Here's the next chapter, sorry for the wait. I had a really busy week, school, the horses, and fangirling over Devil's Cherry because perfect episode is perfect.
Once more, I don't own a dang thing.
Patrick Jane was about halfway to the river when he heard the shot. With the bang, his heart shot from its normal place to his throat. He swallowed with difficulty as he continued to run, not bothering to take the time to look behind him to see if anyone else was coming. Then he heard another shot, then a third, and then a fourth. And then there were screams. They sounded like Grace.
There was no use in trying to conceal his approach any more. With that amount of fire, it was clear that something was happening. Jane sucked in a deep breath. "Teresa!"
Coming over the rise, he came to a halt, his mouth falling open as he took in the scene.
Craig O'Laughlin lay with the top half of his body in the river; his head submerged. Three large splotches of blood stained the front of his shirt. Grace knelt next to him, a gun in her hand, tears streaming down her face.
The blood drained from Jane's face when he saw his wife on the ground, looking as if she'd been lying on her side and was now propped up on her left hand. Her right arm was bent at the elbow and against her body like a robin with a broken wing, and her right shoulder was as bloodstained as Craig's chest and stomach.
Madeline Hightower was kneeling next to her, a hand on Teresa's back and the other hand holding a brown rag to the woman's wound. As Jane got closer, he noticed that the brown rag was a piece of the servant's dress.
"Teresa," he said, jogging the last few steps and falling down next to her. "Teresa, are you all right?"
She coughed and winced. "O'Laughlin," she said. "He tried to shoot us. He killed Johnson. He shot me, Grace killed him. O'Laughlin's dead."
"I know, I know," he said. Hightower stood and backed away, moving to Grace and dropping down on the other side of O'Laughlin's body. Now that she had moved, Jane shifted his position so he was on his wife's left side. "How bad is it?"
"The bullet's still in there, she said, leaning against him so she could reposition. "Madeline helped to stop the bleeding." She coughed again.
She was both shorter, thinner, and paler than her husband, but now she felt ridiculously tiny slumped against him, and that scared Jane more than he thought was possible. He hesitantly put an arm around her. "You're going to be okay," he told her, feeling the sun, now fully over the horizon, begin to beat down on them. It was going to be a hot day.
Meaning if his wife lived, she was going to be completely miserable.
He felt Teresa's body tense up, and then she pushed herself away from him, leaned forward, and vomited onto the dirt, her right arm still awkwardly against her body. She remained hunched over, breathing heavily, and then, groaning, straightened up and leaned backward against Jane.
"Ma!"
Jane looked up and saw Kimball, Wayne, Pete, Minelli, and Bertram running toward them, Wayne leading the pack. He reached his mother and hunkered down in front of her. "Oh God, Ma…"
"I'm all right," she said. "Check on your sister."
"Teresa Jane," Minelli said, reaching them and bending over to look at her. "Have you been shot?"
"Of course she's been shot," Jane snapped.
"Yes," Teresa said, ignoring her husband. "O'Laughlin's dead."
"Okay," Minelli said. "It looks like the bullet's still in there." He looked at Jane. "We have to remove it."
Teresa felt even smaller now. Jane put a hand on the top of her head to reassure himself that she was still there. "Do it," he said. "Do whatever you have to do."
"It is a risky procedure," Bertram started.
"Dammit, Gale," Jane said. "Don't you think I know it's dangerous? But she'll die otherwise, so do it, and do it now."
"Does anyone have any tweezers?" Bertram asked.
"I do."
The voice made everyone look at the speaker, rising from her dead fiancé's body and coming to her mother's side. She fished a pair of tweezers out of her pocket with a shaky hand and handed them to Bertram.
"I can do it," Minelli said. "Hand them to me."
"What about painkillers?" Wayne asked. "You can't just stick that into her shoulder."
"She doesn't need painkillers," Jane said. He tilted his head down to see his wife. "Teresa?" he asked. "Teresa?"
He knew she was still alive, he could feel her labored breathing, but he couldn't see her face. He felt her body tense up just before she spoke. "Do it. Do it."
"You going to be able to handle this?" Bertram asked.
She gave a weak nod. "I had four babies."
Four babies. Jane closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself. "Do it, then," he said to Minelli.
He looked down at his wife. There weren't any painkillers available, but he wasn't lying to Wayne when he said that she didn't need them. He could help. "Good, good," he began, talking in a low voice. "Now I want you to listen to the sound of my voice. Okay? Listen to the sound of my voice. One hundred, ninety nine, ninety eight. You're at home, you're in our bedroom, you're under the covers, ninety four, ninety three, it's a cold day, but the blankets are keeping you nice and warm, eighty nine, the birds are singing, eighty seven, there's that nice smoky smell from the neighbor's house, eighty four. You're happy and you're relaxed. You're rested. The birds. The covers." He nodded to Minelli and continued counting down, trying to come up with as many peaceful memories as possible. Strawberries, the smell of straw and autumn leaves, crisp, clear air. It was working; he felt his wife tense up again when Minelli began searching for the bullet, her breathing wasn't entirely regular, but she was calm and, for the most part, quiet. After what seemed like ages, Minelli shifted his weight backward, the bullet lodged between the tweezers.
"Ma, you can't travel," Wayne protested the next morning.
"I'm not walking, I'm not driving the wagon," she told him. "We have to keep moving or we'll be stranded in the mountains for the river."
She was lying in the front of the wagon, between the chest she'd brought from her parents' house and some sacks of flowers. The wagon would jostle a bit, but she would be relatively stable. And she'd have to deal with it.
"I'm going to ride with Summer today," Kimball told her, taking his mother's hand and squeezing it. "Her grandfather isn't feeling well in the heat. If you need anything…"
"You go," she said, smiling up at her oldest. "I'll be okay. Where's Grace?"
"She's walking with Pete and Amanda," Wayne said. "They said they can keep her mind occupied. I'm going to be leading Erica and Kristina today, while Father Jane drives."
She nodded. "Okay." She looked at her songs. "You're good boys."
Wayne and Kimball looked at each other. "Thanks, Ma," Kimball said. They both climbed out of the wagon.
Jane jumped up onto the driver's seat, rocking the wagon slightly. Teresa winced. Her shoulder hurt like Hell, but so far there was no fever. As long as there was no fever, she would be okay, she kept repeating in her head. As long as there was no fever.
"Mrs. Jane," her husband said looking down at her. "You're looking absolutely beautiful today."
She shook her head. "Stop it. I'm an invalid." She shifted her weight. "Did you make sure the harnesses are on right? She pushed herself up on her hands and looked over her shoulder toward the oxen.
"Hey," Jane warned. "You're on bed rest." He smiled down at her. "Look, you took care of me when my mind was gone. Let me take care of you this time, okay?"
No one had ever taken care of Teresa Lisbon Mashburn Jane in her entire life. She hated that that had to start now. But she wouldn't be helping her husband catch Red John Bandit if she got a fever and died before reaching Oregon. So she nodded. "I suppose I'll let you. Just this once."
"Good." He looked ahead. "We're moving out," he told her. If the pain gets bad, tell me. We'll slow down."
"Don't slow down," she said. "I can deal with it. This wagon train is going far too slowly. Don't let us fall behind."