Kid stepped into the path of one of the miner's by accident out on the street.
"You look like you could use a whiskey, my friend," the miner told him.
"No thank you," was on the tip of his tongue, but when you had consumption, what difference did a little liquor make? "Why not?" came out instead.
It more of a shanty than a saloon, but if they served alcohol that's all that mattered to most imbibers.
"A whiskey for my friend and me," said the miner.
It tasted as badly as he remembered, but he knew it would take the edge off.
"Bad news?" the man asked.
"I was just diagnosed with consumption."
"That's too bad. Maybe you can get your wife to heal you." Kid shot him a dark look. "Or not. Whatever you want, Mr. Cole."
After a few seconds, the miner added, "Or grow a beard . A physician told me that once and I hardly so much as catch a sniffle."
The man did have quite a full beard and he did look healthy enough. Maybe there was something to it. It couldn't hurt anyway.
After he finished his drink, he realized Ruth would be wondering where he'd gotten to. He rinsed his mouth out with water and got a peppermint from the general store, hoping that'd be enough to hide the smell, already regretting it. Though the single drink had had hardly been enough to give him a buzz, he knew that whether he was drunk or not would be besides the point where Sister Ruth was concerned. She didn't so much as cook with the stuff.
"What'd the doctor say?" Ruth asked the moment he got to the wagon, where she'd gotten everything packed and ready to go.
"He said it ain't nothing to worry about. Said I'm just in need of a change of climate. Which we were going to head south anyway."
"Just to Springfield. Is that far south enough? What's he mean? Mexican territory?"
"I'm in no hurry. It's not like a simple cough's going to kill me," he lied because that's exactly what it was going to do if he let it.
As they climbed in, there was the sound of gunfire, which caused Ruth to jump.
"Nobody's aiming it at me," he assured her. "Probably just a hunter."
"I'm sure you're right. I guess I still can't get over somebody taking a shot at the President of the United States. What is this world coming to?"
"Well, at least, Mr. Jackson wasn't killed. And nobody's shot me yet either."
"Not from lack of trying."
Kid held his breath as they sat down next to each other, but she didn't say anything, so he must have covered the smell sufficiently.
sss
It took them a month to get to Springfield and by that time he had the respectable beginnings of a beard, not very thick yet, but passable. Ruth often looked over at it like she didn't know what to make of it.
"You don't like it," he said as he caught her staring at it once again.
"I didn't say that, but it'll take some getting used to sure enough," she said, reaching up and feeling it. "I'm so used to you being clean shaven. You trying to look fiercer or something? Cause I think you already that covered pretty well."
A cough ticked his throat and he cleared it. "Just trying something new is all."
Her lips pressed with worry, she asked, "You sure you're feeling okay? You ain't been yourself lately. Maybe we should get a second opinion. Go see another doctor."
"One was enough for me thank you. I'll be fine."
Ruth had let her family know their planned destination in a previous letter and a couple letters were waiting on them there.
She updated him on the news as she read. "There's a traveling preacher named Robert Sheffey that goes around the area. Danny says I'd like him real good. That he'll climb a hill and pray for just hours and that he has a great sense of humor. Says a lot of the old moonshiners and other lost are coming to know Christ because of his work. Would be nice to meet him if we ever get back that way."
A sad cry escaped her throat as read her mother's letter. "My grandmother passed away. I guess a couple of months ago now."
"I'm so sorry, baby," he said, pulling her into a hug.
"I'm sad that I can't be with my family, but I'm happy for Granny. Momma said her arthritis had gotten worse. She got to where she could hardly get up or do anything and she's not suffering anymore. And I know she's with Papaw again and a lot of other loved ones gone home and with Jesus best of all."
"It's okay to be sad for yourself though. See you laters can be as sad as goodbyes."
She was crying silently. "Yeah, they can be. But at least we have hope. I don't know how the unbelievers can stand the pain of their grief."
He had tears too for he had liked her grandmother. "She was a good and godly woman."
"She was and one day we'll all be together forever with the Lord."
He swallowed hard. She couldn't possibly know how close that day lurked for him.
Ruth pulled away, comforted by the words. She handed him the letters. Typically she called people to revival through singing when she first came to a town and today was no different; she was turning her mourning into praise for God.
She must have looked strange to the ones who stopped to watch with her having tears in her eyes but singing so joyfully. There was a tinge of bittersweet sorrow in her voice because though it was a cause of celebration for a believer to go home, it was always hard to be left behind and know you would never again meet on this side.
"Glory to God, and praise and love
Be ever, ever given;
By Saints below, and Saints above,
The church in earth and Heaven.
Kid tucked the letters away and got his guitar to accompany her.
"O for a thousand tongues to sing
My dear Redeemer's praise!
The glories of my God and King,
The triumphs of His grace.
My gracious Master, and my God,
Assist me to proclaim,
To spread through all the earth abroad
The honors of Thy name.
Jesus, the name that charms our fears,
That bids our sorrows cease;
'Tis music in the sinner's ears,
'Tis life, and health, and peace!"
He stopped playing, so that her voice could ring out alone and beautiful as she sang the last verse.
"He speaks; and, listening to His voice,
New life the dead receive,
The mournful, broken hearts rejoice,
The humble poor believe.
"Until we meet again," she said softly, knowing God would pass the message along.
She began to tell the gathered crowd, who'd been attracted by the song about the revival.
Kid felt his beard. Would he be the next to cause her such grief? Would he slow her down from her life's work when he got bad off? How could he deal with being the cause of either of those things happening? These were questions he was wrestling with and questions for which he had no answers.