Guilt and Grief 1 of 2
The wind was blowing fiercely through the Stockton graveyard. Its invisible hands picked up handfuls of leaves that had deserted the few trees that stood near, or around, the headstones and threw them at anyone who happened to pass by-or through-the cemetery. Black clouds were rolling in; each waiting eagerly to pour bucketfuls of water down upon Stockton's parched ground. Though, as eager as the majority of the people were for rain, few could be actually be seen on the boardwalks of Stockton-and fewer were riding through town. Maybe that's why Fred, who was standing inside one of the many businesses in town, near the window, had no trouble seeing the gentleman pressing his way through the wind and managing to get the gate that stood at the front of the hallowed ground open.
"He should be in bed." Fred shook his head and hurried out the door and towards the graveyard, concerned he'd find his friend had collapsed upon reaching his destination. "Stubborn, far too stubborn. Then again, I haven't met a Barkley yet that isn't." He muttered under his breath as he reached the gate and opened it-even if the wind did try to rip it out of his hands. He wasted no time making it to his friend's side. After all, he was concerned the gentleman might just collapse and need help. Though, he needn't have worried. Instead of collapsing, Fred's friend turned to face him.
"Figured you'd come once I saw you in the window. Going to chase me home?" A half smile and a set of pain filled blue eyes met the sheriff's.
"No, only you really shouldn't be out here right now. Neither one of us should." Fred, who had-thanks to the wind- barely heard what his friend said, raised his voice too. Not with any sound of irritation of anything akin to that, he just wanted to make sure he was heard. "No one should. I bet you it starts raining soon!" He hollered over the wind which was blowing even harder. Fred then nodded towards his office. "Let's go! We can talk without having to raise our voices!" He turned to leave, his eyes asking 'Are you coming or do I have to come up with an excuse to use my badge?" Fred was relieved when his unspoken question was heard and his friend turned away from the grave.
By the time Fred opened the door to his office, the rain had started to fall-and fall hard. "Glad you didn't fight me coming over here," Fred hung up his hat and coat, then walked over to a small, brown side table that his deputy had put in the office the week before. A coffee pot sat on it. "Want a cup?" He asked as he poured some of the drink into a cup- and then held it out. For a moment, he thought he was offering the coffee in vain.
"Thanks," Heath took the cup. He remained standing until Fred was seated behind the desk and insisted on the blonde haired cowboy take a seat as well. Slowly, Heath did as the sheriff asked and sat down on a chair not that far from the lawman's desk. Silence then enveloped the room. Fred, wanting to help, but not knowing how…and Heath too lost in his thoughts to speak.
Finally, Fred leaned forward and- looking at the cuts on the side of Heath's face, the wrapping that was still on his left hand and wondering about the bandages his friend had wrapped around his abdomen, rested his arms on the desk in front of him. The good sheriff figured he knew the answer to the question he was about to ask. Still, maybe, Heath needed to answer it…if for no other reason than to get him talking. That-talking-was something he felt Heath Barkley needed to do.
"Why are you in town? Not only did the doctor say he wanted you to be in bed for a few more days, being out in this weather could give you a good case of pneumonia." Fred kept his arms on his desk. Again, he was surprised, but not shocked, when Heath let out a pain filled sigh and nodded in the direction they'd just come.
"That's my fault, you know. I should have been able to stop it. Instead, all I could do was lie on the ground and do nothing!" The anger he felt, the fury he'd been holding inside, came barreling out as the words came rushing out of his mouth.
"You and your family were told Jacob Tilman and his friends had all been captured." Fred leaned back and gave Heath a look of sympathy. "As was I and everyone else in this town. How were you too know that Jacob and two of his friends had escaped? None of us found that out until after you left to go to Modesto." He paused as an uneasy thought entered his mind, and he leaned forward once more. "Is your family blaming you for this?" He could hardly imagine that one; still, grief did many strange things to the most stable people in the world. When Heath didn't answer right away, Fred feared the worst. He was relieved when Heath started shaking his head.
"No, they've said same thing you just did….said not knowing the last factor-that there had been escapes made, there was nothing I could have done." He fought the tears back that wanted to come and took a long, painful breath. "My head tells me all that, but my heart is hurting worse than this." He held up his left hand and then gestured towards his abdomen. "Can't seem to shake the guilty feelings,"
"Survivors guilt," Fred flicked his wrists and gave Heath another look of sympathy. "I've heard that term more than once, and seen many people who suffer from it." He paused and then added slowly, "I only know what Sheriff Riggs from Modesto told me, and what your brothers have said. You've never told me your side of things. If you want, I have willing ears and a closed mouth."
Heath couldn't help but chuckle just a little. Sheriff Madden was one of the most trustworthy men he knew. "Maybe, someday, but not now." He put his right arm around his abdomen and then asked if he could lie down on one of the cots in the cells. "Strange place to be when I haven't done anything wrong only I admit, I think I moved too soon."
Fred refrained from saying 'I told you so' as he pointed to a cot that sat against the east wall; his deputy had put it there a few days ago. "No need to do that. Use that one." He waited until Heath had stood up, walked over to the cot and lay down before he spoke again. "Don't feel guilty about living while she died. She wouldn't want that for you. And remember, there's a lot of people who were more than grateful when you pulled through. Grieve like you should, only move on afterwards." Fred paused and then reminded Heath he was always available if Heath wanted to talk.
"You sound like Jarrod now." Heath let out another soft chuckle and then closed his eyes. Someday he'd do as Fred said…someday.