Chapter Thirty-six
Jess didn't know how much time had gone by before he came to, but the light in the room had considerably dimmed, indicating the sun was making its way low into the west. The washcloth was now mostly hanging out of his mouth and his head rested on his right arm, which stretched across the table. Near his fingertips lay the towel, covered with the blood and the thick yellow fluid soaked up from the draining wound. He had drenched the injury again with alcohol straight from the bottle into the cut, before managing to replace the cork just before he had passed out.
Divesting himself of the cloth that had stifled his groans and guarded his tongue and lower lip from his gnashing teeth, he raised his head. He blinked away the grogginess and viewed the wound with satisfaction. A modest trickle of blood was still making a trail down his arm, but there was some degree of relief too, since the poison that had built up was released through the incision he had made. The cut he had added to the damage already there was relatively minor, but big enough to do the job.
Another day of draining and cleaning with the whiskey, plus a few more days to allow some further healing, and it would be time to remove the remainder of his stitches. He would be out on the trail then and would take the sutures out himself. He could handle the task. He had done it before. With an instrument that a kind old doctor in Sante Fe had given him three years and a couple of gunshot wounds ago.
He snorted a sardonic laugh. Of the very few possessions he had, one that he was careful to safeguard in his saddlebag, one of the most important treasures he wanted to make sure he didn't lose, was that medical instrument for removing his own stitches.
Dadgum. He momentarily hung his head and palmed his hand across his eyes. What the heck kinda life am I livin'?
Pushing the depressing thought aside, he managed to drag himself from the chair and glanced longingly at the bed, wanting only to stretch out and grab some good sleep.
Not yet, Harper. You still got some more tendin' to do.
He drank half of the water in the room's porcelain pitcher and gathered up some of the long wraps of white bandages the doctor had handed to him when he left the office down the street a few days ago.
He made his way to the bureau and lit the oil lamp there. Securing the bandages around his shoulder in a sloppy but sufficient manner, he thought about where he should go once sunrise came.
Nebraska. Think I might could head over that way for a while. Maybe some of the Bannister gang went that direction after all.
He had briefly considered going to Wyoming Territory; he had never been there, and his curiosity was pointing him toward it. But he changed his mind when he heard the rumor that one of Bannister's men was seen crossing the line into Nebraska. It might turn out to be another wild goose chase, as so many other supposed sightings of Bannister or other members of his gang had been. But Jess would give it a try.
He had caught up to some members of the gang in various places─Arizona, Texas, New Mexico, Colorado─and he had seen to it that they would never be hurting another family ever again. But so far he had not found Bannister himself. Someday he would actually get that devil in his gunsights.
And might be someday he would finally find his way to Wyoming and see what it was like over there.
For a few weeks now, he had kept getting a picture in his mind, and for some reason he felt like connecting it to an impression of Wyoming. Kinda ridiculous he told himself, since he'd never seen that territory at all. But it was a pleasant picture, and he enjoyed the moments when it popped into his brain. There was a ranch with wide-open ranges. A tidy home out in the country, miles away from any town or neighbor. With close to a dozen or so good horses in the corral. Surprisingly, a comforting feeling of brotherhood always came with the picture.
Crazy. He smirked at the absurd notion. He was a loner. Had been, for the most part, since he was fifteen.
"And that's all right by me. Don't need nobody."
But… that image…
He recalled a conversation he once overheard between Pa and Ma, when Pa was talking once again about having "that premonition" coming at him from the future. That was all Jess had heard. No details about what the vision actually was, just a general conversation between his parents that gave him the understanding of what the word meant. A glimpse into the future.
Could such a thing really happen? A picture─or feeling─about the future. Could that be what this picture of a ranch, this feeling of brotherhood was? A premonition?
Nah… he tossed the outlandish idea away. His chance for having a brotherhood was gone forever. His two brothers were long dead. And he would never have any others.
Did he still have a sister? He hoped Francie was happy, wherever she was. At least she wasn't with that rotten Ebal. And surely Gil was taking good care of her. A couple of times Jess had checked with Father James, but still neither the priest nor anyone else had received word of where Francie and Gil were. Maybe they were still somewhere in Texas. Mr. and Mrs. Brady might have an idea, but Gil's brokenhearted parents also had never let anyone back in their homestead area know where they had gone. Were they even still alive? Was Francie? Did he have one remaining member of his family? Even if he did, it wasn't like she would ever be part of his life again. He was alone. Adrift. The only home he had ever known was far in his past.
Ain't nothing left for me in Texas. Ain't nothing left for me anywhere.
He felt a piercing in his heart, a feeling that hurt every bit as much as that knife slicing into his shoulder had.
Exhaling a heavy breath, Jess tamped down the pain. He had become mighty good at doing that through the years. Good at always hiding his pain from others. And, often, from himself.
As he struggled into a clean Henley shirt for the night, he stood before the bureau that had a large gilded looking glass above it. When he unintentionally glanced into the mirror, his eyes met those looking back. Suddenly, he felt himself immersed in memories, transported in time and place. To a point seventeen years in the past. To a small cabin in the Panhandle. For one fleeting moment, he was an injured seven-year-old gazing into his father's eyes.
"A man can't let no weakness show. Or somebody might use it against him. Remember that, son."
Oh, he had remembered it, all right. Every word his father said was kept close to his heart. Jess lived his life with that commitment to avoid trusting anyone with the knowledge of how he felt, or they might do as his pa warned and use it against him. Following Pa's advice had kept him alive more than once, including right here in this town. He made sure no one ever knew how much he hurt.
Staring into the mirror at the dark blue eyes, he bitterly wondered for the thousandth time why fate had taken his family from him. No, not fate. Why Frank Bannister had taken them from him.
Jess bowed his head, pursing his lips, working to maintain control as he coped with the stranglehold on his spirit and the loneliness engulfing him once again.
He had turned twenty-four a few months back, though he had barely allowed himself to acknowledge the fact before immediately locking away awareness of that meaning of the day. Nine years had gone by since the fire. He knew he would never get past the hurt of losing his family. He had accepted that fact. The heartache rode with him every day and wrestled with him nearly every night. But during his most desperate hours, he occasionally couldn't help but wonder… would there ever be something, someplace, someone in his life to help him at least get past the lonesome feeling?
It was this one singular hope occasionally poking at him, along with his constant quest for justice and vengeance, that spurred his journeys through the Big Open.
He shook off the unwanted longing that came with the aloneness. Don't matter none anyways. There was no point in thinking about it. He had got used to being lonely, he told himself. All that mattered was justice for his kin.
So he would keep going. He was strong. He could handle anything.
He believed it. Pa had taught him well.
Thoughts came unbidden of the way he and his father used to have good conversations riding side by side out toward Mr. Delaney's herd. He recalled one time when he was around twelve… there had been that strange look in Pa's eyes when he watched Jess.
"You're gonna be a man to be reckoned with, son," Pa had said again, just as he had when Jess was seven.
Jess had grinned. But Pa didn't. Instead of a smile, Pa had just stared at him with that odd faraway look in his eyes and quietly assured him, "You'll stay strong, Jess. Just be sure to use that strength right."
Another memory flashed, this one when he was thirteen, of Ma leaning her head on Pa's shoulder, telling him she wished her boy hadn't needed to spend his childhood days in a saddle doing a man's work and risking a man's injury. He could still picture Pa wrapping his arms around her and telling her everything would be all right.
Everything would be all right.
With his eyes sadly locked on those eyes in the mirror, Jess' thoughts and heartache quietly poured out in a gravelly whisper.
"Pa… I wish you coulda been here these last years to help me figure things out. I sure 'nuff could use a hand with that. I've had to try to find the right trail mostly on my own. And I know I make mistakes." He closed his eyes, his head lowered in shame. "I done some things I ain't proud of."
Again looking into the mirror, into his father's eyes, he continued to softly voice his thoughts. "I know I won't never measure up to you, Pa, but I keep tryin' to be a good man. For sure and a fact, I work at it. But… I don't know… somehow… I just got me a way of endin' up in trouble… from my hat clear down to my boots."
He gently massaged his aching shoulder. "And I know if Ma could git a glimpse of me right now, she'd be mighty shook up."
He drew a deep breath and steadied himself. With his tone strengthening, he affirmed, "But you tell her not to be frettin' over me."
Squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin, he stared at the reflection.
"Nope. Ain't no cause for her to worry herself." He gave a defiant shake of his head. "Not one bit."
His father's eyes stared out from the mirror, shining with determination, bravery, integrity, and optimism.
No… They weren't Luke Harper's eyes. They were Jess Harper's eyes. He would lay claim to strength and courage and a positive outlook as much as his father ever did. He may not have realized it, but Jess possessed an honest authority that equaled, or perhaps even surpassed, the amount his father had carried.
The confidence returned, displayed in Jess Harper's gaze, in his stance, in his very presence.
There was a renewed power in his voice as he spoke the oath he lived by.
"I'm fine."