The Trigger - Chapter 3

Revolve ~ To ponder, to think or think about carefully and at length. To turn.
To move or cause to move in circles or around an axis.

"Gently, son. You're safe. Everything will be fine. I'm Doc Weatherby."

Johnny looked at the face of the man, seeing a stranger, albeit one with a kindly expression. He looked around and saw that he was not lying in any of the bedrooms at Lancer, as he'd first thought. "Where the hell am I?" he demanded in a raspy voice. Talking caused Johnny to cough painfully but when he was offered the water glass once again, he ignored it. He glared at the man and waited for an explanation.

Doc Weatherby, who was portly and looked to be in his fifties. He adjusted his wire-rimmed eyeglasses and stroked his gray mustache, then said in a slow and even manner, "My name is Dr. Gus Weatherby and you're in my house. Just outside of Atwater. You've been a bit. . .out of sorts, and we - me and my wife Esther that is - we've been takin' care of you."

Johnny blinked. It took him some time to comprehend what the doctor had told him, but the older man patiently waited for a response. First thing Johnny did was look down at his body. It was hidden under a sheet, with his feet covered in a drawn-back blanket. Sensing that nothing was missing, and not feeling any specific pain other than an allover malaise and an aching head, it came to Johnny then that he must have fallen ill. "It was that pulque," he accused. Yes, that must have been it. His stomach hurt some, too, like a griping ache from eating too many green apples.

"I don't know about any pulque, my boy. You were brought in with a head injury." The Doc turned to the bedside table and picked up a stethoscope.

For some reason, the sight of the medical instrument, innocuous as it was, alarmed Johnny more than if some home-brewed liquor had poisoned him. "My head?" It did hurt a lot, but the pulsating pain behind his eyes wasn't quite as bad as it had been when he'd awoken. So long as he didn't look towards the light.

"I think I'd better give you a once-over. Rest easy, won't take long." Leaning over, the doctor listened to Johnny's heart and thumped with his fingers here and there on his patient's chest. Every now and then the doctor made small noises of satisfaction.

"Doc?"

The doctor held up a finger to quiet his patient while he made his examination. "Take a big breath, son."

Johnny did as he was told and inhaled deeply. Meantime, he glanced around the room, but he didn't learn much. It seemed like a farmhouse bedroom with older, simple furniture. It had a sloping ceiling and uneven walls made homey with wallpaper and a threadbare, upholstered chair near the window and a plain wood one off to one side. There was a tree outside the only window in the room, and from where Johnny laid the dusty green leaves obscured any view of the surrounding area. His eyes lit on a basin and small bottles - medicines - on the table by his bed. The sudden sinking feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with whatever he'd drunk the night before. Johnny said, his voice gravelly, "Doc, how long've I been here?"

The doctor pulled the armless wooden chair close to the bed and sat down, compressing his lips as he put his stethoscope away. He surprised Johnny by taking hold of his hand. Not to feel his pulse, it seemed, but as an act of comfort.

"Tell me what's goin' on! What's wrong with me? Where's Murdoch? And Scott?" Suddenly Johnny remembered his mission and his heart constricted. How could he have forgotten about it? It was so important and he couldn't let anyone down. He had to get back to Lancer, to tell them everything was right on schedule. "I gotta go home," Johnny mumbled. He struggled to raise himself, but was defeated by an excruciating thrust of pain in his head.

The weakness that followed overwhelmed him and he fell back on the pillow just as the doctor said, "There was an accident, Johnny."

"Accident?" He felt dumb for repeating the doctor's words, but it was as if they carried little meaning for him.

"Yes, the stagecoach you were traveling in had an accident. It lost a wheel and crashed into a ravine."

"It crashed?" Johnny looked into the doctor's brown eyes and tried to get a grasp on what the man was saying. "I don't-."

"Don't recall the accident?" The doctor shook his head slightly, as if disappointed. "There were several badly injured folks, and me and my wife took you in. I'm retired, you see, and was able to give you the care you needed, and we were close by. You suffered quite a blow to your head."

"How bad?" Johnny was almost afraid to hear. He raised a hand to his head, feeling for the site of his injury, but couldn't fine any lump on his skull.

"It was bad enough - you've been out cold for some time, son." Before Johnny could ask how long he'd been out, once again, and wondering at the same time why he couldn't remember even stepping on the stage for home, the doctor spoke again, gently breaking the news. "You see, the accident occurred a while ago."

There was something about the way the Doc was speaking that sounded like he was about to break some terrible news. Whatever it was Johnny didn't want to hear it but he swallowed and whispered, "How long, Doc? "

"I'm afraid you have been unconscious for four months now," Doc Weatherby said.

Staring at the doctor, but not really seeing him, Johnny lay still, his mouth slightly open with disbelief. Finally he said softly, "No." Then louder, he repeated his denial. "No, no!" He frowned and looked around, seeking anything to help him get a grip on the time he'd lost. It wasn't possible! He'd been in Atwater, in the saloon, just the night before. He knew it. He felt it. The doctor laid a hand on his arm, but Johnny jerked away. "You're lyin', just lyin'," he shouted hoarsely. "I'd know!"

But Dr. Weatherby shook his head, ever so slightly, in pity for the young man lying in the bed in his guest room. "I know this is a lot to take in, Johnny, I know. You're lucky you didn't have any serious internal injuries or even broken bones. You were unconscious when you were found and soon after the accident you were brought here. I should know. I've been taking care of your every need for the entire four months." Weatherby smiled a little and added, "Why, Esther and I thought you'd never come to your senses, but we hoped and even prayed every day for you, my boy."

There was something about the way the doctor spoke, a sincerity about him that made Johnny begin to believe what he was telling him. He didn't want to, couldn't even begin to comprehend what the loss of four whole months meant. Dios, he'd never even made it home! He'd missed the arrival of the President. Had the whole thing gone on as planned, but without him? Had there been any trouble out at the ranch? Suddenly, Johnny got his elbows under him and pushed himself into a half-sitting position. The strain on his arms made them tremble, they were so weak. In an unsteady voice, he asked, "Where's my father?"

The bedroom door opened and an older woman entered, bearing a tray. A small lady, her white hair in a bun, white apron tied over a blue calico dress, she was as neat as a pin. Apparently oblivious to Johnny's heightened emotional state, she walked lightly across the room and placed the tray on a bureau. "My, we are so glad you've finally awakened, young man. Gus and I were sure worried, though he tells me time and again to stop my fretting because it does no good. No good at all." She moved to the bedside and peered at Johnny. "You shouldn't even be trying to sit up yet, you're far too fragile after all the time you've been sleeping. I told Gus how you reminded me of our boy when he was asleep in this very bed, God rest his soul-."

"Esther," warned her husband kindly but firmly. "Enough of your chatter, my dear. Our young guest is trying to sort out his confused thoughts and he needs some quiet to process everything he's lost." Weatherby stood and put a hand under Esther's elbow. "Now you go downstairs, dear, and I'll feed the boy. You brought him some of your special soup? That's excellent."

As the doctor escorted his wife from the room, she said, "Well, as soon as he's up and ready to take visitors, we'll need to find him some garments to wear. I expect I should tidy the front parlor, too. And we need to notify those nice folks who keep asking after him." She smiled over her shoulder at Johnny then said to herself, "My, there are quite a few things to do."

Dr. Weatherby closed the door firmly behind his wife and by the time he retrieved a bowl of soup from the tray and had returned to his seat, Johnny had fallen back onto the mattress.

The older man put an extra pillow behind Johnny's head then prepared to feed him some soup, but Johnny raised a hand to indicate he wasn't interested. "Wait!" Despite intense hunger pains and a rumbling stomach, food was the last thing on Johnny's mind at that moment. "I've had visitors? My father? Scott?"

Doc Weatherby studied the bowl of soup for a minute then put it aside. His face, set in serious lines, was hangdog and his mustache drooped. "Ever since you came here to stay with us, there's been a steady parade of folks coming along to see how you're faring. Now most of them have come a fair piece, from down near Spanish Wells and thereabouts. Although some came real regular at first, like your doctor did, now we only see them once in a while."

"Sam came? Dr. Jenkins?"

Weatherby nodded. "Dr. Jenkins, he set out the course of your care, my boy, and he was here quite a bit in the beginning. But now he's left your day-to-day care to me and Esther. I've been practicing family medicine for nigh on thirty years, so he knew I'd do my best for you. Now let me see, there was a lawman, too, said he was a friend of yours-."

"Val Crawford," Johnny said, and just knowing that Sam and the sheriff had been watching over him made him feel a little less alone.

Doc Weatherby nodded. "Crawford, a good man, yes indeedy. I'll send off a wire to him today and to Dr. Jenkins, too. I'm glad to see your memory of the past is still intact, young man. I was concerned the blow to your head and the prolonged unconscious state might have done some permanent damage. It's important you remember everything you can and get a handle on any missing events. You know what they say about talkin' your worries away."

"But Doc, you need to wire my father right away. He'll want to know I'm awake." Johnny was worried over what he had missed, but he knew once his father and brother came around they'd set his mind at ease. He figured he was a day's ride from the ranch, but Scott would probably make it in half that time once he knew his little brother was finally awake.

Johnny wondered why he hadn't been taken back to his own home, and was about to ask about that, when the Doc said, "Well, son, I want to wait until you are a little stronger and we can talk some more. If you're not going to have any soup, I'll just go downstairs and leave you to rest up a bit. I can see you're tuckered out." He picked up the bowl and slowly stirred the soup with the spoon, apparently deep in thought.

The aroma of chicken soup made Johnny salivate, and he pushed himself up a little in the bed. "I guess I can try a taste of that, Sir."

"Let's get you up a bit higher so you don't choke." Beaming, Doc Weatherby put the soup aside only long enough to prop the pillows up behind Johnny then got a firm grip under his arms and hauled him up.

Johnny hated that he had to be assisted, but he was eager for the soup so he let the doctor feed him. One good thing was the warm liquid seemed to soothe his dry throat. Between spoonfuls, he asked curiously, "How'd you get food into me when I was out cold? I'm as weak as a cat but I don't seem too bad for four months without any grub."

"Oh, I'm pretty good at keeping my patients healthy, even if they're not responsive." Weatherby chuckled. "Even an unconscious man can swallow, and you weren't insensible the entire time. There were moments when you moved your limbs, but you never opened your eyes until today. It takes a lot of care and patience to tend to an invalid long term." The Doc spooned more soup into Johnny's mouth and gave him no further opportunity to speak.

By the time Johnny was finished eating, he had to urinate, and he pictured all the personal things the doctor, and presumably his wife, had done during the time he'd been out of it. He flushed to think of strangers handling him, but then he figured that after four months they were probably pretty familiar with his body. The Doc helped him with the chamber pot then took the receptacle downstairs. Johnny listened to the receding footsteps and heard the murmuring of the Doc talking with his wife and some clanking coming from what sounded like the kitchen below.

Johnny had never felt so exhausted in his life. His head was still aching something fierce, his body was achingly weak, and he had trouble putting his thoughts into any resemblance of an orderly fashion. The Doc had said he'd tell him the rest of the news when he was stronger, but Johnny wanted to hear it all now. He'd ask the Doc when he came up again. Insist on hearing the rest. Johnny slumped down in the bed, noted with disdain he was wearing a nightshirt, and before he knew it he had dozed off.

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When Johnny awoke again, the light was different, suggesting it was late in the afternoon. He was hot, and threw the covers off. Outside the window, the leaves on the tree rustled, but there was not another sound to be heard. Not of people downstairs, not cattle or horses out in the pasture. He lay there for some time, trying to figure out what the last thing was he remembered, but for some reason his mind kept wandering and he just watched the leaves fluttering in the breeze. Four months, the Doc had said. That made it October. It was warm for autumn, but this bedroom, with its sloping ceiling, was under the roof and by late afternoon it was as hot as an attic.

After doing a cursory check of his body, Johnny came to the conclusion someone must have kept his hair and nails trimmed. He discovered his fingernails were not only short, but they were clean – cleaner than he ever got them, that was for sure. He'd been lying here for a long time, dead to the world apparently, but he hadn't lost any weight that he could tell. Sighing, he relaxed. He'd be up and back to normal soon enough. All he needed was some grub and to see his family and he'd be as right as rain.

He must have fallen asleep again because he dreamed of riding Barranca. His palomino nickered with pleasure, and Johnny smiled at the joy of riding his beloved horse. When his head lolled to one side and off the pillow, Johnny awoke with a start, sweaty and thirsty as hell. He couldn't reach the glass of water from the bed, so he rolled onto his side and somehow sat up. It took so much effort he almost passed out and his head felt so heavy he almost forsook the water. He just wanted to lie back down, but he had to have something to ease his parched throat. There was still a bad taste in his mouth and his tongue felt thick, like it did after taking some medicine.

The water eased some of his discomfort. While he sat on the edge of his bed, a little woozy, Johnny realized he was doing pretty good for a fellow who'd been lying around like a dead man for four months. But then he'd always been resilient.

A long time back, when he had been riding with some rough characters, he'd been shot in the belly, but had been up and walking around within a week, which had amazed everyone. Of course he hadn't let them know over the following couple of months that he was walking around with terrible pain in his gut. He'd sucked it up and pretended he was ready for action. Compared to that, this was nothing.

Johnny knew that whatever was ailing him now was only temporary and with perseverance he'd get well enough to convince these kind folks he was fine. Then he'd borrow a horse and get back home. Home. . .he ached for home. Now where the heck was his brother? Although he was peeved that Scott wasn't right there, Johnny knew that he couldn't expect his brother to camp out by his bedside for months at a time. Of course Scott had gone back to the ranch, to get on with life. He'd be busy attending to his ranch duties, and wondering from time to time when his lazy little brother was gonna get up off his ass and come back to work. Johnny grinned to himself at the thought and lay back down to sleep peacefully.

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