"When I think those bones could have been mine, I..." Nick began, but he hung his head, not daring to move. His sore broken arm was set and propped on four cushions.
Mother sat quietly in a chair across from him. She caressed the stock of the toy rifle Jarrod had brought up from the well. She had remembered it from years past as a birthday present of Nick's when he had turned four. It had gone missing when he did. She had gotten her child back, was able to keep him and nurture him growing up. Other parents had not been as fortunate. "We were the lucky ones, Nick," she said solemnly. "And at least now the other families will have a small amount of solace in knowing their children may now rest in peace."
Father paced in front of the mantel. "When they're finished searching that well, I'll have it filled in. We'll bury it good. We'll make it so it never existed."
"It'll always exist," Jarrod put in. He stood with his hands in his pockets not wanting to sit. If he did, he thought he might never get up again. None of them had slept since the boys returned from their journey. The doctor had come to set Nick's arm, men had come to organize a search of the well, and the older Barkley's could not rest, not with so much to be said. "But I'm grateful the bones will be gone and off Barkley land," he added. "Father, do you think someone will claim his remains?"
Father stopped pacing and gazed at his son with weary eyes. "No," he said simply. "He'll be forgotten, His memory left to be buried by the passage of years."
"I can still see him holding Nick." He would have thrown him in the well. Jarrod knew that now. "I can still hear his voice."
Mother looked up sharply, tears formed in her eyes. "Why didn't you tell us then? Why did you keep all of this to yourselves all these years?"
"I guess it was too painful for me to remember. I remember everything now."
She turned to Nick, who had not spoken up.
Nick shrugged carefully and did not meet her gaze.
"Tell us now, will you?" said Father quietly. "It's time for us to know."
Jarrod glanced at Nick, who did not look up. He kept his head down, rubbing his swollen fingers.
Jarrod sighed. They deserved to know, and perhaps everyone in the valley should know what happened that day by the well. He looked down and wished he could spare them the bitter story, but he felt his parents' eyes on him. "I rode alone that day we searched for Nick. I'd begged to be allowed to go, but was told to stay home. I went anyway. Father, I took your gun with me. Do you remember?"
"I remember." said Father. "I found it in the drawer. A bullet missing from the chamber."
Nick's eyes flicked up and met Jarrod's. "It's done, isn't it? Why should we dredge up the past? It's gone. We should bury it with those old bones. Good riddance."
"How can you bury it, when you can't face it?" Jarrod said. "Even bones get a eulogy. Why shouldn't we say words to seal the tomb? That awful day deserves a proper burial."
"Jarrod's right," Victoria said. "We need to open up that tomb and look inside it if we're to begin healing from the traumatic events that day." When Nick said nothing, she looked to Jarrod. "Please, tell us what happened."
Seeing no sign from Nick on whether or not to proceed, Jarrod drew a breath. "It was the worst day of my life and on the same token, the one I find I am most thankful for..."
Jarrod squeezed behind the desk to be near his father. A crowd of men had gathered around to look at the map Father had unfurled on the desktop.
"McColl, you know the east range the best, Jansen, take the south..."
Jarrod didn't understand why the men needed to look for Nick in such far off places. His brother had never gotten that far from home before. Whenever Nick disappeared it was to the hen house or the stables, someplace like that. The fear and determination in all of their faces worried him greatly.
Finally, when each man had his assignment and left the study, Father went to the gun room and Jarrod followed. Nick had been missing for hours. "I don't understand. How could Nick get so far from the house? He can't ride alone. He can't even saddle a horse yet."
A rifle was in his father's hands now and he cast a weary gaze to Jarrod. "We've searched this ranch near the house. We've looked everywhere he could have gone on his own. Somebody has taken him."
Jarrod's mouth dropped. "Who? Why?"
Father rummaged through the cabinet for the ammunition. "I don't know."
"Oh Father!" Tears sprang to his eyes, and he tried to stifle them.
A sob escaped him and Father knelt in front of him. His eyes had never looked so frightened and full of worry. "I want to save you from the truth son, but it isn't possible. I need you to be strong for your brother. He needs all of us to be strong."
"I want to go with you!"
"No son," Father said, his eyes softening as he saw the trauma in his son. "You are to stay here with your mother. I want you to keep her safe, understand? She needs you."
Jarrod nodded and wiped his eyes.
Father stood and put a hand on Jarrod's shoulder. "We will find your brother. I won't come back without him." He guided his son to the stairway. "Go up and see your mother. Make sure she knows you're with her."
Jarrod started up the stairs and turned to see his father shove on his hat and disappear out the front door. Jarrod's heart raced as he continued up the stairs. The house was suddenly quiet. He felt himself shaking and he gripped the railing as he approached the top step.
Dr. Merar closed Mother's door.
"What's wrong with my mother?" Jarrod asked.
"She is sleeping, Jarrod," the doctor said. "Please be very quiet. She must get rest."
Jarrod's eyes went to the closed door and the doctor seemed to detect his distress. "If you need to talk, we can go down stairs. I will listen to anything you have to say."
Jarrod shook his head. "Father told me to stay with her. I have to stay with my mother. May I go in?"
The doctor glanced at the room and after a moment relented. "You may go in. Just try not to wake her. She's very distraught."
"Yes sir. I'll be quiet." The boy proceeded toward the closed door.
"Jarrod," Dr. Merar said. "Are you alright?"
"Yes." Jarrod said. "Mother needs me." He turned the knob and went in.
The bed was tall, four poster mahogany. Mother lay curled on her side breathing deeply, in her arms she clutched a blanket from Nicky's bed. She was so pale, she didn't seem alive. Jarrod touched her hand to be sure and was relieved at the warmth he found. "I'm here, Mother," he said. "It's Jarrod. I'm with you."
Mother didn't move nor change from her steady sleep. Jarrod saw on the nightstand a dark brown bottle of liquid and a small glass beside it. Residue of the medicine pooled at the bottom of the glass. Jarrod had seen this before. It made sick people sleep better. Mother was 'distraught' as Dr. Merar had put it. She was heartsick.
He moved to the window and looked out. Men outside called for Nick. Various versions of his name were sporadically called out. Nicholas, Nicky, Nick...would he answer to any of them? The searchers were spreading out over the hills beyond and into the woods. If his brother had been taken, how would they find him? He could be anywhere.
Jarrod had a horse. A fast one. He could search for Nicky as well as or even better than any of them. And if his little brother was scared, wouldn't the voice of his best friend, his brother out there with the rest of them, calm him? Dr. Merar was here. Mother was safe. It was Nicky who needed him most.
"I'm going to bring Nicky back, Mother," Jarrod told her. "I'm going to bring him home."
He left the bedroom, closing the door silently behind him. Anything was better than waiting for news. Jarrod knew just where to look. Father had missed it on the map. He would ride out toward the Hill Ranch, that old place that once existed until the river flooded the homesteaders out. Now it was a part of the Barkley ranch and no one was searching it. They needed another man to help. Jarrod ran down the stairs.
He needed a weapon though and entered the gun room. He looked at the sparse rack. Most of the rifles were gone. He couldn't take a rifle. He couldn't wield one in the saddle. He opened the drawer beneath them and withdrew Father's Colt engraved with the Barkley name. Jarrod weighed it in his palm and snatched a packet of bullets.
"She's sleeping now," he heard the doctor saying. Shadows passed the doorway and Jarrod pressed against the wall so they wouldn't see him.
"Oh." Silas was tearful. "I do hope that boy is alright. What will this family do without him?"
"They'll find him Silas."
"Oh dear Lord! I pray they do. I pray to sweet Jesus they do."
Jarrod bit back tears when he heard Silas break down. He squeezed his eyes shut. Nothing will happen to Nicky. Nothing. He sensed that the men had moved off, as Silas's sobs where distant now. Jarrod took the moment and went out into the hall and exited the back door.
Of the three horses under Jarrod's care, his fastest was Lightfoot. She was nimble and slender and could take him through dense brush quicker than any other animal. He chose her and saddled her up. No one was in the stable and no one was looking for him so he found it easy once outside to leave the grounds undetected.
Once in the saddle, with the revolver loaded and safely tucked into the saddlebag, he started off toward the little used path that led to the Old Hill Ranch. The way was lightly wooded and the path barely discernible. He had traveled it before though on short excursions with his friends. It was a great area to get lost in with so many boulders and crevasses, and it would be easy for a man to hide here with a little boy. He scanned the woods and could hear at times in the distance his brother's name shouted thinly over the crisp air.
"Nicky!" Jarrod called. His voice came back to him in pieces, echoing off the trunks of the trees. The sound was so lonely, he didn't want to hear it again, but he had to keep going. "Nicky! It's Jarrod!"
He moved along the trail, calling his brother's name, pausing now and again to listen. The woods were awfully quiet. All he could hear were the footfalls of his horse and the scraping and creaking of the branches in the wind.
The trees thickened and Lightfoot stepped gingerly over fallen logs and thick brush. Jarrod began to doubt whether a man would go to this length with a boy like Nick. He knew his brother would not go willingly. A struggling boy would make the going difficult. But there were many things a man could do to subdue a child like that. Jarrod bit his lip when the possibility dawned on him that Nicky might not be able to respond to his calls.
He came upon a clearing ahead. It was where the Hill family had built their ranch house. The house had been washed away in a long ago flood, but its foundation was here in this little alcove. Jarrod had played here many times, he'd fished in the river not too far from here, but today, the place seemed foreboding. He turned to the saddle bag, opened it and withdrew the Colt.
"Nicky!" he called. Nothing. But the thought of his brother not being able to respond had him studying the landscape even more closely. Maybe he could not call out, but Nicky might be able to move. He might show a sign somehow. "Nicky don't be afraid. I'm here. Jarrod's here to take you home, but you have to tell me where you are."
He and Lightfoot entered the clearing. The tall yellow grasses swayed in the breeze. A well stood at the center of the clearing, its stone walls were just high enough to be seen as an oval of stone. The well was long dry, so it had never been a good place to homestead, not even back when it was built. It was a forlorn place though, as if it longed for its people to return. Maybe that was what drew him here. Maybe that was why another man might come here, too.
"Nicky!" Jarrod shouted again. "Please!"
He saw something then. Movement in the grass beyond the well. "Nicky?" Jarrod gripped the gun, careful to point the barrel away. "Nicky is that you?"
He advanced toward the well and a thin man rose from the grass like a snake. "You found us. Well, come here boy," he said, his whiskered face broke into a sickly sweet smile. His tattered clothes moved with the grasses making it look as if he grew forth from the earth at this spot. "Come here and sit with us. This little one is such a fighter. You have calmed him so." His arms clutched a crying Nicky in a tight embrace. Nicky's face was flushed and puffy from crying.
"Jarrod," came Nicky's frightened voice. He pushed with one hand at the man's chest and reached toward Jarrod with the other.
"Nicky," Jarrod said. He dismounted and stepped forward wanting to rip Nick from the man's arms.
The man pulled him tighter until Nicky was firmly subdued against his chest. He eased toward the well. "Let's not make this difficult," he said. "You come here and we'll all be friends. That's all I want. Just friends."
"Let my brother go." Jarrod laid the shaking pistol across his arm and placed his finger on the trigger.
"That is a bad choice, boy," said the man. "Very bad. Naughty boys get punished. This one," he shook Nicky. "Has been very bad. He bit me." The man held up his forearm and Jarrod saw the bloody bite mark. It was then too that he saw the blood on Nick's clothes.
Anger flooded Jarrod's veins. He pulled back the hammer on the revolver. "I said, let my brother go!" He remembered his Father's words when he had taught him to use a gun. "Never shoot a man...unless all options are lost."
All options were indeed lost, as the man lunged toward the well, he pushed Nicky toward the edge. Jarrod pulled the trigger. The man stumbled and clutched his chest and slumped against the well. He still held Nicky, but Nicky was pulling himself free. He pulled himself toward the edge of the well.
"Nicky stop!" Jarrod rushed forward and scooped his brother up ripping him from the terrible grasp. He fell to the ground with a crying, thrashing, Nicky.
"Look what you've done!" the man said. Blood blossomed on his ratty shirt. "You've kilt me." He tottered on the edge of the well. "I'll take you with me," he said. He pulled out a knife, he struggled to his feet.
Jarrod reached for his gun, but could not find it. He had dropped it. Nicky held him now and kept him from moving. "Let go of me Nicky. Let go!" he shoved his brother away. "Stay here!"
The man swayed, but he was on his feet. Jarrod only had one shot. He lunged toward the man and with all his might shoved him backward. The man was light and easy to topple. He upended and down he fell into the darkness of the pit. Jarrod peered into the abyss and saw nothing but blackness. A plaintive wail came up moments later. "Save me!" the man begged. "Get me out of here! I'm frightened! So dark! So dark!"
Jarrod backed away. He would never look into that well again. Never as long as he lived. He turned and saw the saddest sight. Nicky sat on the grass, still in his night clothes. His little hands covered his face, his dark hair was matted from sweat. His brother was quietly sobbing.
"Nicky." Jarrod said to him. Tears filled his eyes. He had Nicky back. His brother was alive and crying of all things. "Nicky, it's over. It's over." Jarrod picked him up and got him to his feet. He did not know now if the blood on his shirt was Nick's or the man's. "Are you hurt?" Jarrod quickly checked him over and saw no cuts just some scrapes and bruises. "Oh, Nicky." He hugged him and Nicky's arms wrapped around him tightly.
"I wanna go home!" wailed Nicky.
"Let me out!" cried the man in the tomb.
Jarrod didn't spare the well a glance and he redirected Nicky to the horse. "I brought Lightfoot. I know she's your favorite. I'll take you home." As he bent to lift Nicky into the saddle, he saw glinting in the sunlight Father's Colt lying in the grass. He snatched it up and placed it in the saddle bag. He would no longer need it now that the man was gone. Never looking back, Jarrod rode out of that clearing with Nicky securely in front of him, and headed home.
Neither boy ever told anyone of the man in the well. As far as the family knew, Jarrod had found Nick wandering alone and had fired the gun to draw the attention of the searching men.
"I never visited that homestead again," Jarrod said. "Not until last night when we both decided to go there."
Father looked from one of his sons to the other. "What made you go back last night? After all this time?"
"It was the bones, Father," Nick said. "The bones wanted to be found."
Mother swiped a tear. "It was a dreadful day and more are to come as the families bury their long lost children." She stood and embraced her eldest son. "But they have you to be thankful for, Jarrod. For going into that well and finding their children and for saving countless more from that awful man. You were very brave that day and you were brave, so brave tonight."
Jarrod glanced at Nick. If it weren't for Nick, he would not have gone back, but he kept silent because he could see that Nick still struggled with his own memories of that day.
Mother released Jarrod and went to Nick and sat beside him on the sofa. She cupped his cheek and said his name softly. When he looked into her eyes, Nick slumped and melted into her embrace. "It's over now," she whispered. "It's over."
The End.