Sorry for not updating for a few days! I've been busy again! Working at the stables, going to rehearsals, and celebrating my sister's 20th bday! Anyway, here's chapter 11 at last! :-)
Chapter 11 – Telling the Family
Bridgeman urged his horse on. He had been at the shack for most of the day – it was dark now. If he rode at a steady pace, then he would reach the Barkley ranch by mid-afternoon the next day. A steady pace for Mr. Bridgeman was what others may call an extremely slow plod; for he had chosen his horse expressly for his ability – or rather, his inability to ride horses.
Though Bridgeman was tired, he was too anxious to complete his plans to go to sleep. He had to ride on tonight. What if they were missed? But no – their packhorses back at their camp had proven that they were going on a long trip. Why was he worrying? Perhaps, though he would not admit it to himself, he was afraid that despite his well thought out plan, the Barkley's would still find a way to outwit him and bring his plans and name crashing down.
But he had left Heath Barkley in the hands of his men – and two capable men they were. At least in terms of the dirty, hands on work that was sometimes necessary. The work that involved fighting and killing! The work that he turned a blind eye to – despite his part in planning some portions of it!
The ride was a long one – and it was especially hard for Bridgeman. For when alone he was faced with his conscience, his plans that had to work, that should work, that could work – that may not work! Though Bridgeman appeared a calm man, behind his mask that he had created over the years was an anxious and worrying spirit. One that could be tossed upon the sea of unrest at the slightest happening, word or even inclination. Though Bridgeman would have declared himself a happy man – when left to his own thoughts it became clear that he was far from such. That he was indeed a most miserable man – an unhappy being that thrived on the sorrow of others.
For was that not his business? Though he sometimes denied it to himself, he more frequently bragged of it to himself. His rising was their downfall!
So, still full of his thoughts, and with a wakeful mind in contrast to his sleepy appearance, Bridgeman finally rode through the gates and up to the front of the Barkley's house. He tumbled off his horse awkwardly, and then, straightening himself as much as he could, he walked up to the front door and knocked calmly.
Silas answered the door, and showed his surprise at seeing Mr. Bridgeman plainly on his face. "Gud aftanun!" Silas said. "Won't ya cum in?"
"Thank you, I will," Bridgeman said, taking on an air of complete gravity. "Is Mrs. Barkley in?"
"Yessuh! She shore is!"
"I should like to speak to her, if you please."
Silas looked Mr. Bridgeman with an eye full of curiosity. "Yessuh," he said quickly. "I'll go an' git her for ya."
"Silas!" Victoria's voice sounded from the top of the stairs. "Silas – what is it? Oh!"
Victoria came to a complete stop when she saw her unexpected visitor. However, quickly composing herself, she walked down the stairs.
"Mr. Bridgeman – what a pleasant surprise! Won't you come in?" she asked, showing the way into the living room. Bridgeman followed, his hat clasped solemnly in his hands.
"Would you like a drink?" Victoria asked as the two of them sat down.
"I, ah – thank you, but no!"
"What can I do for you?"
"Mrs. Barkley – I… I don't know how to tell you this. Are you sure we are quite alone?"
"Yes – Mr. Bridgeman, what is bothering you? Can I help at all?"
"Oh, Mrs. Barkley! How can I even begin? But you must know, so I must tell you! I was riding along yesterday, minding my own business when I heard something. It sounded like a groan, and instantly feeling concerned that someone might be hurt, I followed the sound. It wasn't long until I came across the camp of your son and daughter."
Victoria started, quickly rising to her feet. "Heath and Rachel? What of it?" she asked, telling herself that nothing was amiss as she once more lowered herself back into her seat, steadying herself with her hand clasped on the arm of her chair.
"I quickly dismounted, noticing both your daughter and son lying on the ground. I heard the groan come again – it came from Heath – so I hurried next to his side. There was a bullet in his chest, and the blood was drenching his shirt quickly. As soon as he saw me, he told me what had happened. First of all he told me about the snake – it had bitten Rachel that morning, and she was lying unconscious next to him. Whilst tending to her a man had ridden by, demanding some retribution for something that he declared had happened years before. Heath didn't recognize the man, and as a gun was pointed at him, quickly drew his gun. He wasn't quick enough though, and that was how he got shot. Then, Mrs. Barkley, Heath went on to ask me to tell you what had happened. He asked me to tell you to read Luke…Luke 15 and verse 24. He then said to say that they both love you all, and even if they won't be there in person, they will always be in your hearts. Those were his last words."
"No!" Victoria exclaimed, her chin trembling in distraught disbelief as she began to rise from her chair. "No!"
"I'm sorry Mrs. Barkley! But I checked, and he had gone. Then I checked your daughter – and she had been gone for a while."
"No!" Victoria sobbed, the tears rushing down her cheeks. She sank back in her chair and buried her face in her hands. "No! My baby! Not my baby! Not Heath! Oh, dear God! No!"
Bridgeman stood up and put a hand on Victoria's arm in an attempt to appear a comforter. "Please Mrs. Barkley. Please be strong – I know they would want you to."
Victoria's body shook whilst the tears poured down her cheeks. She had not cried like this since the death of her husband – and now she felt that pain come over her once more.
"I buried them both out there – but I can take you there sometime. I should leave you now, though. I am sorry Mrs. Barkley. Very sorry!"
He turned around to leave, just as Nick entered the house.
"What's going on Mother?" Nick asked with concern when he saw her crying. He looked up at Bridgeman, and his face creased up with anger. "You," he said, pointing fiercely, "you are not welcome here! Get out of this house before I show you out myself!"
"I was just leaving Mr. Barkley. My condolences to you and your family."
Nick watched Bridgeman leave, and a frown of puzzlement grew on his face. Suddenly remembering his mother's grief, he hurried over to her side, and squatted next to her.
"Mother," he said, his softer side showing as he tenderly moved her trembling frame and held her close. She clung to him madly, which made him frown deeply. The way she held him – it brought back memories – memories of six years ago at the death of …
"Mother, what is it? Tell me? Did that man do anything to hurt you? If he did, I swear I'll…"
"Nick," Victoria sobbed. "Mr. Bridgeman came here to tell me that Heath and Rachel…" she paused before she could say those awful words, "that Heath and Rachel are both dead."
Nick lost his hold on his mother for an instant as everything around him became empty and vacant. Suddenly, Victoria's words came screaming back at him. "What?" he asked, finally able to speak. His voice caught in his throat. "What did you say?"
"Oh, Nick – your brother and sister are dead!"
"No!" Nick cried, standing up quickly. "How… how would he know?" He was trying to tell himself that Bridgeman was lying. He could be – couldn't he? Heath had been quite sure that Bridgeman was a counterfeiter. What would keep a base swindler from telling lies?
"He saw them. Oh, Nick – it's true! Rachel got bitten by a snake – and Heath got shot by somebody who wanted revenge. Oh, Nick! My baby's dead. Heath's dead! Oh, my little baby girl!"
And she sank down, down out of her chair and onto her knees, clasping her hands in front of her face as if in urgent prayer.
Nick suddenly realized that it was true. It had to be – but why? But how? All sorts of questions flooded his mind, deadened only by a numbness – a hollow leaden feeling that filled his brain and made him sink down onto his knees next to his mother. Nick held her close, trying to give her strength whilst trying to receive some comfort of his own as the tears began to fall.
"Why hello, Audra," Jarrod's voice sounded behind her. Audra turned around, and saw her eldest brother mounted on Jingo, ready to go home.
"Jarrod!" Audra exclaimed. "You're going home?"
"Yes – I wonder, may I have the pleasure of the prettiest lady in town riding home with me?"
"Of course, Jarrod," Audra said, smiling at the compliment. "I was just finished myself."
She quickly mounted her horse, and rode up next to Jarrod.
"Had a good day?" Audra asked casually.
"Yes – and you?"
"Fine – although, I must admit, it does feel strange not going riding with Rachel to the Mokelumne River. It felt like the perfect day for that today – I wish she and Heath would come home soon."
"Don't worry, Honey – they'll be back before you know it!" Jarrod said with a smile.
"I guess you're right," Audra said.
The ride home was a pleasant one. They talked merrily, and it seemed like hardly any time had passed before they rode up outside the house. They dismounted their horses, leaving them to a ranch hand to take care of before they both walked into the house.
It was quiet. Dead quiet. Eerily and strangely quiet.
"Hey, where is everybody?" Jarrod called, a smile on his face despite a peculiar tugging at his heart.
Audra followed up behind Jarrod and slipped her arm into his. Suddenly, Nick appeared coming down the stairs. He was staring at his feet, and walking strangely, like a man who had had a few too many drinks and was unsure of where he was going.
"Hey, Nick," Jarrod said, "we thought the house had been deserted. Why's it so quiet?"
Nick looked up, and it was then that they saw the awful look in his eyes. An empty, sunken, bloodshot glaze!
"Nick – you look awful!" Audra exclaimed, almost recoiling at his far off gaze. "What is it?" She suddenly felt quite scared. That look brought back memories. Dreadful ones!
Jarrod saw that look – it was the same look that he had given Nick those six years before. The same look they had shared.
"Nick! What's happened? Is Mother sick?"
"No," Nick said. "She's not sick. At least, not like that. We've heard news about Heath and Rachel." His voice was hoarse.
Audra found herself shuddering.
"What is Nick?" Jarrod asked.
"Mr. Bridgeman," Nick murmured in empty tones. "He found them." He looked slowly into Jarrod's eyes. "They're dead."
Audra stepped back as if she had been knocked by a heavy weight. Jarrod just stared at Nick.
Audra's chest heaved heavily. She shook her head, her mouth open in silent protest. Her mind was dashing about wildly with thoughts. They couldn't be dead. Just two days ago they had left the house – happy, healthy. They couldn't be dead! Surely not!
"No!" she finally found her words. "They can't be. I'll prove it. I'll go and find them myself!" and she made a dash for the door.
In that one moment, Jarrod realized that if he didn't step in and stop her, then Audra would ride off by herself. She could get lost. It would only add an extra worry on top of their troubles. He didn't know how he managed to think so clearly – but he did. And as soon as those thoughts came into his mind, he rushed after Audra before she had taken a step out of the house, and held her by the arms.
"Audra – there's nothing you can do!"
"Let go of me!" she cried, trying to twist herself out of his hold whilst the tears rolled down her cheeks. "Let go Jarrod! I've got to find them! I've got to bring them home!"
"Listen to me," Jarrod said, speaking to himself as much as to Audra. "You can't bring them home." The tears found their way into his voice. "You can't bring them home Audra!" he said firmly. His voice died down to a hoarse whisper. "They're not coming home."
Audra's face wrinkled up with a sob. She stopped thrashing about, and simply fell against Jarrod, sobbing into his chest.
Jarrod stood there, like a statue. His moment of thinking clearly had come and gone – and now all that was left in his mind was a dull throbbing.
He looked across at Nick. "Where's Mother?" he asked as the tears threatened to fall.
"In her room. She cried so much that she collapsed with exhaustion in my arms. I carried her upstairs. She's not asleep – she's just staring into space."
Audra pulled herself out of Jarrod's now loose hold. "I'm going to Mother," she said, the tears blurring her view as she hurried up the stairs to give comfort to and receive comfort from the figure that had shown so much strength through the years – through whatever had come their way.
Jarrod looked at Nick, and their eyes spoke so many things to each other that words could not express at that time.
Finally, Nick could bear it no longer. "I've got to see them with my own eyes before I can really believe it!" He left the house, slamming the front door behind him as he went.
The news had come as such a shock – perhaps if any of them had been in their right minds then they would have wondered why Bridgeman had buried Heath and Rachel instead of leaving the bodies for the family to identify and bury for themselves. Perhaps they would have rushed out to see for themselves whether what Bridgeman had said was true or not – but the sudden shock and grief had overwhelmed them so much that it was only now that Nick could get his head around checking it out for himself.
Jarrod would have followed if he had heard Nick – but his brother's words fell on deaf ears. Ears that heard words, and yet did not comprehend them! And a mind that kept out all thoughts except one; that dreadful overpowering understanding that was complete confusion at the same time.
Jarrod walked slowly into the living room. His legs seemed stiff – he could hardly walk. He made his way over to the table and poured himself a drink. The glass overfilled, some of the scotch spilling onto the table. Jarrod didn't notice – he couldn't see. A hazy blur had covered his eyes. He found himself walking over to the fireplace – staring at where later some flames would leap merrily as if to challenge their sorrow.
Heath and Rachel were both dead!
Jarrod's shoulders began to shake. As the tears trickled down his cheeks, he clenched his fist so tightly that the glass of scotch in his hand shattered. With a final force of passion, Jarrod threw the fragments of glass into the hearth, and then sank back wearily into a chair, and wept.
I hope that was written okay. It was a bit difficult to describe all of the emotions - but I hope I painted the picture okay! Thanks again to everyone for following my story and reading and reviewing! You don't know how much I appreciate it! Rachel D :-)