Chapter 6

It was late afternoon when the train pulled into Sacramento and Heath got off. It took him a minute to get his bearings, since it had been a while since he'd been to Sacramento. One thing he remembered was that there was more than one freight company here, and he knew he didn't have time this evening to check in on them all. He decided to stop at the railroad's freight depot first.

With the train just coming in, there was some freight business to handle then, so Heath had to work his way to a free clerk to ask his questions. "I'm looking for a freight line owner, maybe named Brooks," he said. "Black haired man, blue eyes, about 32 or so. You know him?"

The man shook his head. "No Brooks owns any freight lines around here. Got a Brookings, but no Brooks."

Maybe Jarrod hadn't changed his name that much. "He has a mole on his jaw, too. Does Brookings look like that?"

"He's got the black hair and the blue eyes," the clerk said. "I don't know about the mole. I never notice such things."

"How about the age? Is that right?"

"Could be, but I couldn't swear to it. His office is two blocks down. You'll have to go have a look yourself."

Heath turned around quick to do that. It was getting later in the day, and he wanted to check at least one place before things began to shut down. In less than five minutes, Heath was going into the Brookings Freight Line office.

There were two men and a woman behind the desk. They were consulting each other about something on a paper one of the men was holding, but there were no other customers right now. Heath eyed the man holding the paper, the black hair, the right age. The man looked up at him with startling blue eyes, and Heath saw the mole. He saw everything.

It was him. It was the young man in the family photo, just older and a bit heavier. It was Jarrod.

Jarrod smiled a little. "May I help you?"

Heath wasn't expecting a smile. It wasn't the Jarrod Barkley his mother and Nick had described, but this was definitely Jarrod. Heath took a deep breath. "Are you Mr. Brookings?"

"I am," his older brother said.

Heath came closer and quietly asked, "Can I talk to you in private?"

The woman and the other clerk looked over at him.

Jarrod's smile faded. "About what?"

Heath glanced at the woman and the clerk and made his voice even softer. "About a family name of Barkley in Stockton."

His brother and the woman suddenly looked startled, then resigned. Jarrod said to the clerk, "Henry, take care of things here for a while, will you? Come on back here."

Jarrod nodded toward a curtain over a door behind the desk. Heath went around and went in as Jarrod held the curtain aside for him. The woman came in right behind Heath, and then Jarrod came in.

They were standing in a kitchen, and Heath realized this must be Jarrod's home – and that woman must be Jarrod's woman. They stood there for a moment together, the woman staying aside as Jarrod eyed Heath up and down. "Who are you?" he asked.

"My name is Heath Barkley," Heath said. "I know who you are, Jarrod. I've seen your picture, the one Mother has at the house that was taken before the war."

"How are you related to me?" Jarrod asked, his eyes darkening over, the smile long gone.

"I'm your half-brother."

"Half-brother?"

"Tom Barkley was my father."

"Where are you from?"

"Strawberry. Your father met my mother when he came there on business. You'd have been a kid. I'm about eight years younger than you are."

Jarrod nodded. He remembered that trip to Strawberry, his father being gone for longer than usual, more harsh words between his parents than usual when he got back. "How did you find me?"

"Nick told me you'd gone into business in San Francisco under another name. Folks at a saloon near the train depot there told me Brooks and said it was a freight business you sold and somebody said you were keeping company with a woman who moved here. I took a chance and gave them your description at the depot here, and then I came on down to see for myself."

Jarrod looked down at his feet, shaking his head. "You must be a Barkley. You look like the old man, and you've sure got the Barkley luck if you found me that fast."

"Not all luck," Heath said. "You hit a lot of saloons around the train station in San Francisco. I could hardly go wrong."

"Jim," the woman said. "Why don't we go into the parlor? I think we're going to need to talk."

Jarrod nodded and put his arm around the woman. "I go by Jim Brookings. This is my wife, Eloise."

Heath realized he was still wearing his hat. He took it off. "Pleased to meet you, ma'am."

She smiled. She was a lovely woman, and the man standing in front of him was no out of control monster who beat up on children. Jarrod seemed as normal as any man did, but Heath reminded himself he had just met the man. He shouldn't take first impressions as gospel.

Jarrod motioned to another doorway. "Let's sit down for a while," he said, and the three of them went into the next room.

It was a modest parlor, with stairs leading to an upper floor where Heath figured bedrooms and a wc might be.

"Have a seat," Jarrod said and motioned toward an armchair.

Heath sat down, and Eloise sat down on a small sofa facing the chair.

"Would you like a drink?" Jarrod asked.

"Only if you're gonna have one," Heath said.

"I don't drink," Jarrod said.

Heath looked surprised.

"I'm not what you expected, am I?" Jarrod said with a slight smile.

"No," Heath said. "Mother told me they made you leave because you were violent, even with the children. But you don't seem like a violent man now."

Jarrod shook his head. "I'm not." Jarrod sat down next to his wife and took her hand in his. "So, what is it you want, Mr. Barkley?"

Heath didn't like the "Mr. Barkley" name. It seemed wrong, coming from another Barkley, from his brother. "It's Heath," he said. "I just joined the family in Stockton a few weeks ago. I asked about you, and Mother told me what happened after the war."

Jarrod smiled just a little. "How is Mother?"

"She's fine," Heath said. "She's some woman."

"Father?"

"He died six years ago, fighting the railroad."

Jarrod nodded. That seemed to be all he wanted to know about the family. "What brings you looking for me?"

"Just wanted to meet you, see for myself."

Jarrod chuckled. "See the monster who beats up little children?"

"See whoever it is you are. Tell you about the family if you want to hear it. Find out if you were still alive, because the family isn't so sure you are."

Jarrod chuckled again and leaned back into the sofa. "Maybe I'm not – at least, maybe the monster's not."

"Can you help me understand, Jarrod? I want to know. What happened? What made you so violent when you came home from the war?"

Jarrod gave a sad little smile, like he was thinking about how to answer, or whether to tell this kid anything at all. Then he leveled an embarrassed, almost amused gaze on his brother. "Laudanum. Laudanum happened."