I got up the next morning with every intention of stopping by to see Simon on my way to the saloon, and it was one of those mornings when nothing went right. My sweet and gentle little Belle, who was usually so quiet and shy, was running around the house wailing like a banshee. Maudie kept trying to crawl under the bed to get to the new kittens, Maria Elena's horse threw a shoe on the way to our house, Jody hadn't slept last night, and Doralice woke up with a headache and stayed in bed. By the time I left the house I was so late I went straight to Maude's.
Things were a bit chaotic at Maude's, too, and it was well past noon before I could finally break away. Simon was just finishing up a cast on another little boy when I got there, and I went to his office to wait for him. He looked about the way I felt, and I assumed he'd had the same kind of morning. "I came to talk to you, but you look like you could use a break. Come on, I'll treat you to lunch at Sawyer's, and you can let me pick your brain."
"There's not much of it left after this morning," Simon quipped as we headed up the street.
"Mine either, so you don't have to feel bad."
Once we were seated and food was on the way, Simon didn't wait for me to ask questions. "It's Doralice and the headaches, isn't it?"
"Yes. She still doesn't tell me when she gets them, but I've stopped naggin' her about that. They just seem to be gettin' worse, Simon. There are whole days when she hurts so bad she can't get out of bed. Why won't they go away?"
"I wish I had an answer for you, Bart, but I don't. At this point, they should be gone. The fact that they aren't and seem to be increasing in intensity is what worries me. Has she complained of anything else?"
"You mean like nausea? Not that, but she's tired all the time. I don't mean sleepy, I mean worn out. Too tired to even eat supper sometimes. She can't stand the smell of coffee, and now even tea bothers her. She's gonna starve, Simon, if she doesn't eat."
"Stop by the office when we're done with lunch. I've got some dried herbs called butterbur that you can put in tea. Sometimes that helps. Besides that, there's not much I can do, Bart. And not nagging her about reporting her headaches is a good idea. The less stress she has to put up with, the easier things will be for her."
We went on to talk about other things. On the way back from lunch I stopped in at Simon's office and he gave me some of the herbs to use in tea. And reminded me that Doralice didn't need to know how concerned I was; that would only cause her to worry and be agitated.
I told Doralice that I'd run into Simon and he'd given me the herbs for her headaches, and she made a cup of tea right then and drank it. We both remembered when Simon helped me with my opium addiction, so she was more than willing to try anything he sent.
She started regularly drinking tea with the butterbur in it, and it seemed to help, at least for a while. Now, if I could only help my sister half as much, I'd feel like I was making real progress.
XXXXXXXX
Summer in Texas usually goes on and on, and this year was no different. One afternoon I couldn't stand to be sequestered behind my desk any longer, and I walked up to the livery and hitched Nevin to the buggy. Then I went to the house and convinced Jody and Doralice to go with me on a ride down by the river. Only one problem – Maudie was coming down with something and she didn't want her mommy to leave. Doralice stayed with our oldest, while I took Jody down to see the spot where I'd spent most of my misguided youth.
I found a shady spot to spread the blanket I'd brought with us. I removed my coat and hat and left them in the buggy. It was cooler here by the water, the way it always was, and we sat for long minutes just enjoying the breeze that blew in off of the river.
Finally I had to ask. "Have you made any progress with your feelings yet?"
"More than I expected to," Jody answered me. "I was mad at Beck for quite a while, and blamed him for making me feel like I'd done something wrong. It wasn't Beck causing those feelings at all – it was me, my own guilt pursuing me. When I realized that, I couldn't be mad at him anymore. I sat down and wrote him a letter, Bartley, and explained my feelings to him. I told him that I hadn't violated our marriage vows, and I was sorry he'd believed otherwise. I told him I'd been lost and confused, and I felt alone and deserted. And that we should have been comforting each other, instead of blaming each other. It took longer than I expected, but he finally wrote back to me and confessed that he knew I hadn't cheated on him, and he was sorry he'd accused me. He agreed that the time apart seemed to be doing both of us some good, but that he missed me terribly and realized that he still loved me. He hoped that since we were older and wiser, we'd be able to mend our wounds and start over. He left the decision up to me, but told me he hoped that when summer was over, I would come home."
This was the best news I'd heard in weeks, months even. "Have you written back to him?"
She shook her head. "Not yet."
"Are you going to?"
"Eventually. I just . . . I just don't know how I feel yet . . . about Billy."
"Do you know how you feel about your husband?" That was the more important question. At least I thought it was.
"I still love him, Bartley. But it's different than it was before."
"Different? How, Jody?"
"I know now that we can hurt each other if we're not careful. That love can die if it's not nurtured and respected. And that we almost lost it because we pulled apart instead of pulling together."
"Then what's the problem? Why don't you look any happier than you do?"
"Because . . . there's still Billy Sunday. And I . . . "
"Don't know how you feel about him," I finished for her. "Have you talked to him?"
"No. I've been afraid to."
"Afraid? He's not gonna bite you."
"But what if he . . . oh, Bartley, what if he loves me?"
"What if he does? Does that change the fact that you still love your husband?"
She thought that over for a minute or more, then shook her head. "No. But what if I love him, too?"
I let out a sigh, and Jody looked confused. "Jody, you still have to choose. Between Beckham and Billy. One or the other. You can't have both."
"I know that."
"Do you? Do you really? I don't think you do. And you still don't want to let go of either one of them."
She stood up then, walked out to the river's edge and picked up a flat stone. The stone went flying, and I saw it skip two, three, four, five, six times before it sank. I burst out laughing; no matter what Cousin Beau did, he could only persuade a stone to skip three or four times across the water.
"What's so funny?"
"You are. Poor Cousin Beau would give anything he had to be able to do that, and you make it look so easy."
"It is easy."
"So is talking to Billy Sunday. Let's go back to Maude's . . . you can talk to him tonight."
"Oh my goodness . . . do you really think so?"
I nodded vigorously. "I think you have to."
She turned around to face me, and gave me the answer I hoped for. "Alright, before I lose my nerve."