Chapter 8 – Conflict
Dimly Lucas grew aware of a whinny, steps on the porch, the door clanging open.
A strangled sound. "Lucas! Dear Lord."
The gentle hands touched his back, his shoulder, nudged him ever so carefully. "Lucas!"
He groaned, lifting a hand to his head. He opened his eyes a little.
"Are you hurt?" The deep voice was choked. Gently, but insistently the hands turned him on his back, looking for wounds.
Eirik was bent over him, his face a pale, badly drawn mask of horror.
"'m fine. I tried to get up."
The hands stilled. Green eyes burned into his, their expression raw with emotion.
Disbelieve spread over the young man's face, something gave around the expressive mouth.
"What did you say?"
"Help me up." Lucas croaked. Eirik managed to get him upright and had him resettled on the bed within a few torturous moments. For a minute Lucas lay there and breathed, aware of the other man staring down on him. When he lifted his arm from his face, Eirik turned away forcefully. He was shaking.
"Donelly…" he had given the boy a fright.
"First you shout at Mark, then you half kill yourself? I know this is far overstepping my place but, Sir, you're behaving mighty irresponsibly." The boy's voice was hoarse; he spat the words out angrily. "Sitting around doing nothing is torture for many a man. To see you lying there covered in your own blood was worse, trust me. And Mark would have blamed himself had he found you just now." The boy bent down, picked up the rifle from the floor and stormed out, slamming the door energetically behind him.
Lucas stared after him bemusedly, and profoundly humiliated. Mark had probably told Eirik how stubborn his Pa was being, the young man had ridden home. And found him lying on the floor, the rifle at his feet. Donelly had assumed Lucas had gotten shot by whoever he had tried to confront.
He could hear the pump being worked forcefully, the water splashing loudly. After a long while, the light steps returned, the door opened, and the young man entered the room.
His eyes were red-rimmed, his lips a thin line. He tried to meet Lucas' calm eyes with a stony gaze. But a poker-face had to be learned, and the boy didn't have it. Their stare held for a long moment, then Eirik said coolly: "I won't apologize, Mr. McCain."
"You shouldn't. I have to. I'm sorry."
Some of the tension seeped out of the farmhand's shoulders. The words burst out of him in truly childlike manner: "You haven't even eaten solid food yet! If half the stories are true, you took care of enough sick or hurt people to fill this town! I've got a crutch half-finished in the barn, and a stool for to put your leg on when you're sitting up! Just give us this one day until we know the crisis is past! You heard the Doctor! We've only got today to finish the lower field, rain's gonna come tonight! You can smell it in the air."
Lucas lifted his hands in surrender, unable to completely hide the smile. It warmed him that the boy held him in such high regard.
Trying to control his breathing, Eirik remembered the rifle in his hands. Blood rose into his cheeks. Slowly he took another step into the room and tried to alleviate his words. "You gave us a nasty fright with that fall you took, and it was a mighty close call for a while there, until you decided to stay with your boy. Even yesterday..." he swallowed. "So forgive-"
"Eirik. You were right with every word. I'll be more patient." He'd never heard the boy put so many words together.
Seemed his farmhand had unsettled himself with this outburst. He broke eye contact, glanced around the room. Then, with a decisive move, he leaned the rifle against the bed, pushed the heavy table closer to Lucas and set lamp, newspaper, tea, cold broth and a piece of bread close enough so the other man could reach them with one hand.
"I'll offer this compromise: You don't move from the bed until we're done with the field, and I'll concede the watcher. But either Mark or me will come look in on you every hour. Deal?" His voice still shook, but his eyes burned with determination.
Lucas thought he knew what Mark felt like threatened with the removal of his favourite sweet. "Deal."
The youngster frowned in disbelieve. That seemed too easy a win.
"Deal, Donelly."
A glint entered the green eyes, his lips curled. "I'm not entirely sure you are to be trusted, Sir."
"Drop the Sir, already, Eirik. You called me by my given name before." Fatigue crept up on the tall man.
Contradictory creature, that farmhand - now he paled, his shoulders tensed like a mountain lion about to recede – or pounce. Eyes wide, he swallowed. "I'll get back to the field."
"Wait…"
Eirik turned, alertly.
"Tell me what happened."
A haunted expression flitted over his face and settled in his eyes. But he tilted his head impishly and smiled slightly. "If you honour the deal."
Satisfied by Lucas' appreciative, if slightly annoyed grin, the young man tipped his hat to the older man and left.
….
"Pa? You awake?"
"Aye, Mark. Done with the field?"
"Yes, we finished. Just in time. It's starting to rain." His boy's blue eyes held wariness.
"Listen, son. I'm honest sorry I snapped at you this morning. I was frustrated and in pain. Had nothing to do with you."
"I know, Pa. Eirik said as much. Did you shout at him, too?"
"Why?"
"He was very… what's the word?...monosy – monola – no, got it. Monosyllabic. He looked… really tired. And sad."
"I haven't been a very good patient, Mark. But I'll make up for it, I promise."
Lucas cradled his son's cheek in his hand for a moment.
"You done with your chores? The horses?"
"I even got dinner prepared – just a bit longer. You slept really deeply the last two times I looked in on you and still when we came back. Feel better?"
"Much." He smiled.
Lucas had not been aware how much tension still rested on his boy's narrow shoulders. But hearing that word and seeing his father's obviously much improved countenance, Mark had to swallow twice before he could summon a smile back.
"I'm glad, Pa. You had us mighty worried."
"Us?" Lucas kept the tone light.
"Eirik, Micah, the Doc. Eli, Miss Hattie, even Cade. Mr. Valance sent a loaf of fresh bread so we won't have to bake for another week. Everybody's been really helpful."
Lucas was touched despite knowing how tight knit the community was. He wouldn't act differently for any of the others.
When he held out his arm, Mark climbed up to the bed to lie down next to his father, nestling his head against his shoulder. He started telling him about the magnificent pair of oxen and how calm and strong they were, and how Eirik had treated them like real honourable animals, about the work they had done on the field, the way Cade and Eirik talked about Miss Schuler, the way they made the boy laugh whenever his thoughts pulled him down.
"Mark."
"Yes, Pa?"
"Tell me what happened?"
The boy tensed against him. "The accident?"
"Aye. I remember most of nothing."
Mark pondered on the question for a moment, breath coming faster. Then he sat up with determination, crossing his legs in front of him and started talking earnestly.
"I was climbing, the way you had pointed. Only I heard this sound behind me, almost like a Rattler, and turned around. There was this big cat, so close I got so scared and surprised. I called out to you." He swallowed, threw a quick glance at his Pa and went on.
"Then the shot rang out, and the lion dropped, almost on the spot." Pride swung in his voice, Lucas had to smother a grin. It still felt good to have the boy be proud of his father.
"I looked to where you were standing, but…" Mark wiped a hand over his face, his voice giving out. His hand reached out to where the bandages were covering Lucas' shoulder. "I saw the lion clawing into you, and you'd lost your footing. You both went over the edge. I couldn't follow … couldn't see." The boy took a breath.
"Anyway. I must have screamed, I don't know. Everything happened so fast then I can't hardly put it in order. Eirik appeared out of nowhere – from somewhat below us and from the other side – like closer to you than to me. He must have climbed up the other side of that outcropping."
Lucas nodded his understanding. "Eirik had followed the same buck?"
"No, he already had hunted his own, he was meeting up with us, he explained to me. He saw the lion pounce on you from below, and fired an arrow. He killed the lion before you … hit the rocks." Mark shuddered. "At least he could not bite you any worse."
Lucas frowned, an image before his eyes. A twinge, a shadow… the lion's head.
"I climbed to the edge where you had fallen and looked down. Eirik was already there, kneeling over you. He called to me to throw down the rope and some sticks. He wrapped your head in something he ripped from his undershirt, and tried to set your leg, I think. And something was wrong with your arm, but I could not see everything. Then he put you onto his shoulders and climbed up."
The rifleman felt cold run down his back. That slim youngster had carried him – who'd been called a giant by more sympathetic fellows – up the steep, rocky mountainside? … the weird horse… the warm, spicy smell… hot air against his cheek… "You called something down to me." His voice was barely a croak.
"Yes, Pa, I think you were conscious for a moment, Eirik called to me."
"And then? How did you get me…" good Lord, they had left the horses on the bottom of the valley by the river…
Mark seemed intent on getting the story over with. "He called for Spirit. That stallion can climb. We put you on Spirit's back, me too, I held on to you. And once down by the river I raced into town and got Micah and the Doc."
"Not even Spirit could climb all the way to the top."
"For the first bit Eirik carried you." Mark shrugged, chewing his lip, eyes far away.
Neither had noticed the slender figure by the door.
"Must have been quite a sight, you thrown over my shoulder, knuckles and toes trailing on the floor. I owe you for those shoes."
The deep voice was so wry, the picture painted so compelling that Mark collapsed into helpless giggles. The tension was broken for the boy.
Lucas felt the contagion of his son's laughter spreading, but the horror of the story held him in thrall, still. He stared at the almost lanky young man in the door as if seeing him for the first time again. The wide forehead, the slightly aquiline, narrow nose over the so expressive lips often pressed together, or pursed in uncertainty or thought, like now. The startling green eyes he'd heard many of the young and older women in town whisper enviously about, framed by thick dark lashes. Now they were heavily shadowed, and taking in the room with a mixture of business-like alertness, warmth and something Lucas could not identify. – Yes, that was the last feature missing. The hair. He seemed to remember dark strands appearing now and then during work, but always the scarf covered length and texture. The hat further helped to conceal the issue. His clothes hung loosely, as always – more loosely? and seemed to have suffered the most from the additional work.
Lucas blinked.
It had been a close call, indeed, much closer than he had realised. No wonder Eirik had exploded at him in the morning. He suppressed a shiver, imagining the horror of finding Mark – or Micah – or Eirik, he realized - bloodied and life-less in hostile surroundings.
Eirik was unaware of his employer's thoughts. "Sir, don't let me spoil the moment. I came to tell you I'm riding into town with Cade, give Doc and sheriff an update and bring home some bag balm and nails. We're all out and Bessie's still giving milk."
Lucas shook his head, trying to get rid of the spell. "Good, Eirik, thank you."
"Anything else you'd like?"
"Mark tells me we have fresh bread. Nothing I can think of."
"Aye." The young man's demeanour was strangely formal. He tipped his hat to them and left.
"Knuckles and toes trailing…" Mark dissolved into laughter again, holding his sides. Recognizing the danger of that laughter turning into tears as much as to reassure himself, Lucas wrapped both arms around the boy and held him tight.
A thought came to him then, an impression, as he listened to Mark hiccupping, his warm cheek on his chest, hand running up and down the boy's back. When Donelly had helped him upright, this morning, Lucas' hand had rested on the youngster's back… had there been bandages under that shirt? What a curious thought.
"Was Donelly hurt? Did you see blood on his shirt at any time?"
"Eirik? No, Pa, I thought whatever blood there was, was yours. He could not have managed what he did… I mean… hurt? He never said."
Lucas nodded and dropped the subject.
…..
The young man returned with Micah in tow. The sheriff stormed in, dripping wet, leaving his horse to the farmhand.
Lucas grinned at his old friend. "Micah! That's a nice surprise! Now I'm glad Mark and I waited with dinner."
The stew was boiling gently in its large bucket over the fire, the smell spreading through the room.
"Seems like you're doing better, Lucas Boy. Can I say I'm mighty glad to see that."
"Thanks Micah, for everything. The leg bothers me, but otherwise I'm much better. Mark, one more plate for the table? Go ask Eirik to join us, will you?"
"Yes, Pa."
"The two boys took good care of you? There's big change from when I saw you last." A few lines seemed to have vanished from the older man's face. "You gave us a fright, all right."
"I know." Lucas felt a little uncomfortable discussing his condition and the accident.
"You owe your life to Donelly, Lucas. He managed an inhuman feat, carrying you down those boulders and getting you through the first night and day. I still can't fathom how he did that." Micah grinned, but turned serious again. "Keeping Mark in good spirits, too. Cade said they finished the lower field today, and the farm looks as usual. Smoking shed's been running continuously."
"They've been working hard." The rifleman conceded freely. But before he could continue, steps on the porch announced the two younger men were arriving for their dinner.
Mark was carrying a wooden stool in one hand and a pillow fashioned out of the lion-skin in the other. "Look, Pa!"
"What's this?" Micah enquired in a friendly manner.
"A deal I had with Mr. McCain. Want to try the fireside chair, sir?" the young man pulled the heavy chair around, and Mark set the stool down.
"If you lend me a hand, young man?"
Between them, Micah and Eirik helped Lucas get upright and to the chair, where he sat with spinning head for a long moment. Three pairs of half expectant, half worried eyes were fastened on him when he looked up again. Waving them away with slight irritation, the tall man stretched out his legs carefully. Mark knelt and helped him put the injured foot on the stool, and Lucas sighed with appreciation.
"Feeling a bit more like yourself, Lucas boy?"
"Can I get you anything, Pa?"
"Stop fawning over me like a bunch of girls!" It came out sharper than intended.
With drawn face Mark stepped back, into the lean figure of Donelly. Lucas frowned at his outbreak, but the tension was dissolved from another side.
"See, Mark, he's getting angry already. Good sign, remember. First step were sensible words, then short sentences, then exclamations and complaints. Now we can be certain there is no brain damage. Nothing worse than before at least. Let's prepare dinner."
This time it was Lucas who helplessly grinned. Micah joined in, and Mark, after having gotten over the initial shock at the young man's daring words, chuckled to himself. Even Eirik's drawn face showed wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. He studiously avoided the rifleman's gaze.
They sat down to eat, munching the fresh bread with the warm food. Mark asked Micah after happenings in town, and soon they had a perfectly normal dinner talk going.
Lucas was peripherally aware of the wary but intently observant green eyes of his farmhand watching him. He met the youngster's glance on purpose, surprising him. The expression on the pale face startled him: Steady, alert worry - The young man had barely slept more than a couple of hours the last night, and probably none the night before. Even so, Donelly was taking keen notice of each of Lucas' movement and the amount he ate. Eirik had not told Mark about what had happened this morning, sparing Lucas the humiliation, and Mark the fright and worry.
"So, what'd the Doc say, Donelly?" Micah had noted his friend's expression.
Eirik took a breath, eyes on his plate. "That Mr McCain should take it easy, that his head would tell him when he's about to overdo it. Rest, rest, rest were his words. Must not put weight on your leg at all for the next two weeks, then carefully increasing movement and strain for the next five to six weeks." He looked up, fixing the tall man with one of his direct gazes. "He gave me permission to hogtie you to the chair for the next two days. He'll take us both to account when he comes to see you next."
Mark laughed, Micah laughed, Lucas pulled a face, scratching his head.
"Looking at you, young man, I'm fairly certain he had something to say about you getting some rest yourself."
Wiping a hand over tired eyes, the addressed shrugged impishly. "Maybe, sheriff."
"I could stay the night…" the older man offered. "I know this chair fairly well."
"No, it's fine. Tomorrow's gonna be an easy day, with the rain and mostly regular work. We'll manage."
"Really, I'm sitting right here." Lucas frowned, but with a twinkle in his eyes. He was growing tired already.
Mark stood, cleaning the dishes away, and leaned his head against his father's shoulder for a moment.
"You let us take care of you, Pa, the way you do it for other people."