bret cried. He let out a grunt of frustration. "Miss Potter's gonna kill me."

"Bret, keep it down. There's no call to wake the dead." Bret turned and found his uncle standing in the doorway; feet bare, shirt untucked, and hair disheveled. "Why are y'all up so early anyway?" Ben asked looking at Bret curiously.

"We have to get to school," Bret said looking around the room for his clothes. "We're already late and . . . ."

"You're not going to school today," Ben cut in.

Bret halted his frenzied search. "What?"

"We're not?" Beau asked.

"No."

"What's Miss Potter gonna say about that?" Bret asked. It was bad enough Pappy was mad at him; he didn't want his teacher mad too.

"She's not going to say anything. The school's closed for the next few days."

Beau brightened some. "Really?"

Bret wasn't so easily pacified, that sounded too good to be true. "Why?"

Ben yawned before nodding in the direction of the hallway. "Because Bart's sick."

"Really?" Beau asked again, a definite gleam in her eye. He wasn't glad Bart was sick, but he was pleased that something good was coming from his cousin's illness.

Again Bret didn't see things the same way. "The school's closed because of us?" That was all he needed, for Miss Potter to have to close the school because of the Mavericks.

"No," Ben told him. "The school's closed because if Bart got sick someone else could too. It's not Bart's fault he got it first."

"So Miss Potter's not gonna be mad at us?"

"Of course not. Why would she be?" He ran a hand through his hand and stifled another yawn. "Now, y'all go back to sleep or go take care of the horses or something."

"Can we?" Beau asked. "Go back to sleep."

Ben sighed. "I wish you would. Or at least keep it down."

As Ben went back into the sitting room, Bret slowly sank down on the edge of the bed. He was more worried now than he had been before. Keeping him and Beau away from Bart was one thing, but keeping them away from the whole town was something else.

"Ain't you gonna back to sleep?" Beau asked, flopping back down on the bed.

"No." He sighed. "I'm gonna go take care of the horses."

Bret got dressed and headed outside to get started on the chores. It may have been early for Ben, but it was later than he was used to sleeping on most days, and he knew he would never get back to sleep anyway. Just like yesterday, he started with the cow then gathered the eggs and saw to the horses. After putting out the oats, Bret stayed by the corral and watched the horses, paying special attention to the mare Pappy had bought for Bart last summer. Bart loved his horse. Would he ever get to ride her again? Would Bart ever be able to go fishing with him and Beau or play poker again? Bret sighed, blinking back tears again. Had his prayers last night done any good?

The mare came over and stuck her head over the fence nuzzling Bret. Smiling Bret reached up and stroked her cheek. "Bart can't come out right now, girl. He'll be back soon. I hope."

He rubbed the mare until his own gelding came up and nipped her on the hip. She kicked out and it wasn't long before the two horses were chasing each other around the corral. They played like that a lot, and Bret thought the two animals liked to be together about as much as he liked being with Bart. The little mare would be lost without Bret's gelding to nip at her all the time; just like he would be lost without Bart. A weight settled in Bret's chest like he hadn't felt since Mama had died. Bart just had to get better.

Heaving a sigh, Bret turned to go back inside. He was almost to the house when Doc pulled up.

"Morning, Bret," the doctor said climbing down from his buggy. "How are you today?"

Bret did his best to smile. "Alright, I guess."

Doc put a hand on his shoulder and peered down at him. "Are you feelin' alright?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have you felt bad at all?"

"No." He had coughed some last night, and his throat had been a little scratchy this morning, but neither one was bothering him right now. And he didn't feel sick. "You gonna see to Bart now?"

Doc smiled. "I am."

"You'll tell us about him when you're done won't you?"

"Yes, sir. You can count on it."

They both went inside, Doc disappearing upstairs and Bret into the kitchen. "Doc's here," he said when he saw Ben at the stove.

"Good. I just took some broth up; Beauregard's gonna try to get him to eat."

"You saw Bart? Is he okay?"

Ben shrugged. "Really, Bret, not much has changed since yesterday. I'm sure Doc can tell us more when he's done."

Bret went over and looked back up the stairs, sending up another silent prayer. 'Please, God. Let him be better. And let Pappy not be mad anymore.'

"Hey, Bret."

Bret whirled around surprised to find Uncle Ben almost right behind him. "I wasn't goin' up," he said, and this time he meant it. He'd been so absorbed in his prayers he hadn't even thought about trying to sneak in to see Bart. Of course, he wouldn't have gotten very far with Doc in the room.

Ben gave him an odd look. "I didn't think you were. I've got breakfast started. Why don't you go get your cousin up? Tell him he's been sleepin' long enough." Bret hesitated but finally nodded. "And if he complains," Uncle Ben continued. "Tell him I said now."

At those words, a smile almost came to Bret's face. Before going back to Pappy's room, Bret gave the upstairs one more glance. 'Please.'