Chapter 21
Victoria turned her focus to her younger son and repeated her inquiry. "Guilty, Nick? Whatever for?"
He looked at her, at Jarrod, and turned back to the fire, which was now quietly smoldering in seeming safety. It took him a few minutes to gather his thoughts, to make sense of them, and only then provide the explanation. Victoria started to object, and was cut off by Jarrod.
"Makes sense. And, it's part of why you feel helpless. You can't give him what you have. Not that he'd be likely to take it, if you could. And you've taken from him what he did have. Even if you paid him well … more than well … he's still back in a place of being … doing … without.
"Maybe he'll take the job, when you get the chance to offer. When this is all over, maybe he'll stay on. Give him a chance, in time, to build a stake, start over.
"What surprises me is how quickly we've come to care about him. Lots of people come in and out of my office … lots of stories of justice gone wrong, of hardship. Plenty of men ride on and off this ranch … same kind of stories. But, there's something about him … his story … that has gotten to us. Can't explain it exactly, but there's no doubt that I feel it. I'm pretty sure you do too."
Nick snorted. "Yeah, the little bastard is getting to me."
He offered a quick addendum on the heels of his mother's reaction. "Sorry Mother. Didn't mean to be offensive. But, in truth, he has gotten to me. Don't know how … but he has."
He looked at them both again, then set his now-empty glass, gently on the table.
"Nothing I can do about it now, so guess I'll go get cleaned up for dinner. Oh, and Jarrod" he graced him with a grin, "apology accepted."
Still grinning he left the room, the sounds of his spurs quietly trailing away.
Heath loped up to his mama's cabin, signaled Gal to stop, and slowly slid from the saddle. He stood for a moment, leaning against that same saddle, his arms draped over it. He knew he was tired, wasn't quite sure why. No doubt, he'd ridden hard the last few days. It wasn't the first time he'd done so, not likely to be the last … especially now that his plans for the future had been thwarted. He also felt overly warm. There was reason for that when he was in the valley, but up here it was considerably cooler. No reason to be feeling warm. And tired.
He'd take a minute, catch his breath, and put a spring back in his step. Last thing Mama needed was to be worrying about him. And worry she would, if she got the slightest inkling he was less than perfectly fine. She seemed to have a particular ability to notice the littlest thing … the slightest change from normal. Yes, he'd take a moment to make himself look right.
He undid his saddlebags and bedroll, tossing them on the front stoop. Pulling the saddle off the little mare, he threw the blanket over it, before leading her around back and removing the bridle. She wouldn't go anywhere, nor would she bother the garden. There was grass for her, and he pumped some water into the make-shift trough. Giving her a farewell pat, he promised her, in a little bit, a good brushing, then headed to the front to pick up his bags and check in on Mama. He wasn't sure he was feeling less tired, but maybe, this once, he'd fool her.
The moment he stepped inside the little place, he knew something was wrong. Carefully setting his things to the side, on the floor, he closed the door quietly as his eyes scanned the space.
"Mama?" It was uttered loudly enough to be heard, but quietly enough not to disturb her, if she were here … maybe asleep. He waited for a reply. Just as he was about to search the little room at the back, Rachael appeared.
"Aunt Rachael, where's—" She cut him off with a finger to her lips, as she moved closer to him and guided him into the kitchen area.
"Your mama's sleeping, Heath. Don't want to wake her." She saw the questioning, and the worry, in his eyes, and gesturing with her head towards the door, she led the way. Once outside, she wrapped her arm around his, and held it for a moment.
"Sweetie, she's not doing too well. Was good the day you left, but seemed to start fading the next. Hannah and I been watching over her, getting her to eat and drink as much as possible. She's not eaten much today…."
He looked at her, their eyes met and locked. There'd never been much of a need for words between them. When he was younger, just one look from this lady, and he knew … she was mighty proud of him … or mighty disappointed.
"I got the money … exactly what the doc said we'd need. And enough for the trip…. You reckon she can make the—"
He couldn't continue, couldn't allow himself to conceive of giving up without doing everything possible. She was his mama … he couldn't fail her. Not now, not when it mattered the most. He just couldn't.
He didn't know what to do.
"I reckon what's really important now, is to do right by her … do what she needs, and not what we want. If her time has come, we have to do what we can to make her last days as easy as possible. Dr. Mitchell's supposed to stop in tomorrow. We'll see what he says."
She looked up at him, saw the pain in the now-shimmering blue eyes. "We'll get through this together. All of us. Like always. Remember what your mama said. She'll always be here. So will we, and so will He." She wrapped her arms around him, and held him close, as the encroaching dark swallowed the light of day.
Three days had passed. Dr. Mitchell had come and gone. He confirmed that whatever was growing inside her was doing so at a rapid rate, and appeared to be eating whatever strength she possessed. She had periods when she was awake … awake and lucid. Heath savored those. More often, she slept, or looked lost and confused. She'd eaten nothing in two days, sipping reluctantly, when forced, on offerings of water or weak tea.
At times, she was in obvious pain. The good doctor had left an ample supply of laudanum, with instructions to give her as much as she needed. He also left some morphine, but acknowledged it would be more effective if injected, and he regretted he did not have a spare syringe to lend. They, however, could give it orally if the laudanum was not sufficient.
His proclamation that she seemed unlikely to survive the ardors of a journey to obtain surgical services, was secondary to his opinion that her condition was now so advanced that it was unlikely surgery would help. He suggested they do what they could to bring her comfort in her last days. Sadly, he was certain those days were few.
As Leah slept, Heath sat at the table not eating the food Rachael had placed before him. Hannah set a cup in front of him. "You drink that now. It be helping with that fever you got brewing."
His head snapped up and their eyes met. "Yes, my chil', I feels it. Now you drink that up. I puts in some of that honey you gathered last time … make it be tasting better, and it be good for you too. And then you need to be getting some rest, before you be dropping on your feet."
"I need to be with Mama, need to be there if she wants me. Need to make the most of every minute I can. Only got a few days left with her.… Got the rest of my life to rest."
She ambled over, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and leaned her head against his. It was enough contact to let her test … let her assess how warm he was. Ascertaining it was not too bad, and hoping it maybe just was his body's reaction to all that was going on, she urged him again to drink the brew, and returned, with a last comment, to her work.
"You don'ts take care of you, youse won't be havin' any time with your Mama. She be sleeping for awhile now. You rest."
As she walked away he reached for her offering. She was right, he still felt warmer than normal. He couldn't get ill right now, there wasn't time. And, Mama needed him. They all needed him … himself included. His strength, his calm, his presence. He had to do this right … this one last thing for Mama. He drank it all. The honey did help ease the bitterness. He quietly placed the container back on the table, before letting his arms and head follow. He rested.
When his eyes opened again, he did feel better. Maybe a bit warm still, but nothing of concern. Someone had cleared away the dishes … including his untouched food. For that, he was thankful. He was quite sure his stomach would not thank him for it. Maybe later.
Okay, Heath, my boy. Time to check on Mama.
He found her sleeping, seemingly peacefully. As he settled into the bed-side chair, her eyes opened. She smiled. He smiled back, as he leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.
"Hi Mama. How're feeling?"
"I'm fine, my son."
"Glad to hear it." He chuckled, then heard her do the same.
"Guess neither of us can fool the other."
He shook his head, smiling again. It was good to hear her laugh, even if minimally. Her smile still illuminated his world, wrapped a warmth around his heart.
Stop! Don't think of how it'll be without that. Just relish it while it's here. Be grateful.
"I'm so sorry you're here, having to suffer through this … and I'm so glad you're here. I was afraid I'd not get to see you one last time. Not get to say goodbye … for now. I know I'll see you again one day … know we'll be together once more … never to be separated again. But there are things I wanted to tell you, things I wanted you to know, before I left you here … went on ahead to wait for you."
It had taken a toll for her to talk that much at once, but she'd needed to say it. Needed to know he would hear it. She closed her eyes, and worked to take in the air she needed. Take it into lungs that no longer seemed to have room for it.
He took her small, now-frail, hand in his two, strong, work-toughened ones, and urged her to breathe slowly and not try to talk.
When she had enough breath to continue, her eyes opened and locked onto his.
"Mama, please, just rest. Whatever can you tell me that I've not already heard?"
A/N: I have based Leah's rate of decline on the actual experience of a friend's daughter (Leah would have been about her age). Even with today's medical care, she lost her battle with cancer within a month of being diagnosed—the diagnosis following mere days after the first appearance of symptoms.