"Yes, Mother, Heath has been there. He was just seventeen. At seventeen years old, my brother has been a prisoner of war".
Victoria grabbed Nick's both forearms and searched his eyes. "I want to know, Nick. No matter how much it hurts. I need to know everything. Tell me what happened. Please, Nick".
Nick sighed. He wasn't ready to hear his voice tell what he'd never wanted to know, but it was too late, he couldn't escape the truth. "They attempted an escape, Heath and his fellow prisoners. Someone informed Matt Bentell, the prison camp commander. He and his men waited for them outside. He let eighteen men crawl out of the tunnel. He waited until they got into the open, then he gave the order to open fire. They were shot down in cold blood. Heath was still in the tunnel and this spared his life, but when they caught him…" Nick's voice broke. He couldn't speak anymore. He couldn't tell his mother what Heath had endured at the hands of that man.
Victoria nodded. She didn't need to hear, she knew.
Matt Bentell had always been weak with the strong and strong with the weak. In Carterson, he was as happy as a pig in mud. He had the power of life and death over his prisoners. He was usually satisfied to let his guards do the dirty work, but sometimes he liked to hold the whip hand, literally. The prisoners were like animals, they didn't deserve better. They fought over anything: over the maggoty food, over the putrid water, over scraps of clothing, over a place to sleep. They even fought over a place to die.
But then, the war was over. All everyone wanted to do was just to forget and move on. Atrocities had been committed on both sides, but they needed a scapegoat, so they took the commander of Andersonville, Captain Henry Wirz, and hung him. Bentell was tried, but all the charges against him were quickly dropped.
After the trial, he was forced to change his name: the worst thing about those war prisoners was that they never seemed to forget.
Matt Toddman was an old-fashioned gentleman, and the loyal foreman of the Barkleys' lumber camp.
That day, sitting comfortably in one of the stuffed armchair in the refined Barkleys' living room, he was calmly illustrating to Jarrod and Nick Barkley how a flume would considerably shorten the time of transportation of the logs. Sipping his whisky, he admitted that the cost would be significant, but that they would become the biggest lumber producers in California. And, with such an operation, he would be entitled to a percentage.
That was before he was introduced to the "new" Barkley brother. The moment their eyes locked, he realized who that man was. Oh, he didn't remember his name, he was just one among many, a nothing, just another of those Carterson animals. He couldn't help a little smile when he saw the astonishment and maybe… yes, the fear in the other man's eyes.
There he was, his worst nightmare, right in front of him. As soon as their eyes locked, Heath watched the old smirk he knew so well form on Bentell's face.
As the old fear filled his heart, all he wanted to do was to turn and run. But it lasted just a moment, the wink of an eye. He wouldn't, not this time. He wouldn't run anymore. He was Heath Barkley, not Bentell's victim, not a hunted animal. He was in his house, with his family, not in Carterson.
As soon as the fear left his heart, the hate immediately took its place, filling him completely. Every bit of his being was hate, pure cold sharp hate. He became one with his hate.
Heath's powerful blow hit Bentell's jaw and the man fell on his hands and knees. Heath launched himself at the man again. All he wanted to do was to put his hands around his throat and squeeze his life out.
Jarrod and Nick's reaction was almost immediate, but even the two of them put together had a hard time trying to stop Heath. Why was their brother trying to kill their lumber camp foreman?
"Heath, what's gotten into you?" Jarrod asked,
Heath struggled furiously to free himself. He had sworn, if he'd ever see Bentell again, he'd kill him and, by God, he would. "That's Matt Bentell!", he yelled.
No more words were needed. They all knew who Matt Bentell was, and what he had done. Heath's family knew what Bentell had done to him. Jarrod and Nick released him and stared at the man who, in the meanwhile, had managed to stand up again.
In the astonished silence that followed, they heard the sound of a hammer being cocked back. They turned their heads and the astonishment became incredulity: Victoria stood there, in her light blue gown, a rifle in her hands. Her eyes were cold as she was aiming, pointing directly at the man. When she spoke, her voice sounded deadly serious.
"Mr. Bentell, I'll say this just once, so listen carefully. Leave this house and never come back again. I don't want to see you here or in any of the Barkley lands or enterprises. Consider the Barkley land a "dead line", like the one you had in your prison camp: every man working for us will be ordered to shoot you on sight. Now leave, before I shoot you myself. And, believe me, I'd really love to."
Jarrod and Nick's faces were solemnly serious, both displaying an identical, very dangerous expression. Their mouths a thin line, their brows furrowed, their deadly cold eyes pierced him from side to side in a silent threat.
Bentell hesitated and opened his mouth to say something, but Jarrod's baritone voice resounded in the room. "Don't make it any worse, Bentell". "You heard her", Nick added nodding toward the door, his voice a low growl. "Get out of here, Bentell, before we forget you're an old man".
Bentell gave up any attempt or effort. He knew, this time, he was on the losing end. His face turned to stone as he straightened his jacket, took his hat from the table and left.
It was there and then. There and then, that Heath's healing really began. There and then, in his house, with his family at his side, with his family fighting for him and with him. He now knew he could trust, unconditionally trust these people. For the first time in a lifetime, he felt whole and complete.