Back again. I've decided to break this up into days so Chapter 1-2 were Day 1; here's Day 2. Thanks for the reviews! :-D
Onward ~
Day 2
Chapter 3 - You don't know me but . . .
The landscape traveled quickly by and Hop Sing waved away the dust that penetrated the stage interior, his clothes already coated with the stuff. He sat silent and composed despite the heat, his eyes taking in his fellow passengers with imperceptible glances in their direction.
The young lady, who'd introduced herself as Miss Maggie Meredith, sat at the opposite window keeping an eye out for Indians or so she'd said. Across from her was the imposing figure of Preacher John Paul Gibbons on his way across the Nevada earth to give assistance to the neighboring communities who lacked what he called 'faith above all else'. And next to him was Dermot Cone, a haberdasher from San Francisco who couldn't seem to keep his eyes from Miss Meredith. They all ignored Hop Sing which pleased him to no end. He wasn't in any sort of mindset to be civil not with worry inundating his every thought.
Glancing out the window again his thoughts hastened back to the look that radiated from Roy Coffee's face, the intense anxiety that bombarded him over the words the Sheriff spoke that now settled into an aching worry in the pit of his stomach. 'There's been an accident', 'Ben's gone to Chance', 'It's Adam'. Always it was something in this harsh land he'd chosen to live in; always something that reached out to touch his life in ways he'd come to expect, come to dislike when the Sheriff appeared or a hand rode in on a sweat stained horse to tell his tale of woe.
Always something.
Closing tired eyes for a moment, Hop Sing forced himself to drift back to the stilted conversation going on inside the stage. Perhaps that would take his mind from thoughts of what he would face when they finally ended up in Chance.
"You don't know me, he said, but I'm an old friend of Abraham Lincoln's from Springfield," Dermot Cone continued with a wide smile glancing from Miss Meredith to Preacher Gibbons. "Well, I couldn't believe it and I'm sure my face gave that away since I knew my old friend, Todd Perkins, could barely read and had never been out of Nebraska nor had he ever met Mr. Lincoln. Of course, the lovely Ida May Nerrell didn't know that and was greatly impressed, silly girl that she was." He laughed then, a guttural belching laugh that drew a pained expression from Miss Meredith. "They were married not to far later. Never understood what she saw in the man."
"Perhaps she loved him," Maggie Meredith answered. "Silly girl that she was."
Dermot Cone couldn't help but be skewered by her look and gave a slight grimace. "Perhaps that was it because he wasn't much to look at."
Coughing, he took a swig from a flask pulled from his jacket then offered it to the Preacher who declined. He turned a gaze toward Miss Meredith who raised a brow of disgust before glancing back out the window. It was only then that Hop Sing was noticed.
"You're a silent fellow," Cone said sizing up the little man as he held the flask toward him. "Care to clear your throat?"
"No thank you," Hop Sing answered with a slight bow of the head watching the man shrug then screw the cap back on and pocket the flask.
"And where are you traveling?" came the next question followed by raised brows and the crossing of arms about his large chest.
Hop Sing laughed to himself. When no one else will speak with you, talk to the rest. "Chance," came his answer.
"Chance? Whatever for?"
Hop Sing looked at this man, this overweight sweaty man and considered ignoring him as Miss Meredith had done for so many miles. It wasn't anyone's business why he was traveling to Chance; no one needed to know that his family was hurting; and saying the words out loud just gave them credence. But then it might ease the pain in his own gut to receive some sympathy for what was before him.
"Family emergency," was all he said looking away from the man who just needed to talk.
"What kind of emergency?" he pushed.
Hop Sing sighed. "Employer son badly hurt. Going to help."
"Oh, I'm sorry," he answered dropping arms from his chest, Hop Sing detecting a note of caring he hadn't heard before. Perhaps he'd misjudged this haberdasher from San Francisco.
"How was he hurt?" Miss Meredith asked her lovely eyes drawing the words from Hop Sing.
"Stage accident. That all I know."
A gloved hand flew to her mouth to stifle an 'oh!' as she lost some color.
"My prayers are with you," Preacher Gibbons added covering Miss Meredith's other hand with his own. Nodding, Hop Sing returned his gaze out the window thinking on how speaking of it hadn't helped at all but instead made his worry grow ever larger.
"We've still got a long way to go before we hit Chance," Cone said into the air, the words weighing heavily upon Hop Sing as he wished a set of wings on each horse to get him there quicker than he knew possible.
'Fly to my side on feathered wings of gold' flew through him as he remembered the day Number One son spoke those words when they'd ventured forth on another long stage ride just the two of them. 'Fly to my side on feathered wings of gold for before us we still have a long way to go'.
"A long way to go," Hop Sing sighed returning his gaze to the rocks and sand and dust that flew through the air as they passed. "A long way to go."
BZBZBZBZBZ
The night was cold, such a vast contrast from the day's heat that sucked everything from every place on Hoss's body, and he basked in it for the length of time it would last. Chastising himself for taking any comfort when his brother lay a few feet from him immersed in a semi-drugged state to ease the agonizing, searing pain from his injuries, his gaze traveled out beyond the porch on which he stood to the vast expanse of sand that stretched as far as the eye could see.
Sand.
What an aggravating thing. It got into everything, was everywhere you least expected and always seemed to work its way into the most sensitive parts of your person. And now it was causing immense pain to his older brother.
The trek out of the desert to Chance seemed to take a lifetime, Hoss forever grateful when Adam passed out and stayed out for the majority of the crossing. It was one thing to hear painful gasps from strangers but quite another to hear them coming from your own brother. As day turned to night a full moon peeked out around a cloud and highlighted the outbuildings of Chance just when he thought he'd taken a wrong turn and they'd both be lost in all this god-awful nothingness.
The streets had been full, the locals coming out into the cool of the evening, and they'd pointed him to Dr. Leslie Bick at the end of main street . . . well, the only street in Chance. Everything was a blur from there – carrying Adam into the doctor's house; flinching at the extent of injuries revealed; cutting off his boot because that was the only way to remove it from a badly mangled leg; the doctor getting to work removing pieces of Adam's shirt and pants embedded in those burns that decorated his body with infinite care and patience.
But then the hard part started.
"I don't have enough morphine," the doctor casually informed Hoss as he placed practiced hands along the sides of Adam's damaged lower leg. "Hold him please."
Doing as he was told, Hoss's gaze moved away from the doctor's bloodied hands and toward Adam's bruised and burned face.
"On three. One – two – three." As the word left his mouth, Leslie pulled and twisted, Hoss hearing the obvious click of bones slipping back into place. Adam never moved which scared Hoss more than if he'd cried out. "His body has shut down for the moment, Mr. Cartwright, to protect itself," he explained. "I'm sure we'll be hearing something once I start on those burns. Now, let's check those ribs."
Hoss just nodded, a numbness having set in hours before as the doctor moved expert fingers over his brother feeling nothing broken or cracked.
"Did you hear me earlier, Mr. Cartwright? Mr. Cartwright?"
Hoss started pulling anxious eyes toward the doctor. "What?"
"I don't have enough morphine in my stores to help him with the pain for more than three days," Leslie answered as he moved toward Adam's head.
"Why not? Yer a doctor ain't ya?" Hoss asked anger flaring.
"I am," he calmly replied, "and my monthly supplies were on the same stage your brother was. So went the stage, so went my supplies."
"Cain't ya stretch it out 'til we can get more?"
"It's what we'll have to do, Mr. Cartwright, but when I'm out . . ."
"What're ya sayin', Doc?" Hoss asked skewering him with a look.
Leslie stopped his exam and looked up. "I'm saying that it's difficult enough surviving burns what with infection and the shock your body goes through, that without morphine or some other pain killer it's going to be extremely difficult to make sure he keeps breathing. And morphine is our best bet."
"My brother's strong."
"And he'll need to be, Mr. Cartwright. This won't be pleasant."
Hoss watched the doctor get back to business cleaning up his patient's face and head and wrapping that as well, then pick up a small brush and bowl of water and position himself over the burn on Adam's chest.
"Please hold him again. I'm pretty sure he's going to wake up over this."
And he did; a loud blaring wake up that Hoss could still hear. That had been nearly a full day ago, a full day of agony for his brother as Leslie attempted to remove every bit of sand he could find then cover the burns with a salve from an aloe vera plant he'd brought with him when he'd set up shop in Chance. He kept that plant, he said, because 'the sun and fire are evil masters and this natural remedy can be a godsend'.
Hoss rubbed at stinging eyes thankful for this short respite, the first one since they'd arrived, his brother currently resting in the haze of morphine. They'd only used half a dose to start but it hadn't even put a dent in the pain, so a full dose was used. That left only two days, two days to get Adam through the horrible agony of fried nerve endings, broken bones and a raging headache that filled his every moment, asleep or awake. And the decision had been made when Hoss couldn't take it anymore, couldn't take the stifled cries of his brother as he tried to keep it all inside, weakening him further still, telling Hoss he could take it. The doctor had been harsh.
"I won't lie to you, Hoss," Leslie began just a few hours before. "Burns are tricky things. They can heal without any problem or take a turn. And the sand . . ." He stopped for a moment then continued. "The sand works its way into the wound setting up an aggravation. This in turn can start an infection. If we keep cleaning them, keep the salve covering them, keep them damp, we might get lucky. But without some rest, without a break from the continuous pain, he'll just get weaker and now he needs all his strength to fight, to hang on."
"But he doesn't want it, Doc. He doesn't want the morphine," Hoss answered hating having to repeat those dreaded words, those words that pulled at his heart with each cry.
Leslie clasped Hoss's arm. "I can't guarantee that his body will hold out without it. Please, let me give him something."
The doctor tried to impart to Hoss the urgency of the situation not realizing he didn't really have to push. Despite Adam's orders not be medicated, Hoss could tell his brother was weakening; had listened to his hoarse voice telling him he was fine only to scream in agony moments later and knew he couldn't stand there and do nothing. Besides he wasn't at all certain Adam would last the night let alone into the next day and beyond.
"He needs ta fight this, Doc, 'til . . . well, 'til our Pa gits here," Hoss solemnly said. "I gotta give them both a chance ta . . ." He couldn't finish the thought, couldn't say the words 'to say goodbye' aloud. "Use the morphine, Doc. I gotta give 'em both that chance."
Hoss remembered the doctor patting his hand; remembered watching the lines etched in Adam's face vanish as the drug took effect and he slipped into a painless sleep; remembered heading to the porch to gaze out at the hot sand and curse a God that would create such a dastardly little thing.
"Hell on earth, that's what sand is," he muttered as he dragged himself to his feet and headed back inside. "Hell on earth."
*The prompt for this section was 'Sand'
Oh, that poor baby! It's hard enough to hear someone else in pain but when it's your own kin . . . well, that's just way to harsh. Day 3 up (possibly) tomorrow. :-D