Death Has Its Price

Chapter 9 – Crash and Burn

Even though John didn't know Bret Maverick or the brother he was looking for, something about the visit bothered him. If his appetite was poor at best, it became almost non-existent. He wasn't sleeping, and his coughing and wheezing came to be more pronounced. He had headaches more frequently, and they grew to be painful and exhaustive. He'd been hesitant to take anything for the throbbing in his head for some reason but one afternoon the pain was so excruciating that he consented to take an aspirin. It was the move that told Amy there was more to this man than she knew, and it almost killed him.

Within an hour of taking the offending pill, he was sweating and feverish, and the aching in his head kept getting worse. Amy was right in the middle of a Dickens chapter when he suddenly began coughing and choking, even more acute than normal. She stopped reading and went to the dresser for a glass of water, which she handed to John when she returned to his bedside. He took the offered water and began to drink when he suddenly gasped in pain and squeezed the glass so tightly that it shattered in his hand. Water, glass and blood went everywhere, and John passed out. Amy ran for a towel and got the first two cleaned up, then the blood, and bandaged his hand. The fever got worse and he moaned and thrashed about in apparent pain. Once he even called out a name that sounded like "Jody," but she couldn't be sure. His breathing was shallow and uneven, and by evening he was still unconscious. She was genuinely worried and finally dispatched Jess to fetch Doc Greeley.

The doctor examined him and emerged from the room shaking his head. "I can't begin to guess what's wrong, Amy," he flatly told her. "He's still unconscious and he's got an awful fever. What did you give him before this happened?"

"Just aspirin, Doctor," she told the man that delivered her when she was born.

"Hmmm," he rubbed his forehead as he puzzled it out. "Could be some kind of an allergy. Don't let him take any more. If he is allergic and one aspirin gives this type of a reaction, another could kill him. Just gonna hafta wait it out, girl. How's everything else been?"

"It's been coming along Doc, until this. We got him up and out of bed last week, using Daddy's old crutch, and he's been doing well. Getting used to it and moving around. I know he'll be happier when he can put a boot on that foot, but I was going to take him outside soon, until this happened. Did you see the trouble he's having breathing?"

"That's the consumption, girl. And whatever this is has aggravated it. Nothin' I can do for any of it. Try to keep somebody with him until he wakes up. And no more aspirin! Better to not take any chances. And get some rest yourself. You look like you haven't slept for days."

Amy hung her head and sighed. "I haven't, Doc. I hate to leave him alone so I spend as much time as I can with him. He seems so lonely and sad all the time. I try to make him laugh."

Doc Greeley rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Dear, dear, this was just what he'd been afraid of, ever since he found out that his patient was the infamous Doc Holliday. Amy was becoming attached to the man. And just what would happen when he was well and wanted to leave? He'd taken care of this young lady her entire life and the last thing she needed was her heart broken by this . . . . this criminal.

"Be careful, Amy girl. This is not a man to be trifled with. He'll break your heart and leave you miserable. Don't look at me like that, I know what I'm talking about. You mark my words."

"Yes, sir," she told the doctor. Anything to make Doc Greeley happy; he was a good man and a good friend of the family. She saw Doc out and came back to find no change in John. She sat with him until supper and came out to eat just to please her father, then went right back to her patient. She stayed again that night in the bed she'd set up in his room, and slept fitfully, waking every time he moved or moaned, which seemed to be every few minutes. He remained that way all night, and the fever seemed to climb higher and higher until she thought he'd surely burst into flames.

She woke early and made coffee, then returned with a cool, wet towel for John's forehead. He wasn't as restless as he'd been last night, but the fever seemed not to have abated any. Gage came into the bedroom to see if there'd been any change before going out to help with the herd, but the only thing Amy could report was . . . . . nothing any different. Morning stretched into afternoon and she finally dozed, falling asleep while sitting in the chair and resting her head on the bed, the way she had the first night he'd been there. An hour later she woke with a start to find his hand resting on her head, and it felt noticeably cooler. She checked his forehead and was relieved to find that the fever had indeed broken, and he seemed to be sleeping rather than simply 'passed out.'

He slept the rest of the day, peacefully almost, and his breathing appeared to be back to near normal. Whatever the problem was it had subsided, and Amy could finally breathe easier herself. Right after supper he finally stirred and woke, almost startled when Amy explained what happened and how long he'd been unconscious or asleep. "Aspirin?" was his only question.

"Aspirin," she answered. "Something familiar about that?"

"Yeah – maybe." He finally paid attention to the bandaged hand. "What's this?"

She told him the story of the shattered glass and he just sat and listened. When she was finished he looked troubled. "I'm sorry, Amy. You do so much for me – you didn't need extra work. I'm sure you'll be glad when I'm gone."

That was the most preposterous thing he'd ever said. Didn't he know – she stopped herself mid-thought and just answered, "No, I won't."

They sat quietly for a minute before she remembered his 'babbling' last night. "Who's Jody?"

"She's . . . . . . . . . I don't know who she is."

"Sister, sweetheart, lost love . . . . lady of the evening?"

"Sister, I think." His voice was hesitant with the answer, then he asked her, "Lady of the evening? You mean whore?"

Amy was surprised to hear him be so blunt, although she shouldn't have been. He was, after all, Doc Holliday.

"Uh . . . . yes."

He shook his head carefully. "No. Don't do that."

He hadn't lied to her as far as she knew, so she believed him. Somehow it was a relief to hear him say it. "Are you hungry? We just had supper, there's plenty of food left."

She waited to hear his standard answer, "Not really," but instead he asked her, "What was it?"

"Venison stew."

"Sure. Any coffee?"

Amy giggled. "You know there is."

"Please?" He looked at his bandaged hand. "If I can hold it."

"If you can't, I'll hold it for you." She giggled again and went to fetch supper.

John sat in the bed and marveled at the young woman that had just left the room. She'd saved his life on more than one occasion, and seemed to tolerate his lack of memory and dark moods with grace and humor. And she was certainly pleasant to look at. He found himself missing her when she wasn't there. 'Settle down, Doc,' he thought to himself. 'As soon as you can sit a horse you'll have to find a place to live.' Right now it didn't much matter – he was here and she was, too. So what if he fell a little in love with her – he had no illusions about his life as soon as he was healed. He smiled and waited for her to return. Best enjoy the attention while he could.