Mr. Hardiman pulled his buckboard to a stop and helloed the McCain home. He climbed down and took two jugs and a basket from the back of the wagon just as Lucas McCain opened the door. "Hello there, Lucas.""Good morning, Mr. Hardiman." Lucas stepped back to allow the older man to enter.

"My good wife, Agnes, was distressed to hear about your boy's sickness - well, we both were. She put together some things that ought to help. I brought you two jugs of apple cider vinegar. Now, he won't like it, but you make him drink a glass every morning. It'll clear out anything bad in his system." He set the jugs and basket on the table, and began to unpack the basket. "You should drink a glass every day, too. We raised all four of our boys on it, and they never had much more than a cold."

He took a careful look at Lucas. "You're looking tired, boy. Now Agnes made this bread yesterday, so it's good and fresh, and here's a jar of her apple butter. It's a bit too rich for the boy right now, but it will be good for you. You need to build yourself up." Finally he took out six pocket pies. "Here are some little pocket apple pies. They'll keep better than a regular pie. Our boys loved them." He picked up the empty basket and put a hand on the tall man's shoulder. "I'll be back next week with more cider vinegar. You make sure he drinks it."

Lucas was speechless. "Mr. Hardiman, you're too generous."

"Hush, boy," Mr. Hardiman said. "You've been good neighbors to us. We don't forget how Mark comes over almost every week and checks our wood pile. If he think's it's too low, he chops more for us." He laughed at the surprised look on Lucas' face."You didn't know the boy was doing that, did you? Well, you got a fine boy there. We're glad he's getting better." He left before Lucas could thank him.

"Pa?" Mark called.

Lucas poured two glasses of the apple cider vinegar, and took them back to the bedroom. "That was Mr. Hardiman, son. He brought us some apple cider vinegar."

Mark looked at the vinegar and made a face. "It tastes awful, Pa. Mrs. Hardiman makes me drink a glass every time I go by there."

Lucas smiled down at his son. "Mr. Hardiman tells me you go by pretty regular and chop wood for them."

Mark looked embarrassed at being caught doing a good deed. "Well, they're real nice folks, and they don't have anyone to help them. Their sons are grown and gone, so…"

Lucas laughed, and helped Mark sit up. He held the glass to Mark's lips. "Here you go. Just drink it down."

Mark reached for the glass. "I can hold it myself, Pa." His father handed him the glass, and watched him. Mark's hand shook with weakness, but he managed well enough and drank the vinegar down. "Ugh!" He made a face.

Lucas held his own glass up in a toast to Mark and took a sip. The boy was right - it tasted awful. He managed to keep a straight face, and finished it quickly. Hardiman must be be on to something, he thought. Anything that tasted that sour had to be good for you. "Hattie left us some chicken broth. Do you think you could try that?"

Mark nodded. "Can I eat it at the table, Pa? I'm awful tired of staying in bed."

Lucas started to say "no," but Mark looked so hopeful. "As long as you wrap up," he said.

Mark grinned, and pushed the covers back. He swung his legs over the side of his bed, and stood up - but only for a second. His legs gave way and he sat down hard. He looked up at Lucas. "What's the matter with me, Pa? Why am I so weak."

Lucas reached for a quilt, and wrapped it around Mark. "You're all right, son. Dr. Henneken told us it would take time for you to get your strength back." He gathered his son into his arms and carried him out to the front room, setting him down gently in the armchair. He brought him a cup of broth. "Here you go, boy."

Instead of taking the cup, Mark stared down at the floor. "I'm sorry I'm so much trouble, Pa." His voice trembled.

Lucas knelt before Mark, and forced the boy to look at him. "You're no trouble at all, Mark. I love you more than anything in this world." He stopped, his own voice breaking. "I don't know what I'd do without you." He hugged Mark to him and felt hot tears on his neck. "Take it easy, Mark. It isn't good for you to get upset." He picked the boy up and sat down with him in his lap, rocking him a little.

Mark was twelve years old, too old to be held and rocked like a little kid, but his father's arms were strong and warm and comforting. Lucas picked up the cup of broth and held it to Mark's lips. "Here, boy, drink this for your Pa." His voice was soft, reminiscent of times when Mark was much younger and had to be coaxed to drink or eat when he was tired and cranky. Mark managed to sip the broth. When he finished, Lucas continued to hold him. Mark fell asleep, and still his father held him.

Lucas was roused by a gentle tap on the door, and looked up to see Hattie Denton. She had a basket on her arm, and moved quietly so as not to wake Mark. She set her basket down on the table, and began to unpack it.

Lucas stood up carefully and carried his son to bed. He tucked Mark in, gently smoothing the hair off his forehead. He went back out to find Hattie washing up. "Lucas, I'm here to sit with Mark. You go out and do your chores, ride the range, round up strays, whatever you need to do."

He started to object, but Hattie cut him off. "Mark is out of danger now. He just needs building up, and you need to get outside and do something besides worry about that boy." Her voice softened a bit. "I love him, too, Lucas. I'll take good care of him. I always have."

He couldn't argue with her. Since they'd come to North Fork, Hattie had been a good friend. "Thanks, Hattie," was all he said, and more than was needed. He grabbed his hat and rifle, and left.