Chapter 6

The ride to Sheridan in Bob's ancient truck was bone shaking. Every bump and stone in the road caused Walt's injury to flare in pain and he tried his best to block out the discomfort he was in. He was grateful, however, that the journey would take less than an hour. When they reached the quaint little church, Bob dropped Walt outside. From outside, he could hear that the service had already started. Walt didn't want to draw attention to himself so he respectfully removed his hat and slipped in quietly, taking a seat at the back.

At the top of the main aisle stood an ornately decorated casket and beside it a photograph of Donna's smiling face beaming at everyone in the church who mourned her. Walt felt a pang of despair come over him once more. No matter how much he wanted this not to be happening, this was very real. It was hard to accept that she was actually gone. She would not be coming back.

He watched as a young man, dressed in a dark grey suit and black tie, stood to walk to the pulpit. The minister introduced him to the congregation as Donna's son, Mark. He looked to be about 25 years old. He spoke eloquently of his mother and fought back tears as he shared memories of her with the congregation, recalling family vacations, little league games and the work she had dedicated her like to. When he left the pulpit, a haunting female voice broke the silence and echoed through the old building in song. The words of the hymn so touching, the music so beautiful and so apt, a lump grew in Walt's throat.

Walt left before the congregation prepared to move to the cemetery, partly not wanting to be recognised and partly because he felt her family would blame him for her death. He didn't want a confrontation. He painfully climbed back into Bob's truck and asked Bob to take him to the nearby cemetery.

"You sure you should be doing this, Walt?"

"I owe her this at least," Walt said, staring out the window as they drove the short distance.

They parked up and waited for the funeral cortege to arrive in silence.

Meanwhile, back in Durant, Cady arrived at the hospital to see her father. She entered his room and was surprised to see that the bed was empty.

"Dad?" she said, walking towards the adjoining bathroom and knocking on the door. "Are you ok in there?"

She frowned when she got no answer.

"Dad? I'm coming in," she said, pushing the door open. She was stunned to find the small room empty except for his hospital gown discarded on the floor.

She started to get worried and hurried to the nurse's station. She saw her dad's nurse sitting at the desk, completing some paperwork.

"Excuse me, have you seen my father?" she asked politely.

"The sheriff? Last I saw him he was in his room," she told her. "I shaved him and then the doctor called in on his rounds. That was probably around 10.30."

"Well, he's not there now. Damn it," Cady said, figuring out what he was probably doing.

She took out her cell phone and called Vic.

"Is he with you?" she asked bluntly.

"What? Who?" Vic enquired, puzzled at Cady's panic.

"My Dad."

"Walt? No, of course he's not with me. I'm at work," Vic told her.

"Well, he's left the hospital and told no one. Have you any idea where he might be?" Cady asked.

"Did you try his house?" Vic asked, trying the obvious first.

"I'll drive over there now," Cady said heading towards the parking lot.

Then a realization hit Vic. "Oh, hold on a minute. What day is it?"

"Friday."

"Donna's funeral is today," Vic remembered.

"Yes. Of course. I don't believe it. What does he think he's doing? He's not fit to drive anywhere," Cady pointed out.

"His Bronco was totalled," Vic reminded her. "I doubt he's driving."

"Well, how is he getting there?"

"Maybe Henry took him?" Vic suggested.

"I doubt it," Cady said, knowing how strained things were between the two of them after Henry's admission.

"There's always the bus," Vic reminded her.

"Oh my God," Cady said, feeling really worried. Her father was recovering well from his injuries, but he was in no way strong enough to undertake a trip just yet. "I have to go find him."

"No, it's ok, Cady," Vic said, also feeling worried about Walt. "I'll go. YOu try the house, just in case. I'll call you if I find him."

Reluctantly, Cady agreed. She knew Vic would use the sirens and get there a lot quicker than she could.

Meanwhile, in the peaceful cemetery in Sheridan, the funeral procession arrived for the burial. Walt remained in the truck until the crowd had gathered around the grave. He then left the truck and walked to a tree a little way off, close enough to hear the minister's words, but far enough away to remain unnoticed. He stood and listened to the prayers being offered for Donna and felt tears well in his eyes as he watched her coffin disappear into the earth.

In that moment, his pain intensified. His emotional pain seemed to exaggerate his physical pain and he leaned over and, with his uninjured limb, held onto the trunk of a mature yew tree for support. He tried to breathe through it hoping it would pass. From where he sat in his truck, Bob noticed Walt falter and hurried to his aid.

"Walt?" he said as he approached. "You okay?"

Walt didn't answer, just continued to take deep, cleansing breaths. His heart was beating so fast in his chest he thought it was going to burst out of it.

"You gonna pass out?"

Walt was pretty sure the answer was yes and nodded. Bob took hold of him and guided him to the ground, seating him with his back against the tree.

"I'll call an ambulance," Bob said, taking out his cell.

Walt reached and grabbed his forearm.

"No, it'll pass."

Walt continued to take slow cleansing breaths. Bob was uncomfortable doing nothing as the sheriff was so obviously in difficulty. He was surprised, and a little relieved, to see a blonde, well-dressed, lady approaching them. She was obviously a guest from the funeral.

"Do you need some assistance?" she asked, concerned for the pale gentleman sitting on the ground.

Walt looked up through bleary eyes and saw the slim silhouette, blonde hair and heard the voice. He thought he was seeing things.

"Donna?" he asked, sounding puzzled.

"No, I'm Marianne, Donna's sister," the lady asked.

"Sister? Of course. I'm sorry," Walt said weakly before hanging his head.

"You knew my sister?" she enquired.

Walt nodded, still concentrating on his breathing.

"You must be him," she said, smiling. "Her cowboy. She told me about you. Now I can see what she meant."

She looked at Bob who stood awkwardly close to Walt, who continued to lean forward with his head almost between his knees.

"Shouldn't he be in the hospital?" she asked Bob. "The police told me he had nearly been killed by the man who took Donna from us."

"He was, and yes, he should be in hospital," he replied, leaning down and saying the last few words into Walt's face for emphasis. "I should take him back."

"I'm sorry," Walt said again, looking up through red-rimmed eyes at Donna's sister. "I should've stopped him. I'm so sorry."

Marianne knelt down and put her arms around Walt and held him.

"I've no doubt you did everything you could," she told him. "Donna wouldn't want you to blame yourself. She would never want that."

She gestured to Bob to come and help her.

"Let's get you up," she said as Bob put Walt's uninjured arm over his shoulder and hauled him back to his feet.

Walt felt a little embarrassed needing help, but his strength had drained from him. As Bob helped him to the truck, Marianne called after him.

"Thank you."

Walt felt confused. He paused and turned back towards her.

"For what?"

"For making her happy."

Walt smiled. They were happy, even if their time was cut tragically short. Bob struggled to get Walt to the truck, but made it all the same. Walt rested his head back and tried to block out the throbbing coming from his wound.

"Take some water," Bob insisted, handing Walt the bottle.

Walt did as he was directed and took a few mouthfuls.

"Thanks, Bob."

"Let's get you home," Bob said, putting the truck into drive and leaving the cemetery behind.

Meanwhile, Vic was speeding towards Sheridan in her truck and she was mad. She was angry that Walt went behind their backs and went to Donna's funeral. She was angry that he felt he couldn't ask her to take him. She was angry that he put his health at risk again so soon after being seriously injured.

As she was seething, she was also hoping. Hoping that he had in fact gone to the funeral and that he hadn't gone off on some God forsaken quest and told no one. It wouldn't be the first time. Hoping her hunch was right. She was just thinking this when a truck passed her going in the opposite direction. She recognised the truck, realised who it belonged to and then jammed on the brakes and pulled a U-turn on the road. She stuck on her lights and siren and chased the truck until it stopped.

Fuming, she got out of her truck and marched up to the driver window.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she yelled at a startled Bob.

She was relieved to see Walt in the passenger seat.

"I wasn't speeding, was I?" Bob asked innocently.

"That's not what I mean."

"I was just helping out a friend," Bob replied, knowing exactly what she meant.

"Leave him be, Vic," Walt said, sounding exhausted. "I asked him to take me."

She looked over at him and the first thing she noticed was the perspiration soaking his forehead and neck of his shirt.

"Jesus, Walt," she said, hurrying to the opposite side of the truck. She opened the door and placed the palm of her hand on his forehead. He felt cool.

"How long has he been like this?" she asked Bob.

"Just before we left the cemetery. About 20 minutes," Bob replied.

She felt his pulse and could feel it racing.

"I'm fine, Vic."

"Help me get him into my truck," Vic ordered Bob.

She was worried. Walt was not at all well. The fact that he didn't put up a fight was testament to that. She moved her truck as close as she could get it to Bobs and between them they managed to get a very weak Walt Longmire into it.

Bob looked on as Vic got back in her truck and drove away at high speed, lights and sirens all the way to Durant.

She kept talking to Walt, fearing he would slip into unconsciousness. It worked for a while, but eventually he stopped responding. She reached across to give him a gentle push to try rouse him. She glanced towards him and then noticed a blood stain seeping onto his jeans.

"Damn it, Walt," she cursed. "What have you done?"

They were still at least another 20 minutes from Durant. She had no choice but to stop and see where the blood was coming from. She pulled back his jacket and saw his shirt was badly stained. She cursed again as her fears were realised. He had opened his surgical wound. She reached behind the driver's seat and found the medical kit. She scrambled to find a wound pressure pack. She tore open Walt's shirt and removed the soaked dressing that was already on his chest. She dried off around the wound then pressed the dressing against it ensuring it sealed.

It would have to do. She had to get moving and get him back to the hospital. As she drove she called Cady on her cell and told her to that she had found her father. She explained what was going on and asked her to have Doc Weston on standby.

By the time she got there, Walt was conscious again but weak and a little confused. Hospital staff helped him inside and he was taken to his room where Doc Weston was waiting. They lay him down and placed a monitor immediately on his heart, the doctor fearing his patient had or was going to have a heart attack.

Cady and Vic remained outside at the request of the doctor. After about 30 minutes, the doctor emerged with a reassuring smile on his face.

"He's ok," he told them.

"Did he have a heart attack?" Vic asked.

"No, I'm confident he didn't. But the heart arrhythmias are becoming more frequent so I've told him he needs that pacemaker, sooner rather than later."

"A pacemaker?" Cady asked. "How did he take that?"

"He's still a bit groggy. I'm not sure it even registered so I'll have that conversation tomorrow. He's been given pain killers and we re-sutured his wound. He should sleep for the night now. Come back tomorrow and we'll have a proper discussion."

Vic and Cady thanked him and then he left them. They looked at each other, both thinking the same thing.

"What does that mean? Will he have to retire?" Cady asked.

"I don't know. A friend of my dad's in Philly got a pacemaker and he continued to work, but he wasn't in law enforcement. He was a banker," Vic told her.

Cady was worried again. It never crossed her mind that her dad might not be able to continue as sheriff because of this. What would that do to him? It was literally a case of who knows what tomorrow will bring.

To be continued...