6

Leaning on one hand Teresa propped herself into a sitting position and pushed Johnny's dead weight from her legs with the other hand. He rolled bonelessy onto his stomach, his limp limbs all tangled, his hair matted over his face. She heard Scott's footsteps, then felt his hand, reassuringly on her shoulder, stilling the shudders that had started up without her knowing. " Is he -?" She could not finish the sentence, for fear of making the thought come true. Her "brother" was lying so motionless and vulnerable like she had never seen him before. The sight made her feel sick to her stomach.

"He's breathing. " Scott reassured her as he knelt by his brother, gently pulled him onto his back and rearranged his bent limbs till they were in a more relaxed position. He rested his palm against Johnny's cheek. Teresa crawled to Scott's side, and then folded back on her heels. She stroked the hair away from Johnny's eyelids. His skin was burning again, slick with perspiration. She shook her head at Scott in puzzlement. "He still has an infection somewhere. Where? Scott what are we going to do?"

Ever practical, Scott bade her help him carry Johnny back in the shack and on to the flea-ridden bed. It was not easy to manipulate such a dead weight, for Johnny offered no resistance at all as they manhandled him across the clearing, up the step and in through the narrow doorway, Teresa clinging tenaciously to his calves, Scott bearing most of the weight, his large hands firmly gripping under the arms. They worked silently together to remove his spurs and boots, to undo the buttons on his shirt, to fill an enamel bowl with cold water from the pump and soak a rag in it to bathe his hot skin before the fever took too strong a hold on his body. Johnny trembled and sighed as the treatment took effect but still did not rouse to full consciousness.

"There's a cut on his head, Scott. I cleaned it up as best I could. Maybe we should look at it."

Scott acknowledged her words with a nod then carefully repositioned his brother's head till the cut at the back was revealed. It looked clean enough, no pus and no blood - just a raw wound.

"Looks like you cleaned it up good, Teresa." Scott smiled weakly as he let Johnny's head roll back. His words were reassuring to her, but did not totally ease her concern. "I'll just check his ribs here too." She helped Scott pull the silk wrapping away to reveal a large swollen mass of colorful bruising. Scott scowled and observed that there was the possibility of a cracked bone there, which could be a reason for the fever. Whatever the case they both agreed that they had to get Johnny's temperature down then head back to the ranch as soon as possible. Teresa carried the bowl back to the pump and exchanged the warm water for cold. As she turned back towards the bed, the cabin door flew open with a crash and two men rushed in, rifles pointing towards her.

"Stop right there, Missy." The mountain of a man who addressed her looked about Murdoch's age and wore a salt and pepper beard. His clothing was serviceable but grimy and protruding from his mouth was a thick earthy and unlit cheroot. All this Teresa noted as she froze in place, startled like a deer under threat.

Scott had been quick to draw his pistol, but before he could make use of it, the second man, who looked a muscular and moustachioed younger version of the first, was upon him and resting the rifle barrel against his shoulder. Scott let the pistol fall from his fingers and the intruder kicked it to one side with the toe of a dusty worn boot.

"Where is he?" demanded the first man, in a gruff voice, coming further into the room and seeming to fill it at once with his bulk. " Where is that low down varmint, Josiah Rossetti? We knows yer a hidin' him." He pulled the cheroot from his mouth and spat tobacco at the grubby floor before reinserting it. Teresa turned away, disgusted.

"Rossetti?" Scott's voice revealed his puzzlement. "He left a while back. What do you want with him?" Tentatively, he pushed the rifle barrel from his shoulder with one finger, all the while maintaining eye contact with his adversary. It was a trick he had learnt in the war.

It was the younger man who responded in a deep gravely voice. "We follered him here, bin tracking him nigh on 3 weeks. Heard he was in Morro Coyo, up to his usual tricks, I reckon. Where's the varmint hid?"

Still frozen in place, Teresa surprised herself by having the nerve to look up toward the younger man and ask, albeit in a quiet voice, "What do you mean - his usual tricks?"

The older giant motioned with the rifle for Teresa to sit on a chair.

"You bin seein' him?" he growled around his cheroot, fixing her with a steely glare. Now he was closer to her she could smell the unpleasant ripeness of unwashed skin and clothes, which hung about him like fleas on cattle.

Fighting the desire to gag, Teresa nodded slowly. "Yes. He's been painting my portrait. A series of miniatures. He's an accomplished painter; he's traveled all over Europe, studying with great artists there. He was painting miniatures of me dressed as Greek goddesses because Murdoch so likes his Homer. It was going to be a surprise." She cast a glance over at Scott.

There: the secret was out now.

Both strangers lowered their weapons and looked at each other. "Yup, sounds about right. That's what he tole ma little Annabelle. Name's Luke, Luke Harvey, an' this here's ma boy, Jared." He inclined his head towards his companion who was in the process of picking up Scott's gun. As Jared handed the pistol back to him in a bear paw of a hand, he winked at Scott, "I guess you'll be wanting to catch him too, fer similar reasons as us."

"What do you mean?" The older Lancer holstered the gun but maintained a wary posture. Teresa could see that he was still on his guard even as he sounded the Harveys out.

"Did he hurt yer friend there?" Luke pointed at Johnny, who had made no noise since the strangers had entered the shack. He seemed to have passed into a dreamless sleep.

"No, Josiah didn't hurt him. He fell and hurt himself. In fact it was Johnny who shot Josiah."

Nodding his approval, Luke rested the rifle against the table and fished in his pocket for a Lucifer. He finally lit the cheroot and drew deeply on it.

He blew out a snake of smoke and nodded his approval.

Meanwhile, Jared walked in heavy strides over to the pump and stuck his head under the flowing water. Stretching upright with a belch, he shook the liquid out of his long lank hair and brushed the back of his hand against his moustache. "So he's hurtin' is he? That'll make catchin' him easier."

"But why are you chasing him?" Teresa asked. "What did he do? And what are you going to do when you do catch him?" Teresa could not keep the concern for her friend out of her voice, for these men seemed quite desperate and capable of any atrocity with or without good reason. Each one of them would make two of Josiah, for although the artist was tall, he was wiry rather than bulky.

Instead of answering her, Luke faced Scott. "What he done ain't suitable fer her ears, if yer git ma meanin'. That varmint ain't no suitable friend fer a decent young gal." Once more, he removed the cheroot and spat out the contents of his mouth as if he were aiming at the itinerant painter.

Scott turned serious eyes on Teresa. "How did you meet him?"

"Why, at the Church dance at the beginning of last month. Remember? I went with Lucy, oh, and Jelly came also. You and Johnny said you had too much paperwork to do to come with us though we begged and begged you. You know how much Lucy likes to dance with you."

"I remember," Scott nodded, then licked his lips before continuing, "Was his behavior…gentlemanly towards you?"

"Why, of course it was." Teresa laughed, "He is the most polite, well mannered, well bred man I have ever met. He is also very learned. He introduced me to some beautiful poetry. And we talked about cultural things - he knows as much about opera and literature as Murdoch does - maybe even more."

"Yup," Jared nodded, sniffing loudly. "That's jus' what Annabelle said. Then we found out she was … ya know what I mean? Shamed us all." He punctuated the statement by wiping his nose with the back of a hairy hand leaving glistening residue amid the moustache hairs. Teresa tried to keep her eyes away from the repulsive view in vain.

Scott nodded again but Teresa felt confused. "He was always a perfect gentleman. Always. Scott?"

"I believe you, Teresa." It was a relief to Teresa to hear him say that. She had kept her relationship a secret through honest motives, and she had never intended to deceit, she merely wanted to give Murdoch a nice surprise. "But I must admit, I did not care for the man, and it worries me to think you spent so much time alone with him, and in unsuitable attire."

"But I was never alone with him. Lucy was always with me; I insisted she was. And Scott, the paintings are truly wonderful. He is a great artist. If you saw his work, you would agree. I can't believe he was lying to me."

Teresa looked down at the table top, distressed and wondering how the situation could have spun so out of control. She had only ever wanted to do something kind for Murdoch and now they were stuck in a filthy shack with two unspeakably dirty ruffians, Johnny sick, and Josiah on the run. How had all this happened?

Luke and Jared both sighed in relief. "Well I guess you got nuttin' ter worry 'bout with her. So I reckon we'd best be on our way. First off, we'd like some water and vittels if you have any. Canteens are empty."

Biting down her fear, Teresa gathered together some dried food and cans for the two men, and filled their canteens from the pump. She tried to avoid making contact with his hands as she gave the cans to Jared. She was reluctant to believe that Josiah could have done anything wrong or immoral and was sure these rough men were lying. As soon as they were gone, she would tell Scott her suspicions and encourage him to do something to help Josiah.

She did not have long to wait, as both men were eager to be on the trail of their quarry. Jared assured them he had tracked for the army and would have no problem picking up the painter's trail. Luke growled out his thanks and they crossed to the rickety door, their weapons tucked under an arm, clutching the bundles of food. Although relieved to see them go, Teresa did not watch them, but diverted her worries for her friend by going to check on Johnny. Scott closed the door securely behind the hideous men and she breathed a sigh of relief.

Johnny seemed to be resting still, his eyes, shadowed, were softly closed and his breathing was even. A sheen of perspiration stood out on his brow and keeping her eyes fixed on his familiar features, Teresa wiped it tenderly away with the end of the sheet. He moaned in response, coughed a little then moved his arms and legs as if to get more comfortable, so she shushed him as she did the cat when it was birthing kittens.

"Go back to sleep Johnny, it's all right now, shhh."

He responded obediently, stilling his restless limbs and turning his face away from her towards the wall, to sink into a deeper slumber. She stroked a lock of glossy hair away from where it had fallen across one moist eyelid, and then turned back to Scott who was gathering up their belongings and grouping them all on the table top. As she spoke, she kept her hand on Johnny's clammy forehead in the hope that the warmth of her palm would keep him comforted.

"What a relief those sickening men have gone. You didn't believe them, did you Scott? Josiah is the most perfect gentleman I have ever met and as mild as a kitten. He could never hurt anyone. I am sure he hasn't a mean or hurtful bone in his body. He never behaved other than with utter propriety and consideration. He is the type of man to get on really well with Murdoch. And he is so knowledgeable, so learned about so many subjects. And cultured too. Why, he has seen Shakespeare performed in England, can you imagine that, Scott?"

Scott's brow furrowed as he thought out an answer. "I must admit that were I to make a judgement on what I saw of him, I would be inclined agree with you. Those two fellows were rough and ready, that's true, but we have no reason to disbelieve them either. Think about it, Teresa, why would they chase him without good reason?"

"Scott, I am sure they were lying about Josiah. Maybe they are common thieves and he has something of value they want - I don't know. But I am sure he is in great danger and we have to do something to help him. We can't just let it be. They looked the sort of men who would think nothing of taking the law into their own hands. Why, they might even lynch him! We can't let that happen. Oh Scott, you do see that we must do something, don't you?"

Scott's answer was muffled by the sound of a stifled squeal from Johnny, quite unlike anything Teresa had heard from his lips before. Turning urgently back to the gunfighter, who was tossing his head and moving his limbs in an uncoordinated way, and at a loss to do anything else, she stroked his head again as softly as she could and made soothing noises. After a bout of violent coughing, Johnny seemed to quieten a little at her touch, his lips parting to utter sounds, which were halfway between words and sighs.

Scott dragged a chair over next to her and sat by the tattered bed. He looked at his brother's lax form with great concern, "He doesn't seem to be getting any better and that cough is strange. I think we should try and rouse him, get some water in a cup, Teresa. I'm going to try to wake him up. We should get him fit to travel as soon as possible…I don't wish to spend any more time here than necessary, he could need more care than we are able to give him."

As Teresa retrieved one of the mugs they had used the previous evening and pumped it full of clear water, Scott was urging his brother to wake up. Johnny did not seem willing to respond, and this caused Scott even more concern. In reaction to the tap across the cheek, which Scott administered, Johnny turned his head away and gave a pitiful moan, batting at his brother's hand weakly. Heat was radiating from the exposed parts of his body: he was burning up once more and needed to be cooled down.

Teresa repositioned herself on the bed and called his name. "Johnny, I have some water for you here."

She was pleased to hear him respond with an almost inaudible moan and a slight cough, and then she saw confused reddened blue eyes as his eyelids parted slowly. It looked as if Johnny was having trouble opening his eyes completely, as if his eyelids were a burden too great to bear or he feared the light, dim as it was, yet he seemed to be responding to her voice, and for this she thanked God.

Scott smiled at her, encouraging her further by asking, "When did you get to be such an accomplished nurse?"

"I have had a lot of practice. I nursed your father and mine through many fevers, Scott."

She could tell Scott was intrigued and added, " I will tell you more in time. It must be hard for you sometimes, knowing what you missed. A brother, a father…All that time you could have had together, gone now."

Scott laid a large hand on her forearm, pondering on her words. "I'm pleased he had you to take care of him when he needed a woman's touch."

Teresa shot him a rueful grin, "A girl's touch, Scott, but then I had to grow up quickly on Lancer." She turned her attention back to the younger of the siblings, "Please Johnny, try some water, it will help you feel better."

As her patient lifted an arm Scott grabbed him round his shoulders and eased him into a more upright position. The movement seemed to drain the energy away from his body and his eyes closed again.

"So tired." he whispered through pallid and half open lips. "Hot."

Edging onto the narrow bed, Scott supported his brother, holding the dark head against his shoulder so that Teresa could get the rim of the chipped mug against Johnny's lips and force the water into his mouth. Johnny spluttered; losing most of the cool liquid down his cheeks, but it had the right effect on him. He opened his eyes again and seemed to bring Teresa into focus. She couldn't be sure if he knew where he was or was aware who she was, but she was thankful that at least he was awake enough to take refreshment. She allowed another trickle of water to flow into his mouth, and this time he swallowed.

"There, Johnny, that's better," she soothed as Scott began to pull apart the sides of the open shirt exposing the silky bandages which stood out in sharp relief beneath the matted dark hair. He proceeded to remove the shirt as gently as he could, trying to avoid causing his brother further hurt. From the rapidity of his breathing, it was obvious that Johnny was suffering quietly.

"He's burning up again, can you feel?" he addressed Teresa, " We have to cool him down."

Teresa was quick to return to the pump and fill a bowl with water and to fish another strand of satin from her bag. By the time she brought them over to the bed, Scott had rolled Johnny over onto his side where he supported him with one hand to stop him falling back.

As she approached the bed walking slowly in order not to spill the water, she could see the bewildered expression on Scott's face turn to disbelief then realisation. In response to his quiet utterance of one word, "Look," she placed the trembling bowl on the dusty floor and knelt beside him, her mouth open in shock.

Teresa brought her hand up to her open mouth as Scott whispered, "how on earth…?"

"Is it – do you think it's –?" She was afraid to say the word in case naming it would somehow call it into existence like a conjured up sprite. "Could it be the smallpox?" Her face fell as she contemplated the implications.

Scott rested his open palm on Johnny's back, hesitantly, as if he too wanted to deny what his eyes were showing him.

"Not raised…so I would say it's likely measles, not smallpox. Check his forehead" He allowed his brother, then, to roll gently onto his back. Teresa fixed her eyes on the sad sight of Johnny's limp hand as it fell boneless to the bed and seemed to turn itself over to dangle freely. Sniffing down a lump in her throat, she picked up his left hand in hers and held it still between her thumb and two fingers. Johnny offered no resistance; his eyes open still a slit, water glistening at the edges. Then unexpectedly overtaken by a fit of coughing that shook his whole body, and startled his companions Johnny doubled over fighting for breath. Teresa dropped his hand like it was alight and fell back to rest knelling upright on her heels. Scott laid one hand on his chest to calm him, and taking the soaked cloth from Teresa with the free hand he sponged his brother's shoulders and face with a care that belied his strength.

Thankfully, the hacking sound lasted barely a minute, after which Johnny's eyes closed completely as his body finally went limp under Scott's hands.

Sighing, Teresa leant over and pushed back the errant lock of hair to reveal, true enough, a browny red blotch of a rash. "Yes, it looks like measles. No wonder he felt so sick and got so fevered. But how come he never had it as a child?" She could feel the tears pricking at her eyes and brought the back of her hand up to wipe them.

"And who did he catch it from?" Added Scott, puzzled. "Last week he was with the kids at the schoolhouse - one of them must have it. But I know it is worse for an adult to get it – my nanny had it once, she caught it from me. I felt badly that I had been the cause of her taking so ill. It was weeks before she regained her strength. Johnny is going to be very ill with fever, stomachache, and sore eyes and I've heard of people getting complications like brain disease, blindness, fits."

Teresa settled back, letting the hair fall back over Johnny's forehead, "Oh Scott, poor Johnny. How can we take him home like this? We can't do, can we? Yet, we can't stay here with no food and no medicine. What are we going to do?"

It was all too much. She had tried to put on a brave face, tried to have courage when faced with the Harveys and their accusations, but she was so tired and her beloved "brother" was now very ill and in need of more help than she could give. She hated this feeling of powerlessness. She had tried to be resourceful and strong but it was all too much to bear. Could this be her fault? She had only had the very best intentions in mind when she decided to have the miniatures painted, and she really had thought Johnny was feigning illness yesterday. Was it only yesterday? It seemed like a lifetime ago now: almost as long ago as the day she first met Johnny and Scott from the stagecoach. Her first impression had been of a dark and dusty ball of anger; how disagreeable he'd been, and how she had tried to pacify him. She recalled fiery eyes that challenged her; a man far different from any she had ever met before. It was hard to reconcile his status as Murdoch's son with his dangerous appearance and background. Yet, somehow she had found enough nerve to put him right about his mother and Murdoch that afternoon, by the river, when she had only known him a day. Then when everything had calmed down, Pardee dead and Johnny was recovering from his gunshot wound, she had been thrilled to have a gunfighter in the house. She had read romances of young gunfighter's in Dime Store Novels. They were usually barely out of their teens, lived dangerous lives and destined to die heroically before they reached thirty. Women swooned before them and they left broken hearts behind in every town they visited. Her friends had been eager for details of the new houseguests and she had been the most popular young woman in the district, still was. It seemed like her friends never tired of hearing what style and color of shirt Johnny wore, what he ate for breakfast, how straight he could sit a horse, how fast he could ride, how many steers he could rope in an hour, what he wore to swim in the river. She was never short of visitors eager to catch a glimpse of her dark and dangerous "brother".

And not just Johnny - for some of her friends wanted to hear about Scott and his refined manners.

Scott had been easy to get on with from the very first moment. He had an easy way about him, serious when necessary but good humored as well. He had accepted with easy grace her offer to help him buy suitable clothes and they shared a common interest in reading matters. He had lived in places she had long dreamed of visiting. Her father had often promised her that they would visit Boston together; he died before they ever had that chance. Scott shared tales of his youth with her in a way that Johnny never could. She recalled how willing he was to answer her questions about the latest fashions in hat and dress and what the well bred women in the east liked to do in their spare time.

Scott had found a trunk under the bed and was pulling out a moth-eaten sheet, grayed and unpleasant in appearance. He studied it before shrugging and placing it over the lower half of Johnny's body.

"Look how the rash is spreading, from what I recall it is very infectious. Even if we could move him, I don't know if it would be wise. Have you had measles? I don't believe you can get it twice."

Teresa nodded. "I had it over ten years ago. So, we are all right. I do remember having stomach ache and a cough. It was summer and Angel boiled up water to keep my room steamy, pots and pots of it. I hope Josiah hasn't caught it what with those two chasing him, if he's sick he won't have a chance. We must do something, Scott. We must help Josiah. Oh this is all so hopeless, how can we help both of them?"

Staring at his brother with obvious concern, Scott replied that he was trying to work out a plan of action in his mind.

Finally he spoke.

"We have three options. One of us leaves the cabin to get help and warn Josiah that he may have measles and that he is being pursued. I would suggest that person be me in case the two Harveys are still around. Second: we both stay here until a ranch-hand comes to check the shack, or Murdoch comes looking for us. The obvious problem there is we may run out of food and we have no way of treating Johnny if he takes a turn for the worse. And we can't help Josiah if we are here. Three: we get Johnny into the buckboard and take him home. From there we can send men out to deal with Josiah and the Harvey's."

Teresa looked down at Johnny who had become restless again, but not awake, moving his head slowly from side to side. He looked to her like he was having a nightmare so she wet the cloth, wrung it out tightly and folded it neatly onto his forehead.

She felt that neither option was ideal and was afraid to commit to a decision. Let that be Scott's responsibility, she didn't want to cause further harm to anyone. This situation was bad enough.

"You choose." She offered, resigned.

Scott thought for a moment then decided. "Let's try the third option. That way we are all together. I don't like to think of leaving you here alone with the Harvey's around. They could have been telling the truth, but there was something about them I did not trust. Staying here is not a good idea either; we could be trapped. If they decide we are lying and are harbouring Josiah, they might come back. Yes, the best plan is to get Johnny back to Lancer straight away and deal with Josiah from there. I'll go hitch up the horse and bring the buckboard round front. You try to get him in a fit state for travelling."

As he spoke, Scott gathered together as many of the much-needed items as he could lay his hands on. He scooped up cans of food, mug, Johnny's knife and gun, Teresa's precious bag, two water bottles that were covered in a thick layer of dust and grease, and a worn blanket. He placed them all on the table apart from the bottles, which he put by the pump.

"We'll need as many provisions as we can find in here and lots of water. You might have to sponge him down in the buckboard so look around for more containers. Oh and more blankets to keep him from being jolted around. Measles makes you ache in every joint and muscle. Even if we drive very carefully, it shouldn't take us more than a couple of hours to get to the ranch. We may need to cover our tracks - that will slow us down. Anything else you can think of, Teresa?"

Teresa considered a second before asking Scott if he could find her some willow tree bark. "I could make a tisane for him, help ease the pain. That might make it easier for him to get in the buckboard."

"Are you sure willow bark is good for measles? "

Teresa shook her head, "No I 'm not, Scott, but we need something to get his fever down and to help with the pain. I can't think of anything else, can you? At least the steam from the boiling water may ease his breathing."

Nodding, Scott left the shack, pulling on his gloves and whistling tunelessly through his teeth in what Teresa assumed was an attempt to give comfort to her. As soon as the door creaked shut behind Scott, Teresa stoked up the pot-bellied stove, refilled the kettle and put it on to boil. She wiped her hands on her dress, all the while listening to Johnny in case his breathing altered in tone signifying a change from sleep to wakefulness. She had only a little knowledge about measles, but she was aware it was a dangerous and contagious affliction and that it could be deadly. She hoped she was right about the willow bark and that it wouldn't make Johnny worse. She recalled with sad clarity how Elisa Fairhurst's baby had died of it only last year; how his mother had held him tight as he shook with convulsions and yelled in pain, until his tiny body stilled forever. That must not happen to Johnny. It would be vital to make sure he did not become delirious, or have fits or start to vomit. Those symptoms would indicate the illness was taking too great a hold on him for his body to cope. The best place for him would be safe in his bed at Lancer with proper care and facilities. And as for Josiah, she wondered how he was fairing. Was he still running? Or had he found a safe haven somewhere? He could even have got as far as the ranch if he rode in the right direction. She prayed he was safe for she knew in her heart that he was honorable and trustworthy.

Sighing deeply she turned back to consider Johnny again and was surprised to encounter his piercing eyes staring at her glassily. She watched him run a white slip of tongue along his lower lip; the moisture glistened in the low light. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he coughed feebly. She could see how the rash was more obvious now on his cheeks and his neck; in a few days it would turn his whole body a mottled brown. Teresa placed her hand on his forehead to find it still too warm. Johnny tracked her hand with his eyes then reached up his own rough one to enfold hers. Teresa's heart thumped against her ribs at the sensation of his large calloused gunfighter's hand; she held her breath for a long minute wondering what he would do next. She could barely hear the noise of the nickering horse and Scott's soft encouragements to it as he hooked it up to the buckboard, above the thudding of her own heartbeat. Then the moment passed in a sigh as she pulled away to reach down for the mug of water that was on the floor by the bed.

"Here, drink this, " she said, unnerved by the intensity of his stare as he continued to follow the shaky movements of her hand. "I have to get you ready to leave, but you need to co operate a bit."

He was still looking at her hand, in a manner that was making her skin prickle, for his eyes were shining with an uncommon intensity as if there were a film of moisture preventing him from focusing properly. She wondered if he was really seeing her at all, or if he was in the grip of some delusion. She supposed it was possible that he wasn't awake at all, but in a waking dream like a somnambulist.

Supporting his head in the crook of one arm, she managed to place the mug against his lips and eased the rim into his mouth. The water trickled in and he seemed to swallow reluctantly. "Is your throat sore?" She asked him, frowning, but the only answer he gave was a deep shuddering inhalation, which shook his body like a wind driven leaf. Then he relaxed a little in her arms, closed his eyes for a second and re opened them to stare at her quizzically. She turned away, uncomfortable again, from his penetrating eyes, which were quite obviously seeing someone other than her, to busy herself with getting him fully dressed.

As she reached for his shirt, preparing to fasten it up properly, her fears that he was in the grip of a delusion were confirmed when Johnny struggled upright, as if through mud, to grab her elbow with surprising ferocity.

"Dolores," he whispered, through dry lips. "You came back."