Part Fourteen

"I know how you feel, Mr. Barkley." The sheriff put his elbows on the table in Dr. Saxton's kitchen and took a long, slow sip of his coffee. "When the first Mrs. Fain was killed, I wanted the cowboy who did it to hang. Didn't happen that way. He didn't even go to prison. But it didn't make any difference in the long run. She was still gone and the pain of it didn't go away. Not for a long time."

"The law failed you, too." Jarrod looked into his own cup and saw nothing but black.

"Your brother tells me you're a lawyer."

"Was," Jarrod said.

"Are," Heath corrected.

"I don't know. After what I've done, I could very well be disbarred. Maybe I'll resign before that happens."

"Jarrod."

"Look, maybe I've just been fooling myself all along, thinking I can make a difference. The whole legal system is a mess. I might as well tell my clients to roll dice as have me represent them. The outcome would be the same."

"That's not true."

"I've felt the same sometimes," the sheriff admitted. "About my own job. But then I think even if I can help only a little bit, isn't it better than leaving the whole town to fall apart?"

Jarrod made no comment.

"I know you want to see Hyatt dead," Fain began, and Jarrod glared into his eyes, making him falter and look away.

"I'm not saying I don't. But that's not what I mean about this not being over till he hangs. I mean there's no guarantee he'll pay for what he did, not to Beth and not to your deputy and not to whoever else he's wronged, not until he's sentenced and hanged. You've seen it before, sheriff. Heaven knows I have. A case that seems ironclad, and the jury comes back with a verdict that's nothing short of insanity. Or the judge dismisses the charges."

Fain winced at that.

"Jarrod, maybe you ought to just eat and not worry about Hyatt for now," Heath said. "You don't know—"

"Or the verdict is changed on appeal," Jarrod said, trampling whatever else Heath wanted to say. "Or the governor grants a pardon. Hyatt was pardoned, and that gave him the chance to murder my wife. He should never have been pardoned in the first place. He was guilty."

Heath merely looked at him, not attempting to say anything else.

"It's not over till Hyatt's hanged. I've seen things happen to others, to clients of mine, where they were not given justice, and I glibly assured them the system works more often than not. Maybe it does. Maybe I'm not so sure anymore. I just know what I did only made everything worse. For everybody."

The sheriff shrugged. "I guess the only time we'll ever see real justice is when we're standing before the Almighty. And even then the only hope the best of us has is mercy."

Jarrod looked down at his untouched food. Justice. Mercy. The Almighty. The true Judge. That Judge wasn't Jarrod Barkley.

He picked up his fork and started to eat. Heath exhaled and returned to his own breakfast, his shoulders taut as he hunched over his plate.

Jarrod put his fork down again. "I'm sorry, Heath. I didn't even let you finish what you were saying."

Heath looked at him, one eyebrow raised.

"You've been more patient through all this than I deserve. And you're right. Whatever happens to Hyatt is out of my hands. I've got more important things to worry about." Jarrod rubbed his eyes. "I guess it's time I checked on Nick."

He started to stand up, but Heath put one hand on his arm, keeping him where he was.

"Eat your breakfast first, counselor. You pontificate when you're hungry."

Jarrod couldn't hold back a low laugh. "Pontificate, Brother Heath?"

"Nobody could be around you this long, Jarrod, and not pick up at least a few of your two-dollar words."

Heath gave Jarrod that one-sided little smile that was so like Father's, and somehow it was very comforting. Jarrod ate.

OOOOO

After breakfast, Jarrod and Heath found Nick still sleeping, comfortably it seemed.

"How is he?" Jarrod asked quietly.

"I've been keeping one of my special poultices on the wound," Dr. Saxton said. "It's helping draw some of the poison out. He seems to be improving. My wife tells me the supplies you ordered from the general store have been delivered."

"Good," Heath said.

"She tells me you bought something to change into."

"Yeah. Our duds are in pretty bad shape."

The doctor nodded. "That's excellent. I've asked her to heat some water for both of you. I want you to bathe and shave and put on your new clothes."

"We can see to that later," Jarrod said, looking at Nick.

"You can see to it now, if you please, Mr. Barkley. Your brother will do better for having everything in here as clean as it can possibly be. That includes you. Now is as good a time as any. He's sleeping naturally, and his temperature is down."

Jarrod laid his hand against Nick's forehead. It was still too warm, but it wasn't as bad as it had been.

The doctor patted Jarrod's arm and turned him toward the door. "Either I or my wife will be with him until you come back. You needn't worry."

OOOOO

Jarrod waited until he was alone in the bedroom belonging to the doctor and his wife, then he peeled off his soiled clothes, unwound the bandages from his wrists, and lowered himself into the warm water that filled the tin bathtub Mrs. Saxton had prepared for him. He sank down until the water covered him entirely, stinging his wrists and the gash along the side of his head, soaking the blood and the sweat and the grime out of his hair. He stayed there until there was no more air in his lungs. It's an awful thing to drown.

He sat up with a gasp, pushing the memory away, and the air around him was cold on his wet skin. He took a deeper breath and ducked under again, running his hands through his tangled hair and down his body, washing away the filth from every hour of every day since he had sunk his fingers into the fresh dirt of Beth's grave, washing away the thoughts that whirled through his head, everything that had happened, everything that would happen, everything that would have to be done and everything that couldn't be undone. He couldn't think of it now. He had to have a moment, just a moment, of peace.

Eyes still closed, he lifted his head enough to fill his lungs again with air. Then he leaned back against the edge of the tub, forcing himself to think of nothing but this moment, of clean, hot water and soap that stung his eyes and the rough cloth that washed him clean, of the fresh clothes that awaited him there on the chair and the razor that would take the unkempt stubble from his face, of Nick sleeping peacefully and Mother coming soon and the hope of mercy that wouldn't let him go. For this moment, it was enough. It was enough.