Doralice

Chapter 24 – Painful Reminders

It was pitch black and he had no idea what the time was, or even the day of the week. There was a burning in his back and chest like nothing he'd ever felt, and his whole mouth and throat was raw and inflamed. He was laying on his back and he tried to roll sideways, hoping that the pain would stop. It didn't. He began to cough and choke, and he knew instantly why his throat hurt. There was a damp cloth on his forehead and he reached for it, to wipe the wetness from his face that he thought was spit but couldn't see in the dark was actually blood.

Every breath hurt, with an intensity that made him dizzy. In the blackness he could barely see the outline of a cup next to his head and he picked it up. It was full of something and it didn't matter to him what it was; he was so thirsty he would have drunk anything. It had no taste; he assumed it to be water. He was cold and shaking, but there was no blanket. There was a jacket folded up on the ground next to him just within reach and he grabbed for it. Straining to put it over his body caused more pain, but it provided a little warmth.

There was a woman next to him on a blanket asleep, and he couldn't tell who it was. She was blonde; the paleness of her hair shone in the tiny amount of light that his eyes had adjusted to. Caroline? No, she was long since dead. Amy? She was hundreds of miles away, in Arizona. After struggling for a minute it came to him – Doralice. He tried to reach out and touch her, but it seemed like the more he tried the further away she got. After several minutes his fingers reached her face, and he ran those fingers down until he found her lips.

Just as he touched those lips she jumped, finally aware of his tentative probing. In the dark she found her voice and asked, "Bart?" He shivered again, fiercely, and she was awake and up in an instant. "What do you need?"

"C..c..c..cold," he continued to shake so hard that he couldn't get the word out. She reached over to feel his forehead and was startled to discover the change in his temperature. There was no full blanket, only the bedroll, but she stood up and pulled it out from under her, wrapping it as tightly around him as she could. It didn't help much; he needed bodily warmth more than anything. She knew what to do; if he could move on the old mattress just a bit, she would lie next to him and give him her own body heat.

"Come on, Bart, you have to move over a little," she told him and did her best to help him do just that. He groaned with pain as he tried to move but was eventually able to scoot a few inches to the left. It was just enough, and she picked up the blanket and lay down next to him, as close as she could get while not disturbing the rifle wounds. He did his best to wrap her up in his arms and she threw the blanket over them. He continued to shake for a few minutes, but eventually her body began to warm his and they were both able to go back to sleep.

The next time he woke it was daylight, and she was gone. He threw off the blanket as best he could. The fever was back and it was raging. He was thirsty again and looked to ensure that the cup was there; it wasn't. He could see the canteen over by the door; Doralice must have filled it and set it inside.

He waited for a few minutes to see if she returned and when she didn't he decided that thirst was more critical than pain and did his best to sit up. He was persistent and finally managed an upright position, then all he had to do was crawl about four feet to get the canteen. That four feet took him almost an hour, and he was exhausted and in miserable pain by the time he accomplished his goal. But the canteen was full and he drank until he could drink no more, then decided to stay right where he was until the girl came back. What was her name again?

He leaned against the adobe wall and winced. His chest hurt as if he'd been shot. Oh wait, he had been. When did that happen? Just where was he? Mexico, the crumbling adobe wall that he could see told him. Where was Caroline? She was dead, his mind answered again, and he'd run away to Mexico to escape the grim reality of her death. No, that wasn't right. That had happened long ago. He was here –

He was where? Then he remembered the cantina in Pesqueria, and the tiny sleeping room in Cerralvo, and that she was Doralice Donovan Medina, and not Caroline Crawford. The effort of crawling for the canteen overcame him, and he let the fever take him back into unconsciousness, leaning up against the adobe wall, while Doralice hunted desperately for anything that could serve as food.

XXXXXXXX

It was night again, but Bret didn't know what day it was. He'd lost track sometime after they left Little Bend, and right now all he could think of was finding his brother. Beau finally pulled up alongside him and grabbed Bret's reins. "C mon, Cousin, you have to get some sleep. It won't do Bart any good if we miss him because you're too tired to see straight."

Bret started to protest, but he knew Beau was right. He'd pushed himself day and night, far past his ability to go without sleep, and he was way beyond exhausted. So when Beau grabbed the reins from him, he submissively sat on his horse and let his cousin lead him to a suitable spot to camp for the remainder of the night. He remained astride his mount until Beau tied the horses up and he could safely slip down without getting walked on. He was groggy and sleep-deprived, and no longer thinking straight. He should keep going to find his brother – he had a feeling it better be soon or it would be too late.

No matter what his mind told him his body demanded sleep. He started to unsaddle his horse and Beau walked up behind him and took him by the arm. "Just come sit over here, Cousin Bret. I'll unsaddle the horses." He guided Bret over to a rock and sat him down, then went back to the mounts. Bret knew there was no use arguing, it was rather like Pappy's reaction to Ben speaking up. Best to just go along with and not argue. Besides, he was too tired to argue.

In just a few minutes the horses were unsaddled and Bret's bedroll spread. He managed to get off the rock and lay down, closing his eyes and drifting into sleep almost immediately. Once again he dreamt, but it was an odd dream, and all he remembered was riding his horse, chasing his brother as if his life depended on it and he was unable to catch Bart.

When he woke he could smell the coffee and the sun was up. Daylight shone brightly in his eyes, and he knew it was late compared to the hour they had been rising at. He pulled out his pocket watch and looked at the time. Almost ten o'clock. "BEAU!"

"You don't have to yell, Bret, I'm right here. You want some coffee?"

Bret started to say something else and then bit his tongue. Beau had only done what he thought was best, there was no sense getting all hostile to him. "Yes, please," he answered.

"You're not gonna yell and scream?" Beau asked.

"Do I look like my father?"

"Yes, you do, but you don't act like him, thank God. How do you feel this morning?"

Bret yawned. "Like I'm gonna live, whether I want to or not."

Beau handed him a full cup. 'Here, drink this. I'll saddle the horses."

"Thanks, Cousin."

Beau smiled. "I want to find him too, you know."

Bret nodded, agreeing with Beau's statement. "I know you do." Bret drank the coffee as fast as he could, given how hot it was, and moved the coffee pot before he kicked dirt on the fire to put it out.

"We're almost there, Beau. We have to find him today."

"We will."

"If we don't – "

"We will, Bret."

"What if – "

Beau shook his head. "Uh-uh. None of that. We'll be in time. Finish your coffee."

Bret smiled a sly smile. "Yes, Pappy."