One Short Sleep

By Emily Brunson

©2005

To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware.
(William Cullen Bryant, "Thanatopsis")

1.

He didn’t think anything of it at first. It was just one of those things, an irritation, not a real problem. He learned years before to ignore such things. If you got all excited about most of them, all it’d do was slow you down.

So it surprised him that October day in the south pasture, when Nick reined in and scowled at him. "What’s with all the hackin’?"

Heath stared at him. "Huh?"

The scowl got bigger. "You been coughin’ like that all day. You puny?"

"Me? Puny? Nope. Feel all right." Although it was partly a lie, because he did feel a tiny bit puny. But not so’s it would cut into his work. No sir, not so much.

"Why don’t you go on home? Cut on out early. I can see to this, no reason you have to."

It was unexpectedly generous, and as so many times before with Nick, it annoyed Heath a little. "No reason I gotta cut out early," he shot back, before a cough interrupted him.

"That’s what I mean. Hackin’." Nick snorted. "Go on, go home. I’ll be there myself soon enough. Go get Mother to make one of her poultices."

Heath wrinkled his nose. "Ain’t that bad."

"Better let her be the judge of that. ‘Less you’d rather see Doc Merar."

The thought of calling out the town doctor for this tickle in his chest was absurd. Heath eased Charger down to a walk, and then a halt. "You sure? Nick, I feel fine. Just got a damn cold or somethin’. That’s all."

But Nick wasn’t stopping, too; instead he was riding on, and Heath regarded his brother’s obstinate back for a moment before slowly reining his horse back the direction they’d come.

And truth was, once he was back at the house and alone in his room, he did feel a little bit peaked. More than he’d realized out there with work on his mind. But he’d felt a hundred times worse than this before, and lived to tell the tale. Be fine in the morning.

He told Victoria that, when she knocked a few minutes later, wondering at his early return.

"How does your chest feel?" she asked, an elegant frown wrinkling her brow. "It’s early yet, but you could be taking cold."

"I’m all right, Mother. I promise." Under her calm stare he paused, and then shrugged. "Been coughin’ some. I reckon I probably took cold, s’true."

"I’ll make a mustard poultice." Victoria looked positively elated at the prospect, only frowning when Heath shook his head vigorously.

"Mother, I tell you, I don’t need it. Ain’t no -- I mean, I’m not that sick. Just a little puny, that’s all. Be right as rain by tomorrow, you wait and see. Save your poultices for someone who’s really sick."

He softened the words with a game smile, but Victoria, while diverted from her home remedies, didn’t look much mollified. Especially not after a brief coughing spell cut short his excuses.

"Heath Barkley, that sounds just awful. How long have you felt like this?"

He scooted over to let her sit next to him on the bed. Absurdly, that felt awful good. Nothing like a mother, even when she did make the stinkiest godawful poultices this side of the Divide. "Dunno. Day or two, I reckon. I’ll be fine. May just sleep a little. Always said rest cures most ills."

"Perhaps." She looked sincerely unconvinced. "But if you’re not better tomorrow, I’m sending for the doctor. No," she added, raising an imperious hand when he drew breath to object. "I’ve made up my mind, Heath. That’s all there is to it. Now you get some rest, and I’ll bring you up some supper after a little while."

Heath stared at his knees. "Ain’t that hungry," he muttered.

"Nonsense. When you smell Silas’s cooking you’ll tell me you’re starving, and why did I wait so long."

He grinned and shook his head, and tried not to appreciate her gentle hand on his hair before she left.

He surprised himself by sleeping hard, and awoke to see Victoria and Audra both in his room, bustling around setting up a tray with what smelled like stew, and fresh bread. He thought about telling them he didn’t need the mother-hen treatment, but decided against it, seeing Victoria’s set features.

"You sit up, Heath, that’s it."

"Aw, Mother." He rolled his eyes while she tucked a napkin under his chin. "Next thing you know you’ll be givin’ me a pacifier."

"Indulge me," she replied calmly. The tray went over his lap, and he eyed the brimming bowl of stew with interest. "Now you eat up. You need your strength."

Picking up a spoon Heath nodded. "You ladies best clear on out. Don’t want to be catchin’ this, whatever it is."

"Don’t worry about that." But Heath noted a quick look between mother and daughter, and Audra scooted out. "I’ll be back up in a little while to check on you, darling." Victoria patted his arm. "You finish all that before I get back."

"Yes, Mother."

Alone in his room, he set to, feeling a little sheepish for eating in bed. And in spite of the savory smell and even better taste, his hunger was quick to disappear. He pushed listlessly at the remaining half-bowl, and gave some thought to hiding it in the chamber pot. No, he was a man grown, if he didn’t feel like eating, well, then, he’d just not eat.

Nick came calling before his mother’s return. "So you’re puny after all," he boomed, placing his fists on his hips. "Knew it."

"Ain’t that bad." Heath set his spoon down and leaned back. "Just restin’."

"Don’t look so bad. If I didn’t know you better I’d say you were just lookin’ to get out of work." Heath drew an indignant breath and Nick grinned. "Just foolin’. Mother make that poultice yet?"

"Not yet. Thank God."

That got him a loud spate of laughter. "Just you wait, boy. This time tomorrow, you’ll smell so bad, aren’t gonna have any visitors for a week."

"Ain’t gonna be in bed a week. Just –" The tickle caught him in mid-word, and he coughed, making a face at the tightness in his chest.

"See? Just the thought, got you all choked up." But Nick’s teasing expression had softened. "Sounding a little rough there, brother. Maybe you better take that week after all."

Heath waved a hand dismissively. "Just need a day or two, most likely." He fought down the urge to cough again. "Be all right."

"Only if you rest," came Victoria’s stern voice from the doorway.

"Howdy, Mother." Nick walked over to kiss her cheek. "What’s the verdict? Think he’ll live?"

"Oh, of course he’ll live." Victoria snorted and smacked Nick’s arm. "But all this talking is making him cough, so you just leave him be, Nick. Go down and have some supper."

"Mmm. Don’t have to tell me twice." Nick grinned. "See you in the morning, Heath. Get some rest."

Heath nodded, feeling ridiculous, and then looked at Victoria.

"You didn’t finish," she said critically.

"Ran out of room, I expect."

"Hmph. Well, I suppose that’ll do." Her expression softened. "Feel any better?"

He thought about lying, and then gave it up as a lost cause. "Not all that much. I’ll be fine in the morning, though."

"And if you’re not, you’ll stay in that bed, young man. I don’t like the sound of that cough."

"No, ma’am."

Victoria bustled around, picking up the tray, and paused at the end of the bed. "You wake me if you need anything in the night, all right? If you start to feel worse."

Heath nodded tiredly. "I will, Mother. I promise."

"Good night, dear."

"Night."

It was ridiculously early, but the moment she closed the door he felt his eyelids drooping. Probably the food; made him sleepy. He remembered to turn out the lamp before pulling up the covers and closing his eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

He awoke to darkness, and the clammy feel of sheets sticking to his skin. Had a fever and already broke it, he thought muzzily, sitting up. A harsh cough jolted him for his effort, and when the spate was done he felt dizzy and too hot. But it seemed the act of breathing was all it took to keep the coughs coming, hard deep coughing that stiffened his whole body, hardly letting up long enough for him to gasp some air before wracking him all over again.

He didn’t see the door open, but then there was soft lamplight, and Victoria, ghostly in her white dressing gown. "Sit up, Heath," she said in a low voice, setting the lamp on the table. "Come on."

He was never sure how long she sat with him, but it was a while, he knew that much. Seemed as if the coughing would never stop, and he was cold now, soaked with sweat. His chest hurt, a deep sharp pain, bringing involuntary tears to his eyes.

Victoria said something to someone Heath couldn’t see, and presently there was tea, wonderfully hot and smelling like honey. "Drink a little, darling. It will soothe your throat."

The tea helped tamp down the coughing, enough that he could pull the quilt over himself and start to warm up a bit. Victoria plumped pillows behind him, and murmured, "You need to sit up like this. You’ll cough worse if you lie flat."

It wasn’t anything he didn’t already know, but it felt good to hear her say it all the same. He let her position him right, and gave her a tired smile. "Thanks," he whispered in a raspy voice. "Sorry I woke you."

"Don’t you worry about that. You get some sleep if you can. I’ll send for Dr. Merar first thing in the morning."

He gazed at her indistinct face, nodding while she smoothed the damp hair from his forehead. "Yes’m."

His eyes slid closed before she took the lamp away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Heath’s ailing?"

Victoria glanced at Jarrod’s looming form before pulling Heath’s door almost shut behind her. "A cold, I think, but it’s settled in his chest." She held the lamp so that she could more readily make out her oldest son. "We’ll need to fetch the doctor in the morning."

"I’ll take care of that, Mother. You get some rest."

"All right."

Back in her own bedroom, Victoria lay unmoving, gazing up at the pattern of moonlight on the ceiling. Difficult to see any of her children sick, but just as much so with Heath, it seemed. Not a son of her flesh, but certainly of spirit, and holding him while he coughed that terrible booming cough, she had remembered past vigils, other children, younger and much-loved. Two who had not survived. And Jarrod’s terrible bout with influenza, when he was four, and Nick with whooping cough. It was the same disease that had taken one of his infant sisters, and diphtheria had claimed another sister not yet out of diapers.

She hated feeling helpless. And nothing made her feel so helpless as illness. So little could be done, even today, with so many modern advances in medicine. Certainly the sick were better off today than in her own youth. But a cold could become much more, and quickly, and influenza was a dreadful disease. She prayed this was only a chest cold, and didn’t become something no one could fight except by prayer and diligent care.

If she slept, it hardly registered. When the darkness began to pale she rose silently, donning one of her old work dresses by flickering lamp light. Pausing at Heath’s door, she heard nothing. A superstitious lance of fear pierced her belly, and she opened the door. But he was still propped up as she’d left him, snoring because he lay on his back and his mouth sagged open. Swallowing, she allowed herself a brief breath of relief, and pulled the door to once more.

Jarrod was dressed downstairs, making her wonder if he’d returned to bed after his rest had been disturbed. He smiled at her over his cup of coffee. "Morning, Mother. Did you sleep?"

"A bit." She walked over to kiss his cheek. "But I suspect you didn’t."

"I thought it might be best if I didn’t. Don’t worry, I’ll make up for it later." He set his cup on the table and reached for a fresh one. "Coffee, I assume?"

"Most definitely."

He poured her a cup, and forced back a yawn. "I’ll head to town shortly. Doc Merar should still be home, unless he was already called out. What do you think he has?"

Victoria didn’t ask him to clarify who "he" was. "I hope it’s only a cold. But it may be more. Let’s not borrow trouble, dear. Howard can say when he gets here."

"True enough." Jarrod finished his coffee and drew a deep breath. "I’d best be off, then. I’ll be back as soon as I can."

"Thank you. You’re a dear."

"I know." He quirked her a grin, and went to get his coat.

She’d finished one cup of coffee and started another when she heard Heath’s booming cough. Audra stood on the landing when Victoria went up. Clutching her dressing gown around herself, Audra said, "He sounds worse, Mother."

Seeing Audra’s pinched features, Victoria slid an arm around her daughter’s waist and gave her a short squeeze. "Jarrod’s gone to get Dr. Merar. We’ll see what he says, all right? You go down and have some breakfast. And until we know what Heath has, you should stay away from him."

"But you’ll need help. You can’t nurse him all alone."

"I most certainly can, and will, for the moment. No sense in all of us getting sick, too. Now you run on. Scoot."

Audra’s chin stuck out in a mulish look so like her father, Victoria almost laughed. But she went downstairs, and Victoria’s smile faded as she made her way into Heath’s room. He sat hunched on the bed, body a picture of tense misery as he coughed over and over again. Sparing a second to wish she’d had Audra tell Silas to heat water for tea, Victoria hurried over to the bed.

Under her anxious hands Heath didn’t seem to be terribly feverish. But every muscle was tight with the stress of the coughing fit, and he didn’t look up at her approach.

In the back of her mind, a suspicious voice spoke up. Victoria froze in place, throat working convulsively. No, it was not that, could not be. She would not entertain the notion, even for a second. Closing her eyes briefly, she banished that old, frail voice to the basement of fear where it belonged, and cleared her throat.

"Heath, darling, cough it up. Get it out, go on." She produced a handkerchief from her pocket and put it in his hand, closing his fingers over it. "That’s better. I’m sorry, I know you’re tired."

He took the cloth and held it over his mouth, and then shook his head as another violent spate of coughing shook his body.

"Oh, Heath," Victoria whispered, soundlessly. "Oh my dear."

From that dank cellar in her mind came the same decrepit reminder, hollow with evil certainty. She swallowed and leaned her cheek against Heath’s shoulder.

~~~~~~~~~~~

2.

He found Dr. Merar already up, although bleary-eyed. Probably not much more so than Jarrod himself, he thought briefly, and reached out to shake Merar’s hand. "Sorry to trouble you so early," Jarrod said quietly.

"No bother." Merar reached up to straighten his collar. "What’s going on?"

"Heath’s taken ill. A cough, and a fever, I think. Mother and I thought it best if you’d come have a look at him."

Merar’s nod was short and unsurprised. "Let me get my bag."

In the buggy, the doctor was more direct. "How long has he been ailing?"

"I’m not entirely sure. Nick sent him in early yesterday, but I think it might be a day or two longer than that." Jarrod clucked to the horse, urging it to a faster pace. "Influenza, perhaps. But it may only be a cold."

"I doubt Victoria would have sent for me if she thought it was only a cold," was Merar’s calm response.

"No," Jarrod agreed after a moment. "Most likely not."

They passed the rest of the ride mostly in silence, and the sun was well up by the time the house hove into view. Jarrod hitched the horse near the house and walked with Merar inside. Nick and Audra stood looking nervous and tired in the main room.

"Good, you got here." Nick didn’t smile at either of them. "Boy sounds like hell up there. Beg pardon, Audra."

"Oh, Nick, I can say ‘hell’ too, you know," Audra shot back in a surprisingly peevish voice. She ignored Nick’s surprised look. "Nick’s right, Heath sounds just horrible, Dr. Merar. Can you help him?"

"I’ll do my best," Merar said calmly, and headed for the stairs.

When Jarrod made to follow, Audra’s hand caught his arm. "Mother said we’re to stay down here. It may be catching."

Gently disengaging her fingers, Jarrod produced a smile. "It’s good advice, sister mine. Could you ask Silas to make some more coffee? I’ll imagine the good doctor could use some, and I know I could."

He reached the stairs before Nick said indignantly, "You shouldn’t go up!"

"Oldest sibling’s prerogative," Jarrod returned over his shoulder. "Never you mind."

Inside Heath’s room, Victoria stood with arms akimbo, closely watching the doctor’s ministrations. She spared Jarrod a scathing look. "What I said to them goes for you as well, young man. I don’t want you getting sick."

"Calm down, Mother." Jarrod crossed over to put his arm around her narrow shoulders. "I’ll be fine. Hale and hearty. Which is more than I can say for my youngest brother here." He looked at Heath, sobering as he took in the grayish cast to Heath’s normally ruddy cheeks. "How is he?" he asked in a low voice, intended for his mother’s ears.

"He’s dreadfully ill. That cough, Jarrod –" Victoria broke off, shaking her head. "I’ve heard the like before. I’d hoped never to again."

Jarrod frowned. "Who?"

"We’ll discuss it later." She lifted her chin. "Doctor? How is he?"

Merar didn’t reply immediately, taking the time to listen to Heath’s harsh breathing. Finally he withdrew, settling Heath back on the pillows and stowing his new stethoscope in his bag. "I’ll be back in a moment, Heath."

Heath gave a slow nod, not opening his eyes. "All right."

Outside, Merar glanced at each of them. "Sounds like catarrh. Might have started off a cold, but his lungs have gotten the worst of it."

Victoria’s hand was tight on Jarrod’s forearm. "Influenza?"

"I don’t believe so. His fever’s not terribly high."

"Thank God."

Merar reached into his bag. "This is an expectorant – same as you took two winters ago, if I’m not mistaken, Jarrod."

Jarrod took the bottle with a curled lip. "I remember. All too well."

"Not much for taste, but it generally does the job. Keep him warm, a spoonful of this every four hours or so, and encourage him to cough. If his chest hurts, a mustard poultice might be efficacious. Mix in a few drops of turpentine to clear his breathing."

"Thank you, Howard." Victoria nodded.

"If he worsens or his fever rises much, let me know. I’ll come by in a day or two to see how he’s faring."

~~~~~~~~~~

Victoria dosed him with something horrible not long after the doctor left. Heath sputtered and choked and coughed heavily, and when he was done he glared at her. "That’s supposed to HELP me?"

"It loosens the phlegm in your chest." She put away the bottle and spoon, looking sympathetic but severe. "Believe me, I know it tastes dreadful. But it will help you cough."

"Seems to me -- I ain’t havin’ any trouble coughin’ all on my own."

That got him a laugh. "That’s the spirit, honey. Now, I want you to drink your tea."

He didn’t much cotton to tea as a rule, but this had honey in it, and besides, he’d have drunk anything to get the taste of that awful medicine out of his mouth. He swigged it down, and another cup before Victoria gave him a satisfied nod.

"You rest now. I’ll check on you after a while." Her hand was cool on his forehead. "Bring you something to eat. That’ll put the color back in your cheeks."

He nodded tiredly, and leaned his head back. Cautious, so cautious: don’t want to set off another spell. But the cough seemed to be sated for the moment, and he slept almost immediately.

After what felt just a minute or two, Victoria shook his shoulder. There was soup, and more tea, and more disgusting medicine. And finally there was the dreaded poultice, which reeked even more than he remembered.

"Smell’s – gonna make me -- sick all by itself," Heath wheezed.

"Nonsense. Best thing for a cough I know."

It did smell to high heaven, but after it had cooled just a bit he thought it really did make him feel a mite better. Or maybe it was the godawful medicine after all. Whatever the reason, he rested better that night, and the following morning he felt a lot closer to himself again.

"Still coughing?" Jarrod looked as if he needed a good night’s sleep himself. "How do you feel?"

Heath waved a hand, shifting to sit up a bit. "Reckon I’ll be just fine."

"Now you wouldn’t just be saying that so you can avoid another dose of Dr. Merar’s vintage, would you?"

Heath smiled, watching Jarrod take a seat near the bed. "Damn stuff’s so bad, I’d do just about anything, I admit."

"You sound better. How’s the cough?"

"Ain’t -- It’s not as bad, don’t think. Now you wanna hear some coughin’ -- Few years back, when I was down in the camp. Heard some bad stuff then."

Jarrod nodded slowly. "At Carterson."

"And after, yep. Some of them boys took sick, wasn’t nothin’ – anything – anybody could do for ‘em. Least it wasn’t the yellow fever."

"Thank God for that. I’m glad you’re on the mend, Heath. Mother was pretty worried."

"Aw, no need for that. Wish she wouldn’t take on."

"She cares a great deal about you," Jarrod told him quietly. "More than I think she could ever say."

Feeling his face heating up, Heath looked away. "Think I’m startin’ to see that, yessir."

Jarrod slapped his hands on his thighs. "Well, then. I should get to it. You let me know if there’s anything you need, all right? I imagine Dr. Merar will be by to check up on you sometime today."

"Oughta save the trip. Be back at it here real soon."

"I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear it." Jarrod smiled.

~~~~~~~~~~~

He felt worse come midday, and sometime in the afternoon he coughed so hard he puked, adding embarrassment to the general misery. So by the time Merar arrived he didn’t feel as confident as he had earlier in the day.

"Still not too much fever." Merar nodded to himself, rummaging in his bag. "That’s good. Sit up for me, would you?" The metal end of his stethoscope was cold on Heath’s skin. "Take deep breaths for me."

"I’ll try. Makes me cough."

"That’s all right. In and out. That’s it."

Breathing hurt again, hurt bad, although he said nothing, just waited for the doc to finish so he could go back to sipping air. Finally Merar had listened enough, and Heath was allowed to sit back.

"Gotta take some more of that pine tar syrup, I guess," Heath said tiredly.

Merar tucked his instruments back away in his bag, and closed it. "Cough up any blood last night or today?"

"Blood?" Heath stared at him. "Nope. Not that I noticed."

"How’s your appetite? Feel as if you could eat something?"

"Reckon so. Ain’t that hungry, though."

"All right. I have to tell you, Heath, I don’t like what I’m hearing. Now I know you don’t want to hear this, but you’re going to have to stay in this bed a while. If you don’t, you’re going to get worse. A lot worse."

Heath considered it a moment. "Well, I ain’t tryin’ to go back and work today, Doc, I understand that. Don’t feel up to it if you want the truth, but –"

"I mean, stay in bed until you’re well. You understand me? Can’t fool around with this, Heath." Merar’s face was grim. "I want you to promise me that."

"Why? What’s wrong with me?"

"I can’t say for certain yet. But you’re trying to get pneumonia, and that’s not something to mess with. All right? And getting out before you’re well will just mean a relapse. So your dance card’s empty for the next couple of weeks. No work, no going out of the house. You take the medicine I prescribe and drink a lot of fluids. More than you want. Eat as much as you can, stay warm. I’m leaving some laudanum in case your chest pains you, but don’t take it unless you really need it."

Heath nodded awkwardly. "A – All right, Doc."

"I’ll come back by in the morning. But you let Victoria and Jarrod know if you start to feeling worse. I can help, but not if you suffer in silence."

"Ain’t been too silent with this," Heath muttered, touching his chest.

"That might be the silver lining right there." Merar waited until Heath saw his smile, and then nodded. "I should be off. You heed your mother, too. She’s nursed many a patient, and she knows what’s best."

Heath thought of a comment about her highly aromatic compresses, but held it back.

He choked down another spoonful of the medicine later on, and again before the family retired for the night. He thought Victoria looked tired as she perched on the side of the bed, hair already tucked under her nightcap.

"Dr. Merar must have been strict with you today," she commented lightly, her fingers cool on his hand. "You didn’t complain a bit about that expectorant."

"Mother, you all right? You look a bit peaked yourself."

She shrugged. "A little tired, perhaps. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure." When he frowned she squeezed his fingers. "I’m not taking ill, Heath, so put your mind at ease. Now, I’ve left the laudanum here on your table. I know you’d prefer not to use it," she added at his expression, "but rest is the best thing for you right now, and if you can’t sleep, a little nip won’t hurt."

He wasn’t about to touch the stuff, but he gave her his most sincere nod.

"All right, then. Sleep well, sugar. We’re all right here if you need us."

Seeing the dark smudges under her eyes, he thought it would be a cold day in Hell before he’d make a fuss tonight. "I’ll be fine, Mother," he said softly. "Go get some rest. And thanks for helping me out. Most appreciated."

"My pleasure." She patted his cheek. "Good night, Heath."

"Night, Mother."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

3.

Nick splashed water on his face and rinsed the soap from his cheeks. The little cut on his chin stung, and he glared at his reflection as he rummaged for the towel. Couldn’t even shave right this morning, apparently. Couldn’t do much lately; felt awkward.

And why was that? Surely not because everything seemed so damned whomper-jawed this week, could it? Heath sick, Mother in full-blown nursing mode, and Jarrod hanging about the house when everyone knew good and well he ought to be back in Frisco by now?

Dabbing uselessly at the cut, Nick stowed the rest of his gear in his ditty bag. Yeah, it did feel odd. Wasn’t right, Heath laid up in that bed like an invalid. Man was strong, and young; didn’t seem the type to take ill. And yet there was no denying it. That cough had sent chills down Nick’s spine. Heard folk sick like that here and there. Some hadn’t ever gotten well.

He sighed and went to find clean shirt and pants. With Heath or without, the ranch still wanted tending. He’d never finished his chores from earlier in the week, and now there’d be more. High time to get to it.

Victoria was just emerging from her room when he came out. "Good morning, Mother," Nick said, hearing the morning rasp in his own voice. "How are you today?"

Her eyes were puffy with sleep, but she was immaculately dressed already, not a hair out of place. "A bit tired," she conceded. "But a cup of coffee should help that. And you?" She glanced at him. "Darling, you’re bleeding."

Nick made a face and touched the cut on his chin. "All thumbs this morning. Coffee sounds mighty good."

"Let me just look in on Heath."

Heath was fine, sleeping soundly, and Nick noted with satisfaction the better color in his brother’s cheeks before shooing Victoria out ahead of him and downstairs.

Half an hour later he set out. The day passed swiftly, filled with chores and a long afternoon with some of the hands, searching out summer calves that had thus far escaped branding. By the time the sun was dropping in the west, they had over two dozen located, although Nick suspected there were more, hiding with their mamas in the heavy brush down by the east creek.

"Carl, you and Danny head up the ridge in the morning and see what else you can find." Nick wiped sweat from his upper lip and sighed. "By my count we’re still at least two dozen short, and I want those calves accounted for by end of this week. Understood?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Barkley."

"Might as well check that fence while you’re up there."

"Will do."

It was almost sundown when he got back to the house. Inside he smelled a chicken roasting, and probably gingerbread in the oven. Victoria and Audra sat in the parlor, working on their hand stitching, and gave him pretty smiles.

"Supper in about half an hour, Nick," Victoria told him, making a face when he kissed her cheek. "Maybe you can use that time to wash up."

"Oh, is that a hint?"

"More like a heartfelt request, darling."

Audra waved her embroidery in front of her face, wrinkling her nose. Nick snorted and shrugged. "Just a little honest sweat. Never killed anybody." But he went upstairs in good humor.

Stopping past the landing, he tapped on Heath’s door, then stuck his head inside. Heath sat on the bed, eyes widening when he saw Nick. "You up for visitors?" Nick asked with a grin.

"You bet."

The room smelled heavily of mustard poultice, and Nick wrinkled his nose. "Lord, Heath, this place smells worse than I do." He clomped over to take a seat near the bed. "What, she put turpentine in that, too?"

"Not sure what all she puts in ‘em," Heath said with an eloquent curl of his lip. "I been smellin’ it so long, think my smeller’s broke."

"By Mother’s expression when I came in, that might be a lucky thing."

"You find them calves? We’re short a good fifty."

Nick nodded. "Got about half today. Rest will turn up tomorrow."

"You check ‘em for scours? Rusty last week, said he saw a couple looked peaked."

"I’ll check ‘em."

"Best do it tonight, so you can separate out the ones that –"

"Heath." Nick shook his head. "I’ve been doing this a long time, and I know all about scours. You just put your mind at rest, let me do the work here. Conserve your strength."

"Aw, I apologize for that." Heath waved his hand, expression turning sour. "Reckon I’m gettin’ tired of this damn room. Didn’t mean to take it out on you."

"I haven’t heard you cough yet. Feelin’ any better?"

"Some better. That doctor come by, brought me some more medicine. Ain’t never tasted anything so bad. Made your coffee sound pretty good, I tell you what."

"Considering your opinion of my coffee that’s sayin’ something."

"God’s truth."

Nick laughed, and felt some thin thread of tension inside him let go, something he wasn’t even aware he’d been carrying around. "Oh, you’re feelin’ better. If you can moan about my coffee and ride me about the calves, you’re definitely on the mend."

Heath gave him a slanted grin. "Just don’t want you to lose your edge, that’s all."

"With you around? Not gonna happen." His smile faded a little. "Just don’t you be getting ideas about work for a while now, you hear? Mother said Doc Merar wants you 100% better before you get back up on a horse. I aim to hold you to that myself."

"Fresh air’d do me a power of good, Nick," Heath blurted in a pleading tone. "Think this room’s keepin’ me from recovering right."

"Oh ho. Nice try, brother. I’m not fooled."

Heath’s features took on a sulky cast. "Ain’t never been so bored in all my life," he grumbled.

"All the more good, make you want to get well faster. All right. Best clean up before supper."

"Might not be a bad idea. Guess my smeller ain’t broke after all."

"Hah."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In spite of his increasing restlessness, it was another week before Dr. Merar pronounced him fit enough to get out of bed for longer than an hour or two. Contrary to his earlier warnings, the cough wasn’t completely gone. But it was reduced to a fraction of its earlier power, and that along with Heath’s heartfelt pleas seemed to relax the doctor’s resolve.

He dressed and shaved carefully before going downstairs. His legs complained a little, but he figured they’d recover after being stretched a bit. Silas was clearing the breakfast things away, and gave Heath a startled look.

"Mr. Heath! Why, you’re up and about again! Praise Jesus!"

"Amen, Silas." Heath walked up and grabbed a cold biscuit from the plate Silas was carrying. "Where is everybody?"

"Miz Barkley and Miss Audra, they’s gone to town to run some errands. Mr. Jarrod went with ‘em, and Mr. Nick’s – Well, I don’t rightly know where Mr. Nick be."

"You doin’ all right, Silas?"

"Aw, I be fine, Mr. Heath. Can’t complain. Sure is good to see you on you feet again."

"Good to be that way. Tell ya, one more day in that room and I believe I’d be plumb stir-crazy."

Silas laughed. "Mr. Heath, you is a caution! You want somethin’ to go with that there biscuit?"

"Nope, ain’t that hungry. But thank you just the same."

He found Nick near the paddock, arms crossed, watching while one of the hands fought to get a halter on a roan colt Heath hadn’t seen before.

"New addition?" Heath asked in a low voice.

Nick flinched and turned, eyes widening. "Well, would you look what the cat drug out. Legs still work?"

"Along with the rest of me." Heath nodded.

"Thought you mighta enjoyed a life of leisure so much I might not see you again," Nick said heartily, and clasped Heath’s shoulder. "Bob Albertson brought this one out day before yesterday. Out of that mare you liked so much, last year, remember?"

"Oh, he’s a beauty," Heath agreed, scanning the colt’s conformation. He snorted when the colt tossed his head, deftly avoiding being captured yet again. "Ain’t even halter-broke yet?"

"Well, he was. Only now I think he’s taken it in his mind to be ornery."

"Musta seen you and figured it’s the only way to go."

"Hah. You oughta go see Charger. He’s been pinin’ away for you."

"You took him out, right? Don’t want him to get barn-sour."

"I did, but wasn’t the same. Damn horse is in love with you, you know. Done nothin’ but mope since you took sick."

"Best go see him, then."

"You do that."

It felt wonderful to be outside, fresh air, sunshine, the smell of grass and earth. He inhaled gratefully, and felt a wrenching cough twist inside his chest. Nick gave him an alarmed look. "On second thought, brother, you –"

"Nope." Heath fought down the urge to cough again. "I ain’t hearin’ it. Figured I’d never get sprung, and now I aim to enjoy it."

"Well, all right, then."

Inside the stable Charger did look lonely, and then hilariously glad to see him, letting out a high excited whinny. Heath ran his hand down the horse’s muzzle affectionately. "Now you go on like this, people’re gonna talk, boy, don’t you know that?" he murmured. "How you been, huh? Bored as me? Reckon so."

He was tired long before he got the saddle on Charger, but that was to be expected. Wouldn’t toughen up without work, and that was a fact. But the wash of dizziness that swept over him as he tried to mount was something else. He leaned against Charger, clutching the saddle, and blinked rapidly. "Good boy," he wheezed. "You just stand there for a second. I’ll be up directly."

But "directly" felt like a long time off. Even after the stable stopped its sideways movement he didn’t mount. Couldn’t, he knew for a stone fact.

"Mr. Barkley? You all right there?"

Heath looked at the hand standing nearby, wiping his fingers on a cloth. "Be all right, Jimmy," Heath said, and bent forward, coughing harshly.

"Whoa, now." Jimmy darted forward, taking Charger’s reins. "Want me to get Nick?"

Heath shook his head, still staring at the ground. "No – need," he wheezed, and closed his eyes to cough again.

"You don’t look so good, don’t sound so good neither. Be right back." He dropped the reins and took off.

Digging a handkerchief from his pocket, Heath leaned against the horse and held the cloth over his mouth. Felt like something was busted inside there, he thought dizzily, before another spasm bent him at the waist. When it calmed he glanced at the handkerchief and blinked at the blood.

"All right, you bit off more than you can chew." Nick’s booming voice made Charger shift nervously. "What’s all –" Nick broke off. "What the hell? Damn it, Heath, is that blood?"

His mouth tasted foul, and he spit before wadding up the handkerchief and holding it against his mouth again. Humiliated, he shook his head. God damn, couldn’t even get up on his own damn horse.

"That’s it, we’re going back to the house. Jimmy, give me a hand here."

"I c’n walk," Heath wheezed, straightening. "Gimme – second."

"Heath, you’re white as a sheet. Don’t you argue with me." And Nick’s arm felt welcome, strong under Heath’s shoulder. "Yep, get his other side. Heath, you just overdid it, that’s all."

Heath nodded, but underneath that forced lightness he thought Nick sounded scared.

Near the house, Nick told Jimmy, "Go fetch Carl, wouldja? I need somebody to ride in and get the doctor."

"Aw, no," Heath squeezed out. "Ain’t –"

"Don’t need any lip from you, Heath," Nick interrupted sharply. "You’re headed back to bed. You go on now, Jimmy. Tell Carl to hurry."

For some reason stepping inside the house made him aware of just how bone-tired he was. The stairs looked formidable. Heath stopped in the hallway, shaking his head. "Can’t," he managed, fighting down another painful spasm of coughing. "Gimme a second."

"Come on. Gonna put you in the parlor."

The sofa felt as comfortable as the finest feather bed to Heath, and he didn’t even bother trying to pretend otherwise. Too tired, and Nick wouldn’t be fooled anyway. "Reckon – I’ll be fine – right here," Heath wheezed, avoiding Nick’s anxious eyes. "You go on, take care – of that colt."

"He’ll be just fine. Silas!" Nick bellowed. "Come on out here!"

Heath closed his eyes, listening without interest while Nick got Silas to heat up water for tea. When Nick returned he carried a blanket and pillow. "Here," he said gruffly. "Mother sees those boots on her divan, why, she’ll kill you before you got a chance to kill yourself."

With his boots off and a thick blanket over him, Heath felt better, and sleepy. A little shocked, he accepted the hot honey-sweet tea without complaint. "Ain’t seen you look like that – since Audra got hurt – last spring."

"Drink your tea," came Nick’s muffled reply. "Gonna see if Jimmy got Carl off to town."

Heath nodded, feeling the feather-duster start tickling inside his chest again. He set the tea cup on the table and managed not to spill it before he had to cough again. The spate left him so tired he didn’t even remember closing his eyes this time.

~~~~~~~~~~~

He came to without any sense of how much time had passed, and it came as both a surprise and not so much so, to see he was now in his own bed. Heath shifted, blinking in the bright lamplight.

"Mother?"

Victoria flinched, dropping her embroidery. "Oh Heath. You’re awake." Her face was drawn with tension. "How do you feel, honey?"

Rode hard and put away wet, Heath thought, but didn’t say it. "I’m all right. What time’s it?"

"Late, darling. You slept a long time." Victoria’s expression morphed into a kind of terrible worry Heath hated to see. "You weren’t well enough, Heath, why’d you go out this morning?"

"Thought – I was mended, I suppose." Heath swallowed, tasting metal. "Reckon I was wrong about that."

"Howard Merar’s still here. I talked him into staying for supper. I should go let him know you’re awake."

The doctor looked even grimmer than Victoria, homely face heavily lined. "Overdid it there, Heath," he said without preamble. "Now what’d I tell you?"

"Guess you were right." Heath mustered a tired smile. "I promise I’ll take it easy, Doc."

Merar exchanged an oblique look with Victoria, who paused and then went out, shutting the door behind her. Pulling up a chair, Merar sat with a sigh. "How are you feeling now? Chest hurt?"

"Not too bad. Just don’t want to get that coughin’ riled up again."

"Well, I’m still not hearing any pneumonia in your lungs, but you’re going to need to rest up a few days more. Your color’s bad, and you lost some weight."

"So what do I got? Some kind of infection or somethin’?"

"Something like that." Merar nodded, but there was an evasiveness to his gaze Heath didn’t much like.

"Somethin’ you’re not sayin’?" Heath asked harshly.

"Too soon to say yet. You don’t give Victoria a hard time, now. You stay put, and I’ll be back to check on you sometime tomorrow."

Mutely Heath nodded. But after the doctor was gone, he lay thinking hard. He knew that look, had seen it before, more than once. Not at himself, but others. Like his mama, God rest her soul. When they first found out she had the cancer. That doctor hadn’t been near Merar’s stature, but he’d worn a similar hangdog look. That look that said, I’m a doctor but there ain’t nothin’ I can do for this patient. That look he’d worn before he’d left, and he hadn’t come back, either. And Leah Thomson had died not three months later.

A cough rumbled in his chest, and Heath fought it down. Troubled, he leaned back against the pillows.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night was crisp, more than a taste of winter in the biting air. Victoria pulled her shawl more snugly around her and forced a smile. "Thank you for coming out again, Howard. I’ll expect you to charge double for all the time we’ve taken."

"Wouldn’t hear of it, Victoria." Merar opened a saddlebag and stowed his bag inside. "I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon to check on him. Jarrod." He reached out and shook Jarrod’s hand, and touched his hat when he glanced at Victoria.

"Thanks, Howard," Jarrod murmured.

As the doctor rode off, Victoria felt Jarrod’s arm, strong around her shoulders. "He’ll be all right, Mother. Heath’s made of strong stuff. We all are."

She nodded slowly. "I’m worried."

"I know you are. So am I."

"His color this afternoon – so gray. Jennie, my sister -- You didn’t know her, of course. That was before you were born."

Steering her in the direction of the porch, Jarrod nodded. "But you’ve spoken about her on occasion."

"Tom and I came out here, only a month after Jennie passed. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go, not until she died. And then I couldn’t get away fast enough. Even Tom was surprised."

"You and she were very close, I know."

"You would have loved her so much, Jarrod. She was so vibrant, so filled with life. Everyone loved her, it was impossible not to. On her wedding day -- You’ve never seen such a beautiful girl." Victoria swallowed thickly. "I was jealous of her sometimes, because she was the pretty one. But I could never be jealous for long. She was too happy a soul for jealousy."

"Prettier than you? Lovely lady, you are the brightest star in the sky, and that’s a fact."

She smiled and nudged him, slowly mounting the steps. "You’d have agreed, if you’d seen her." She drew a long breath. "There near the end – Jennie looked like Heath did, today. That same color. And her cough –" She broke off, shaking her head.

Jarrod paused, arm loosening. "Mother?" It was hard to see his expression in the moonlight. "You never said what illness carried your sister off."

"No," she agreed softly. "I haven’t, have I?" She nodded. "Consumption. She fell ill in the fall, three months after she was married."

"Oh, Mother. Tuberculosis?"

"She rallied in the early spring, but it didn’t last. We buried her in April, and Tom and I left in May."

"You don’t think Heath…." His voice trailed off, sounding querulous.

"I don’t know what I think." She gave an impatient shake of her head. "I think I’m afraid of it, and it’s making me jump at shadows. You said it yourself: Heath’s made of strong stuff. Jennie was always frail. Lovely and sweet and fragile. Now does that sound like your brother?"

Jarrod coughed a surprised laugh. "No, Mother, I can’t say that it does."

"We’ll just have to make sure he stays in that bed until he’s fully well again."

"That could take some doing."

"I’m not above using rope if I think it will do the trick."

Another laugh. "I’ll hold him down for you." He touched her elbow. "Come on. Some coffee with a bit of brandy sounds good, doesn’t it? Getting colder."

"It sounds lovely, dear."

She was glad of the dark. If she couldn’t see his face, he likely couldn’t see hers, either. Or the fear that lingered, even after her own reassuring words.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

4.

It was another week before Heath ventured out again. They teased him about his long vacation, and Heath took it with good grace. But privately Jarrod thought the teasing sounded forced, and he’d have bet the ranch that Heath knew it. They all did. Because Heath didn’t look right yet. His illness had taken a toll, leaving him too thin, and although he’d lost the gray look that had so alarmed Victoria earlier, his color was nothing near restored.

The dreadful cough, however, was much improved, and it was an unexpectedly acute pleasure to see Heath at the breakfast table, sipping coffee with his usual relish and passing the biscuit plate.

"Jarrod, when do you leave?" Audra asked, handing him the butter dish.

"I’ll take the train tomorrow. Can’t put it off any longer; if I ask for another extension the judge will fine me for contempt."

Victoria was seated next to Heath, her attention obviously divided. "And how long until you come back?"

"Several weeks, I imagine." He drank some coffee and shrugged. "I’ll be back before Thanksgiving, though, don’t worry."

"Thanksgiving?" Audra’s look was aghast. "Surely you don’t have to stay away that long!"

"I’ve let things pile up, I’m afraid. Now it’s time to take care of business." He refrained from adding that worry about Heath’s condition had kept him at the ranch far longer than he could truly afford. No need; everyone already knew it. As well as they knew he didn’t mind it, or he hoped they knew.

"Nick, what are your plans?"

Nick chewed and swallowed before answering. "Figured me and Heath here’d go have a look at those calves. Decide which to sell."

Victoria looked alarmed. "Heath, are you ready to do this? You’ve only just gotten out of bed!"

Heath’s expression said he didn’t mind the question as much as Jarrod feared he might. "Don’t take on, Mother, we’ll be back soon. Besides, Nick’s turning into a bigger mother hen than you and Audra put together." His slanted smile was infectious, and Jarrod snorted.

With a loud clearing of his throat Nick countered, "Someone’s gotta watch out for those who don’t it for themselves."

"Please," Victoria said, not much mollified, "be back for lunch. You should rest this afternoon, Heath, don’t try to do too much too fast. Remember what happened the last time?"

Heath gave a rueful nod. "I’ll take it slow. I promise."

"Good."

Nick and Heath left the table before the rest of the family. Waiting until he knew they were out the door, Jarrod gave his mother a direct look. "He’ll be all right, Mother."

"I’m sure he will be." She didn’t quite meet his eyes.

"He doesn’t look right," Audra said softly, pushing her plate away. "I hope Nick doesn’t get carried away and work him too hard."

"I’ll make sure he doesn’t," replied Victoria in a flinty voice.

Stirring, Jarrod said, "Heath can take care of himself. I think last week gave him some respect for his illness."

"But no one’s said what his illness IS," Audra burst out. "If it isn’t pneumonia, then what?"

"What it is, is waning, and thank God for that. Now, ladies, if you’ll excuse me – I should ride before it gets any later. Need to set one office in order before seeing to the other."

He caught sight of Nick and Heath as he was riding out. Too far to shout a greeting, but Heath looked steady enough on Charger. More reassured than he cared to admit, Jarrod rode on.

Four hours later he was elbow-deep in papers when his assistant peeked in. "Afternoon wires, Mr. Barkley. And the mail’s come."

"Oh. Bring them in, would you?"

Among the stack of correspondence was a creamy white envelope bearing a Chicago postmark. Inside he found a polite letter of introduction, along with a short curriculum vitae, from a Mr. Samuel Carr, Esquire. So word had spread so far already, indeed. Jarrod scanned the pages quickly. He’d mentioned to a few associates in the city about his need for a partner in his Stockton office, and so far of the few who had inquired, none had seemed particularly promising. Either lacking litigation experience, or more often, woefully unprepared for a life in such a small, albeit growing, Western town. But this Mr. Carr – a family man, with six years of trial work under his belt already and a thirst for new places…. It was possible. Yes, worth responding.

"Williams, do me a favor."

The assistant gave him an alert look.

"Draw up a letter on my stationery, asking for references for this gentleman." Jarrod handed him the letter and C.V. "Tell him a bit about Stockton. Don’t gloss over things; tell him what it’s really like. Let’s see if his interest is legitimate or just transitory."

"I’ll take care of it, sir."

"Good man."

The afternoon post included yesterday’s editions of the San Francisco papers. Old news, but better than none, and Jarrod took the time to scan the pages. He was about to put them aside when a notice caught his eye. Frowning, Jarrod studied the notice for a long moment. Then he folded the sheet and tucked it into his valise, to take home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nick slapped the dust from his chaps and grinned. "Brother mine, I think we’re going to make a handy profit this coming spring. If those aren’t the finest calves up for sale anywhere in the state of California, my name isn’t Barkley!"

"Reckon you might just be right." Heath studied the youngsters, noting with satisfaction the sleek coats and bright eyes. "That one there, the one with the white face. Oughta hang onto him."

"Think so?"

Heath nodded. "Keep him for breeding."

"I’ll think on it."

Heath stepped up to the fence and onto the bottom rail, craning for a better look. "Them two girls over at the back, too. Got two beauty queens."

Nick’s laugh was good to hear. "Where’d you learn to be such a good judge of cattle?"

"Here and there." Heath stepped back down again, brushing his hands on his jeans. "Picked it up, I suppose."

Nodding, Nick leaned against the fence. "How you feeling?" he asked in a gentler voice. "Ready to call it a morning?"

"Well, I ain’t ready to saddle up and ride all day." Heath shrugged. "But I feel all right."

"Good, good. Music to my ears." Nick looked over at the cluster of men standing nearby. "Well, what are you waiting for, the second coming?" he trumpeted. "There’s work to be done!"

Heath watched him mustering the ranch hands, and smiled. No denying it: God broke the mold after he made Nick Barkley. Heath envied him his vigor. He hadn’t lied about feeling all right, but privately he recognized he wasn’t up to his usual competence yet. Riding this morning had been a pure pleasure, but he was tired now. The dratted cough had mostly left him alone, though, praise the Lord. He doubted Nick would have let him stay if it hadn’t. Then again, wasn’t sure he’d have wanted to, then, anyway.

Giving the bleating calves a last glance, Heath made his way to the stable. Time to see if he could coax a halter on that roan colt.

By lunchtime he was more than ready to call it a day. The colt stood placidly haltered, nibbling an apple from Heath’s outstretched hand.

"Now he is a fine specimen, isn’t he?"

Heath looked over at Nick and nodded. "Big, too," he murmured, stroking the colt’s sleek flank. "Gonna push seventeen hands when he’s got all his growth on him, mark my words."

"His dam was a big one. Lots of Thoroughbred blood."

"Worth every penny you paid."

"I agree. Heath, you look bad. Might oughta go put your feet up a while."

It was said in a calm, measured tone so unlike Nick’s usual fervor, it took Heath by surprise. "Guess I’m a bit tired," he said slowly. "Reckon Mother’ll have my hide if I don’t rest up."

"She might have to stand in line, boy," Nick rumbled.

Heath grinned and gave the colt a last fond pat.

Lunch smelled savory, but his appetite was next to nothing. He picked at his food until Victoria finally sighed and told him to go upstairs and get some rest. Nodding, Heath trudged up the stairs. He didn’t remember hitting the mattress. He was asleep too fast.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

5.

San Francisco was refreshing, as always. Vibrant, bustling with people and commerce, it felt alive in ways that sleepy Stockton couldn’t possibly match.

Enjoying a puff from a fragrant cigar, Jarrod regarded the view from his office window. Although he’d never said it in so many words, he was aware that Victoria, at least, knew his ulterior motive for opening his second office. Oh, there was need, no doubt of that. His services were in demand, and he now had the luxury of picking and choosing the cases he took on. But it was more than that. Here in San Francisco, he could taste the life he’d left behind when he returned from the eastern states. He loved California, deeply, but he wouldn’t deny there were times when he craved the more cosmopolitan East. Baltimore, Boston, and of course, New York City; he’d spent considerable time there over the years, and recognized the shortcomings of this boisterous, often provincial state.

Be that as it may, though, San Francisco was certainly an upstart city, growing exponentially thanks to trade and gold, and in the past couple of years he’d noticed the appearance of things he’d only seen in larger cities. Such things as art exhibits, and decent theatre. No good symphony yet, but that would come.

And tonight, a lecture at the medical college. His contentment faded as he drew the Chronicle notice from his coat pocket. A Dr. Phillip Ralston, lately of New York City and before that, Germany, where he was a student of the evidently renowned Dr. Hermann Brehmer, was to speak on the topic of phthisis and new treatments for the "scourge of consumption," promptly at seven o’clock.

Jarrod slowly walked back to his desk, stubbing out the cigar in an elaborate ashtray. It might not be anything but an interesting waste of time, he thought darkly. In any case, his mother’s anxiety was evidently as contagious as any disease. Did Heath have tuberculosis? Dr. Merar wasn’t saying, and with his evident recent recovery, it appeared to be a false alarm. Nevertheless Jarrod took up his overcoat and scarf, dousing the lamp on his way out. Waste of time it might be, but if not, he intended not to be caught uninformed.

~~~~~~~~~~

Later that night found Jarrod at the small tidy bar near his San Francisco home, nursing a neat brandy and deep in thought.

Dr. Ralston’s lecture had been surprisingly edifying. A short, dapper man with elaborately curling mustachios, Ralston held forth for more than an hour on modern treatments and even cures for lung diseases, most notably tuberculosis. Consumption, stated Ralston, was now thought to be a disease caused not only by crowded conditions and poor social hygiene, but most primarily by microscopic organisms, the focus of exciting research by prominent European scientists. The concept of tiny organisms as the carriers of disease was not in and of itself new; Jarrod was aware of the principles of contagion and the miasmas that helped spread disease. But according to Ralston, mankind stood on the brink of recognizing infectious particles individually, and thereby assisting diagnosis and subsequent treatment.

There had been more than a few discontented rumbles from various audience members at that, but Ralston, unruffled, continued on. The esteemed Dr. Brehmer had himself been diagnosed with phthisis, Ralston told them calmly. And it was his remarkable recovery from that disease that led to his proposing, and subsequent opening of, the first of what Ralston termed "sanatoria." Exposure to clean, cool air, excellent hygiene, and proper nutrition, combined to produce cures in some patients, and an extended life expectation for all thus far given this treatment.

But, argued one bearded gentleman, face red with alarm, would not exposure to the elements hasten the progress of the disease itself? For as everyone knew, it being common sense, cold and wind were themselves causative agents for infection.

Ralston’s smile had been a bit superior to Jarrod’s eyes, unfortunately. On the contrary, he said. Cold itself could not cause disease. It was organisms responsible for infection. Therefore, air free of those particles, no matter its temperature, could not itself cause anything negative, but instead lead only to positive outcomes.

Jarrod had excused himself before the question-and-answer period was complete. His mind already reeled with the influx of new information. Now, sipping his excellent brandy and aware of the beginnings of a headache, he tried to consider the ramifications. If indeed Heath was suffering from the early stages of consumption, there were two major facts Jarrod felt he should contemplate. First, the disease was indeed contagious, and Victoria’s instincts were correct: the family would need to consider protecting itself. Although their area of California was not marshy and therefore free of the swampy miasmas that plague damper areas and created agues, it was no protector against other forms of contagion. And second, to recover, Heath might benefit from a stay at one of Dr. Brehmer’s sanatoria.

With a sigh Jarrod finished his brandy and reached for his wallet. "Another, Mr. Barkley?" the bartender asked, giving him an alert look.

"Not tonight, Hal, thank you." Jarrod smiled. "Time to call it a night." He slid a pair of bills across the spotless bar.

Hal nodded, calmly pocketing one of the bills. "You take care walking home, sir. Wet out tonight."

"Will do."

It had begun to rain while he sat pondering, and he had no umbrella with him. Raising his collar against the dampness Jarrod hunched his shoulders and hurried the short block to his house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"We should discuss the Thanksgiving menu," Victoria said, giving Silas a smile. "I thought a ham as well as the turkey."

"Sounds right good, Miz Barkley." Silas pursed his lips. "And you’ll be wantin’ oysters for the stuffing, won’t you?"

"Perfect. Now, I’ve already engaged some extra help for you, to see to the men’s dinner. But to make it simpler I’d imagined we’d keep the menus similar. We’ll want several hams, and at least three turkeys."

"I done already picked out the birds, ma’am. Set aside five, just in case."

"Silas, I don’t know what I’d do without you."

Silas shrugged, but his warm eyes were pleased. "Gonna need pies as well, ma’am."

"Oh, of course. Mince, and sweet potato. Do you suppose we have enough peaches for a few pies as well?"

"More’n enough, Miz Barkley. Apples, too."

"Wonderful. I’d imagined we’d start two days before. That’s when the extra staff will arrive." She pondered a moment. "I’ll have the men set up outside, weather permitting. Last year was terribly crowded."

"’Member, las’ year we got some folks extra, too. Might keep that in mind."

"True. We’ll plan for thirty, then. And in the house, twenty. Gracious, Silas, we’ll be feeding an army."

Silas chuckled. "Reckon we will."

"Then that’s all. Oh, Silas. Tonight – could you save the beef bones? I’d like to make Heath some beef tea."

"I can make it myself, ma’am. Ain’t no trouble."

"Would you?" She sighed and shook her head. "We have to tempt his appetite. He’s getting so thin. Ice cream, puddings."

"How’s he doing, ma’am? Thought he was all better."

"So did we all. But he’s not thriving the way I’d like to see."

"Well, I reckon ol’ Silas’s cookin’ will fatten him up. You wait and see."

Victoria smiled and touched Silas’s hand. "Thank you, Silas. I do appreciate that."

"No problem a’tall, Miz Barkley."

Back in the parlor, Victoria smiled at Audra. "Hello, darling." She touched Audra’s pink cheek. "When did you get back?"

"Oh, just a few minutes ago. Were you talking about Thanksgiving?"

Victoria nodded, taking a seat next to her daughter. "Among other things, yes."

"Those other things wouldn’t be Heath, would they?"

Catching the knowing look in Audra’s eyes, Victoria decided against denying it. "Concocting ways to put some flesh on his bones," she agreed. "He’s gotten far too thin."

"Well, at least he’s not sick anymore," Audra said stoutly. "He’s back at work. And I haven’t heard him cough in days."

"No. He does seem better. Now if I can just get him to eat."

"If Silas can’t do it, no one can, Mother."

"True."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

6.

The morning before Thanksgiving, he awoke early, unsure what had roused him. The house was silent, not even a hint of first light at the windows. Lying very still, Heath listened for a moment, and then fidgeted at the feel of the sheet sticking to his limbs.

One thing he’d grown to truly hate since he’d had the bout with whatever illness he’d actually had, and that was the sweating. Seemed like every night he woke up wet, wet as if he’d just worked a full day in the hot sun. Bad enough, but the sweating made him feel bone-weary, and thirsty.

The thought popped into his head, clear as church bells on a Sunday morning. If he was well now, and he was, wasn’t he? – if so, then why was this still happening?

Shivering from the wet bedclothes and a bit of anxiety, he climbed out of bed. Sleep felt a million miles away now, and he wanted dry clothes, warm dry clothes. His breath plumed in the air as he rummaged for the lamp, lighting it with fingers that shook slightly. The Barkley house was beautiful, oh yes, but come cold weather it got frosty at night, and there was no fireplace in his bedroom.

He dressed in his heaviest flannel shirt and clean jeans, and put two pairs of socks on. Carrying his boots, he peered out the bedroom door. So beautifully quiet, hated to clomp around in his clodhoppers. And downstairs Silas would have banked the coals in the fireplace, only take a couple of minutes to get a good blaze going.

He padded downstairs and soon enough the fireplace crackled heartily, reaching out fingers of blessed warmth. Sighing, Heath slumped on the sofa. Tired, he was dead tired, and the fire felt so good. He leaned his cheek on his hand and closed his eyes.

"Heath?"

He flinched out of a muddled dream involving a keg of beer and a contest between himself and Nick to see who could get the roan colt drunk first, and blinked blearily. Fierce sunshine filled the room, and for a moment he couldn’t see who had awoken him.

"Land sakes, Heath, what on earth are you doing sleeping down here?" Victoria sat next to him, brow wrinkled with surprise.

"Woke up, and it was cold," Heath said, and felt a jaw-cracking yawn overtake him. "Sorry, Mother, didn’t mean to startle you."

She patted his hand fretfully. "We had a cold front last night, I know. Took me by surprise, as well. Tom was always the one good at telling what the weather would bring." Her pinched expression didn’t ease. "We’ll have to make sure to keep your room warmer. So soon after your convalescence, we shouldn’t –"

"Nah, I’m all right. Guess I just got chilled or somethin’."

"Come have some hot tea. It’ll warm you up."

"Rather have coffee, if it’s all the same to you."

"Well, all right."

It wasn’t until he stood that he realized last night’s weariness hadn’t left him. His bones ached, and he made a face, without thinking.

"What is it?"

"Musta been sleeping on the couch did it," he said, shaking his head. "Feel like ol’ Charger rolled over on me a coupla times."

Victoria’s hand went immediately to his forehead, checking for fever. "You don’t feel too warm. Oh, Heath, surely you’re not taking ill again?"

He gave her a startled look. "No, no. I’m all right. Just slept funny." She looked unconvinced, and he drew a long breath. "Mother, I want you to know that I’d tell you if I wasn’t feelin’ well. I don’t want you to worry like this. Hate seein’ that look in your eye."

Those eyes narrowed. "What look?"

"That one right there." Heath smiled awkwardly. "Like you think I’m made of glass and gonna break if you look at me funny. I ain’t, Mother. I mean, I’m not." He swallowed. "Now I reckon that last month, that’s about the sickest I ever been in my life, I’ll admit that to you. But I feel all right now. Can you believe that?"

Victoria regarded him silently for a moment, and then gave a slow nod. "I – suppose I have been a bit…zealous, watching over you."

"Ain’t like I don’t appreciate it, Mother. ‘Cause I do. Just." He gave a furtive shrug.

"I do understand." He loved seeing the little smile on her lips. "I missed out on twenty-four years of mothering you, Heath Barkley, and I must be -- Well, I think I’m making up for lost time, that’s all." She cleared her throat, and slipped her arm through his. "Come on. I think we’d both do well with some coffee. My, your hands are cold."

"Had a few moments there last night when I thought about crawling right into that fireplace," Heath admitted with a smile. He let Victoria set the pace, walking to the dining room. "Never did much like cold weather."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He arrived in Stockton by midday, glad of the timing in the crisp cold that had settled over the valley. Later in the day, and he’d have made part of his ride home in the dark; without the sun to lend its warming rays, it would have been a frigid ride indeed.

Passing the time of day with a few passersby took a few minutes, but soon enough he was saddled up and riding away from the hostlers’, feeling a smile on his face. Home in time for the holiday, if only barely, and he was ready for Silas’s excellent cooking and a week or two of family time before turning his sights back to San Francisco.

He made good time, cantering up the driveway at only a few minutes past four in the afternoon. As she liked to do, Victoria came out on the porch to wave him in, her pretty dress vibrant in the fall sunshine.

"Hello, the house!" Jarrod called, grinning as he dismounted. Jingo snorted, ears twitching as he glanced to the right, and Jarrod looked over. Nick sauntered into view, wiping his hands on a rag.

"The prodigal counselor returns! Welcome home, Jarrod!"

He accepted a hug and kiss from his mother, and then a faintly painful but jovial slap on the back from his brother. "What, no Audra?" he asked with mock horror. "My homecoming is ruined!" He feigned an arrow to the chest.

Through her laughter Victoria said, "She’s at the orphanage this afternoon. They have their Thanksgiving a day early. You know that."

He considered. "Well, and so I do. Hmm. Well, I’ll recover. Where’s Heath?"

"Out in the stable," Nick said, grin undiminished. "Charger got a little cut up in the briars this morning, and you know our brother: gotta bandage each one by hand and make it all better. Not sure if that’s his horse or his adopted child."

"Well, it’s good to know some things never change." Jarrod grinned. "Now – if I don’t find some steaming hot coffee sometime very soon, there’ll be hell to pay."

"Jarrod!" Victoria blinked at him.

"It’s the big city," Nick told her, rolling his eyes. "You know while he’s away he lives a life of utter sin. Why, I’ve heard tell that –"

"Mother, would you care to escort me?" Jarrod loftily ignored Nick, offering his arm. "It’s an ill wind outside, that blows no good."

Behind them Nick said, "I know that was a quote. Can’t fool me, brother."

Jarrod kept smiling.

Inside it was wonderfully warm, and he did smell fresh coffee after all. Silas appeared at the doorway of the dining room, carrying a laden tray, and Jarrod beamed. "Silas, you’re a godsend. I’m kidnapping you next month and stealing you with me to San Francisco."

Silas grinned, shaking his head. "Reckon you best ask Miz Barkley about that, Mr. Jarrod. She might not take kindly to it."

"I most certainly would not! Find your own staff, Jarrod. Silas is part of the family – the WHOLE family."

Jarrod helped Silas with the tray, setting out cups and saucers. The coffee smelled heavenly, and tasted just as good. "Perfect," Jarrod breathed. "Now I’m truly home." He looked around as the front door opened, admitting a wind-blown Heath. "Heath! You missed my welcoming party!"

The familiar slanted smile creased Heath’s features. "Always did come late to parties."

Gazing at him, Jarrod felt his holiday spirit stumble, replaced by spreading, ice-cold shock. He shivered once, all over.

"Jarrod?" Nick stared at him. "What is it?"

Jarrod flinched, flicking him a look. "N- Nothing. Sorry, goose stepped over my grave."

Heath walked over. His smile had faded. "So how was your stay?" he asked, sounding a little hoarse. "Missed you around here."

"Thanks, Heath, I, ah." He fought to make his roiling thoughts coalesce into something rational, conversational. "Got a lot done, yes. The Bernhardt case, for one."

"We saw it in the paper," Victoria agreed. "The jury acquitted him. Good for you."

Jarrod swallowed. "Y- Yes. Yes, it went well. Thank you."

"Jarrod? Are you all right?" Victoria cocked her head slightly to the side, studying him. "You look – almost –"

He didn’t want to hear whatever it was she was going to say. He couldn’t afford to hear it. He forced a game smile and drank off the rest of his coffee at a draught. "I think I just need to wash up a bit. That ride isn’t too long, but it was plenty cold today. If you’ll all excuse me?"

"Certainly," Victoria said slowly.

He escaped up the stairs, avoiding his family’s curious eyes. Only when he was inside his bedroom, door safely shut, did he let himself sag back against the door. Then, mind still reeling, he walked over to the chair and sat heavily.

Only a month. Less, really. How could it be only that long?

And how could Heath look so much worse, so quickly?

He could understand how the rest perhaps didn’t see it as clearly. Seeing Heath every day, one lost a realistic picture of him, grew accustomed to subtle changes.

But this. Jarrod drew a hand across his mouth, forcing a deep breath. When he’d left, Heath had been recovering, pale and a few pounds too light, but otherwise the same. Now? Did no one see that Heath was becoming – a wraith? Slimness had become gauntness. The blue eyes were sunken now, and lacking the light Jarrod had become accustomed to seeing in Heath’s probing gaze. And his color -- Jarrod blew out air in a shocked sigh. Noot gray, not Victoria’s fear, but somehow…colorless. As if his disease had bleached him of any hues at all.

Percolating horror lurched him from his chair. Stepping to the window, Jarrod threw it open, breathing the crisp air with frantic relief. He stared out at the grounds, without seeing anything at all.

There was a look people got, when they were ill. A word for that look. And it fit Heath now, dreadfully and perfectly.

That word was "tubercular."

~~~~~~~~~~

7.

Thanksgiving dinner was a rousing success, that much was for sure. Heath didn’t think he’d ever seen so much food in one place at one time. There were eight courses, each one tasting better than the last, and the guests fell over themselves complimenting Victoria on the cooking, the décor, just about everything. Seated between the sheriff and the husband of an old friend of Victoria’s from out of town, a Mr. Townsend, Heath did his best to hold up his end of conversation, not to mention eating.

He was pretty sure, by the time the fruit course arrived, that no one else in his family had really paid attention to the fact that there was something wrong with Jarrod. Oh, not hurt, or anything like that, but to Heath’s eyes the man was preoccupied. Had been pretty much since he’d gotten back the day before. Even the alcohol wasn’t making much of a difference; Nick might be a little boisterous with wine, and Heath himself had to stop drinking it altogether or risk not being able to get food from the plate to his mouth, but Jarrod’s glass emptied and yet no flush of inebriation colored his cheeks. He looked distant, and grim when not engaged in conversation.

But it was the way his oldest brother wouldn’t quite look at him that told Heath Jarrod’s morose mood might have something to do with him.

Finally the banquet was done. The menfolk had had their brandy and cigars, and the women, well, whatever it was that women did after a big meal like this. It was well past dark when people started to leave, lighted to their buggies by the lanterns carried by a couple of the ranch hands, odd-looking in their mothball-smelling suits.

Victoria sighed and watched Nick shut the front door. "I’m going to assume," she said with a little smile, "that no one will be particularly interested in supper tonight."

A couple of low groans met her words.

"I didn’t think so."

Coffee revived them a little, but after watching Nick trounce Jarrod at a mutually unsteady game of pool, Heath decided a breath of fresh air sounded good. He’d just finished rolling and lighting a smoke out on the porch when the creak of boards told him he had company.

"Pretty night," came Jarrod’s disembodied voice.

Heath nodded awkwardly. "Warmed up a tad, I reckon." After a second of wondering if he should say anything else, he settled for a puff of his smoke, coughing a little.

Jarrod walked slowly over to join him, an unlit cigar in his hand. His face was difficult to read in the faint light coming from the house, but tension radiated off him like shimmering waves of heat. Heath leaned his hip against a pillar and cleared his throat. "Look like you got somethin’ on your mind, Jarrod," he said softly. "That what brung you out here?"

"I suppose so. How are you feeling?"

"All right. Kinda like one ‘a them piñata things I saw down in Mexico a few years back right now. Full as a damn tick. Silas laid on a good spread today."

"Didn’t he? Silas is a good man."

"Yep. So you gonna tell me what’s got you so riled up?"

Jarrod shifted, a rustle of wool. "Not riled, precisely," he murmured. "Concerned, I suppose you could say."

"Mmm. About?"

"Well, you, not to put too fine a point on it."

Heath gazed at him, frowning. "Me? How come?"

"You don’t look well, Heath, you don’t look well at all."

It was said in a rush, so different from Jarrod’s usual considered delivery that Heath floundered for a moment. "Well now," he said, searching for what to say. "Now Jarrod, I know I ain’t been the picture of health lately, but there ain’t no call -- What I mean to say is, I’m fine. Just takin’ me a bit to shake it all off, that’s all."

"Did you see Dr. Merar at all while I was away?"

"The doc? Nope, ain’t had the time. ‘Sides, I ain’t ailin’. He said –" Heath broke off, feeling a flicker of something like anger in his belly. "Jarrod, I ain’t much for dancin’ around. You got somethin’ to say, you go on and say it. You think I’m still sick?"

A brief pause, and then Jarrod said, "I do." Just as flat a tone as Heath’s own. "I think you need to see a pulmonary specialist."

"Pulmo-what?"

"A lung specialist. There are several, in the city. I want you to come back there with me, as soon as you can."

Uncomfortable, Heath drew on his cigarette. "Damn it, Jarrod," he said in a low voice, "that ain’t it, either. Now you tell me, before you get me riled, too."

"I attended a lecture two weeks ago. By an expert on phthisis."

"Mind sayin’ that in English?"

"It was a lecture on tuberculosis, Heath. Consumption." Jarrod sounded agitated now, taking a few steps away, and then back.

"Now what’s that supposed to mean?" Heath snorted. "That what you think I got? Lord, Jarrod, that what’s got you all lathered up since you got back?"

"Yes," Jarrod shot back. "It is. And with reason."

"What reason? I ain’t –"

"Heath, look at yourself! You’re wasting away! You’re telling me you’re fine, but every time you’ve taken a puff off that cigarette you’ve coughed, and I didn’t see you eat a fraction of what was on your plate today. And you need to, because you’re so thin, my GOD, it’s like –"

"Like what? Consumption? That’s plumb crazy, Jarrod! I seen the consumption, too! Them folks were sick, a hell of a lot sicker than I ever got! Damn, you’re borrowin’ trouble here! Worryin’ about somethin’ that ain’t even real."

"Not real?" Jarrod said harshly. "Fine. I’ll make you a bargain. See Dr. Merar and get a clean bill of health, and I’ll forget I ever mentioned it."

"I ain’t –"

"No. Those are my terms, Heath. See the doctor. Hear what he has to say."

"Or what?" Heath snapped.

"Or I will tell the rest of our family about my suspicions," Jarrod said evenly. "And believe me, they’ll agree."

"Agree with what? Ain’t them treatin’ me like some kinda – Just you."

"That’s because they’re too close. They see you daily, they don’t see what I saw yesterday, coming back after a trip. But Mother knows something’s wrong, too. She simply is trying not to see it. For her own reasons."

"Jarrod." Heath fought down the urge to cough, fiercely. "Don’t you go putting ideas in Mother’s head. That ain’t fair, and it ain’t right."

"And I’ll agree, completely. If you see Dr. Merar tomorrow."

"You know, I may be younger than you, but that don’t mean you can bully me around like this." Heath dropped his smoke and stepped on it, grinding it viciously into the dirt by the porch. "You got no call, pushin’ me like –"

"Damn it, Heath, I’m not bullying! I’m scared!"

It was said in a taut whisper, but it rang with all the intensity of a shout. Heath stiffened, mouth still gaping open, while Jarrod drew a long, shaky breath. "Heath, can you tell me you feel well? Truly well?"

Heath stared at him. Finally he shook his head, curtly. "Not yet. But I will," he added.

"Maybe. Oh, God, I want that more than anything on this world, you must believe me. But you must see the doctor. Find out what he thinks. What can it hurt? If you’re right, then we need say no more on the matter. If you’re wrong –" Jarrod swallowed audibly. "Well, then we’ll know, won’t we?"

After a long moment Heath muttered, "Maybe."

"You know I’m right. Please, Heath. Do this for me."

"Nick’s gonna want to know why I’m lollygaggin’ when there’s work to be done. You gonna tell him?"

It was said belligerently, but Jarrod took it in stride. "No. Just that I need your help with some business matters in Stockton. A morning. That’s all I’m asking. A few hours."

"I’ll think on it," Heath said reluctantly.

"Good."

Heath thought about adding something else, and then shook his head. "I’m goin’ to bed."

"Heath." Jarrod’s voice stopped him halfway to the door. "I don’t want to be right. Do you believe that?"

"Reckon so."

"It gives me no pleasure to force your hand. I only want to ensure your health."

"Well, if you are right, Jarrod, ain’t it a little late for that anyhow?" Heath didn’t wait for a reply. "Night."

"Night, Heath."

But as tired as he was, sleep was a long way off. He lay in his dark bedroom, listening to his family getting ready for bed, and felt a deep chill of unease. Jarrod Barkley wasn’t a man given to overreaction, as far as Heath could tell. What had he seen, to act the way he was?

Heath pulled the quilt up past his shoulders and stared at the slow progress of moonlight on the far wall.

~~~~~~~~~~~

He wasn’t sure what would happen next. Had it been Nick, or Audra, he could have predicted with near-certainty. Heath, though – Jarrod had never been more acutely aware of the vast stretch of years during which Heath’s very existence had been a complete unknown. And in the time since he’d joined them, many questions had been answered – but Heath kept his own counsel, a taciturn man who volunteered little and had to be pressed for more. At one time Jarrod had admired that. Now he found it aggravating.

Heath was last to join them at the breakfast table the next morning, looking tired and unsettled. His sleep hadn’t been any better than Jarrod’s, then. The realization offered no satisfaction.

Over eggs and crisp smoky bacon Nick said, "Heath, need you to head up the north ridge this morning. Like we talked about day before yesterday."

Heath sipped his coffee and said calmly, "Can’t."

"Can’t? Why not? You know –"

"Gotta head into town this morning." Heath didn’t even flick a glance in Jarrod’s direction. "Be back by lunchtime, I imagine."

"Town? What for?"

Victoria rubbed the bridge of her nose, and Jarrod wondered if she had a headache. She looked tired this morning, too. "Nick, rather than expending so much energy arguing, why don’t you simply let your brother do what he needs to do?"

Nick looked a little taken aback. "Well, I’m not sayin’ he can’t, Mother. Just askin’ what for. There’s no crime in that, is there?"

"Got a couple of things I need to see to," Heath said. "Figured I’d ride out with Jarrod, long as he’s going."

Jarrod nodded slowly. "I am."

Heath’s look was flat and unreadable. "Well, then."

Nick gave a mulish snort and viciously attacked his eggs.

The ride took place in silence. By the stiff line of his spine, Heath hadn’t forgiven him for this imposition yet. But the fact that he was there was enough. Jarrod swallowed the temptation to apologize, or poke further. Time would tell.

Outside Merar’s house-cum-office, Heath dismounted, casting Jarrod a frown when he made to do so as well. "All the same to you, best be private," he said shortly.

"Understood." Jarrod reached down to stroke Jingo’s neck. "I’ll wait outside, then."

"Suit yourself."

Merar appeared a moment after Heath knocked, and they disappeared inside.

It was nearly a half-hour before the door opened. And then it wasn’t to emit Heath, but Merar himself. He walked over to where Jarrod stood, chewing the end of an unlit cigar and scuffing his boot heel in the dirt.

"Heath said you’d be lurking out here."

Jarrod nodded, not bothering to smile. "And?"

"Come on inside."

In Merar’s tidy, medicinal-smelling examination room, Heath stood fully dressed, back to the door, staring out the window. He didn’t turn at Jarrod’s entrance.

"Heath here said you badgered him about coming to see me."

Jarrod glanced briefly at Merar before returning his gaze to his brother’s stiff back. "I suppose I did. With reason, I thought. Was I wrong?"

Merar allowed a short sigh. "No, Jarrod. You weren’t wrong."

As much as he’d prepared himself for this, it hurt far worse to hear it from Merar’s lips. The cold mass of worry in his belly expanded sharply, and Jarrod drew a breath, rocking a little on his heels. "Damn it," he said thickly, shaking his head. "Oh, damn it all to hell."

Heath turned, revealing a composed expression, utterly stoic. "Sorry I gave you a hard time last night," he said. He might have been discussing the weather, or the peach market. "Doc here says he kinda suspected this, too."

"Tuberculosis sounds a hell of a lot like pneumonia," Merar told them, walking over to his desk and pulling out the chair. "Didn’t want to go jumping to conclusions. But Heath’s condition now –" He sat, making a queer little gesture with his hands. "It’d be best to see a specialist. Get a second opinion, just in case. But my examination this morning seems pretty clear."

Jarrod nodded slowly. "Heath, I’m sorry. I’m so damned sorry."

"Ain’t nothin’ for it now, don’t suppose." Heath shrugged. His calm expression didn’t change. "So you got any medicine, Doc? Never did know what you gave consumptives. Always heard wasn’t much could be done."

"My predecessor here would probably have bled you," Merar said. His slightly curled lip spoke of his opinion on that earlier remedy. "For myself, I can’t say I know of anything that would do you much good, Heath. Rest, good food -- You must force yourself to eat more. Your low weight makes you more susceptible to relapses."

"Ain’t ever that hungry."

Merar nodded. "Part of the disease syndrome. Your body is using up its reserves, fighting the infection. It’s why it’s called ‘consumption.’"

"Heath, there are some excellent physicians in San Francisco, specialists." Jarrod forced a smile. "You’ll have the best care available."

It made little impression, to his eyes. Heath simply nodded. "I’m not so concerned about that. Just thinkin’ this ain’t gonna be easy for Mother to hear."

"No," Jarrod agreed softly. "It won’t be."

"Nick too."

"No one wants to hear this, Heath. No one wants to believe you’re ill."

"Could wait." Heath regarded him. "No hurry."

"Would you rather lie to them, and deny them the chance to help you? They’re your family. Don’t they have the right to know the truth?"

Heath’s shrug was loose and dismissive. "Lemme think on it."

Jarrod sighed and turned to Merar. "Anything else, Howard?"

"Nothing I haven’t already told Heath," was Merar’s politic reply.

Outside, the sun had disappeared behind heavy gray clouds, and the temperature had dropped accordingly. Jarrod buttoned his coat and turned to Heath. "I’ll ride back with you."

"No need." Heath took up Charger’s reins and mounted, easy movement completely belying the information they’d just received. For a moment Jarrod wondered if maybe, just maybe Merar – and he himself – had been wrong.

"Be careful, Heath," Jarrod said softly.

"You do the same." Heath gave him a brief look and then reined the horse in the direction of the ranch.

Jarrod watched until Heath rounded the bend in the road. With a deep sigh, he set his foot in the stirrup and turned Jingo toward his office.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

8.

He had Cocoa unsaddled and was rubbing him down when Heath moseyed into the stable. Fighting down the urge to snap a comment about that morning, Nick kept working, saying finally, "Get your business taken care of?"

"Yep." Heath walked up to lean on the door of the stall. "You go up the ridge this morning?"

"Nope. Too cold. It can wait."

"Reckon you’re right."

"I know I am." Nick applied himself to the snares in Cocoa’s mane. "You gonna tell me what all that to-do was about?"

"What to-do?"

"You and Jarrod had words out on the porch last night. Then you head into town together." Nick shrugged. "I don’t have Jarrod’s degrees, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure the two might be related."

Heath didn’t answer immediately. He took the time to hoist himself up on the stall door, perching on the top. "You’re right," he finally said. "They were."

"And?"

"Don’t rightly know how to say it."

Nick glanced at him. Heath’s face was pale, and it struck Nick that Heath had been pale for a while now. Looked downright peaked right now. Sudden sharp fear gave his voice more bite than he intended. "Well, spit it out, boy. Time’s a’wastin’."

Heath gave a slow nod. "Doc Merar says I have the consumption."

Nick froze. "Hold on just one damn second. Merar said WHAT?"

Heath seemed to deflate under Nick’s scouring gaze. "You heard me," he said in a gruff voice. "Says that’s why I ain’t got much better this past month."

"Consumption? Now that’s a ripe old load of horse manure if ever I heard one! Why, you got a touch of the croup and that old nellie doc’s sayin’ it’s consumption?"

"Nick, just hold on –"

"No, don’t you tell me to hold on a second." Nick tossed the comb into a corner of Cocoa’s stall and lifted his chin. "Where’s this coming from? Jarrod? That what he wanted to talk to you about last night?"

"Yep." Heath slid down from his perch and dusted his hands on his jeans. "Told him I wouldn’t say nothin’ to anyone unless the doc agreed with him. He did."

Something cold and tense congealed in Nick’s belly. "Jarrod," he muttered. "All right, then, let’s go talk to Jarrod, why don’t we?"

"Nick."

But he kept on walking, fast and intent, flinging open the front door of the house so hard the glass shivered in the windows. "Jarrod!"

His older brother stood with their mother near the stairs, both looking startled. "Nick, calm down," Jarrod said quickly, taking a step toward him. "I want you to listen to –"

"I ain’t listenin’ to any of this!" Nick snapped, shaking his head. "What kind of nonsense have you been feeding Heath?"

"It’s not nonsense," Jarrod told him. His expression was grim. "I only wish it were."

Behind Nick, Heath skidded to a halt. Nick glanced over his shoulder. "You stay out of this."

"I can’t," Heath said in a low voice. "It’s to do with me."

"No, boy, it’s Jarrod here, seeing shadows in the firelight, is what it is!" Nick snorted. "Consumption! Can’t a body catch a cold once in a while around here without bein’ told he’s gonna die of it?"

No one said anything to that. And belatedly, Nick heard what he himself had said.

"He’s not gonna die," he whispered thickly. "You hear that, Jarrod? Heath is –" His throat hurt savagely, and he shook his head. "No."

Gathering her skirts with one hand, Victoria paused near him, free hand briefly touching his arm. Her expression was more than he could bear: grief and fear and anger, and something like understanding, and maybe pity. He jerked away, and she sighed and continued past him.

"Heath," he heard her say softly. "Oh, darling. I’m so sorry."

He didn’t dare look behind him. And in front of him stood Jarrod, familiar face twisted with the same terrible emotions. Nick shook his head again, slowly. "Can’t be right," he said hoarsely. "Jarrod?"

Jarrod said nothing. Only paused, and nodded.

The frozen spot in his belly spread, until it felt as if he’d been caught in a freak snowstorm, some unprotected plain where the wind howled and spat and gnawed until his very bones were made of ice.

"Aw, no," Nick whispered.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"More coffee, anyone?"

No one wanted any, unsurprisingly. Heath watched their silent, drawn faces, and for about the twentieth time today wished he were someplace else. Anyplace would do. Right now Carterson didn’t sound so bad.

"When will you leave?" Victoria’s cultured voice sounded a little raw now.

Jarrod put down the pot of coffee. "Soon, I suppose. After Christmas."

Audra leaned her chin on Heath’s shoulder, her fingers cold where they gripped his hand. She’d come late to the party, and in some ways her reaction had been worst. Maybe worse than Nick’s. Heath would have given anything to erase the haunted look in her pretty eyes. "Why can’t the doctor come here?" she asked, and sniffed.

"We’ve been over that. There may be more than one doctor. And we can’t import them all to the ranch."

"Could, too."

No one answered her.

"Heath." Victoria still held his other hand, a grip not so tight as Audra’s but every bit as cold. "Talk to us? Are you in agreement with all this? It’s your decision, darling."

"Of course he agrees," Nick said from where he slumped in a nearby chair. "Boy’ll get the best care, even if he has to travel to get it."

Heath glanced at him, and then back to Victoria. "Reckon I don’t have much choice, Mother," he said awkwardly. "Sounds like it’d be the smart thing to do."

She gave him a nod. "Yes, I suppose so."

"Mother and I have to go with you," Audra blurted. She held Heath’s hand so tightly it almost hurt. "Jarrod will have work, and Nick can’t leave the ranch for too long, but we can go. Can’t we, Mother?"

To Heath’s eyes Victoria looked invigorated for the first time since he’d come back from Merar’s examination. "Of course we can," she said, nodding. "That’s a fine idea, Audra."

"Now hold on just a second." Nick sat up, looking alarmed. "You’re ALL gonna go? What about me?"

Jarrod stirred. "Nick, this may take some time. I’m not sure how long Heath will need to stay in San Francisco. Could be only a week or two, but it could be much longer."

"We’ll work something out," Victoria added smoothly. "Take turns, perhaps. Whatever we do, Heath –" She turned back to him. "You won’t be alone with this. Not ever. All right?"

Heath managed an awkward smile. "All right. Thanks."

Another awkward silence, and this time no one seemed able to break it. Finally Heath cleared his throat. "Think I might head on upstairs, take a load off for a bit. Been -- Well, an interesting day."

No one tried to stop him. What the hell, he thought, trudging up the stairs. Give folks a chance to talk about him without being overheard. Any other time the prospect might have bothered him, but this afternoon he didn’t much care. Besides, he needed time. Time to think about what to do next.

In his bedroom, he closed the door firmly and sat down on the bed to pull off his boots. And sat staring at his hands, motionless.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Going through her closet that evening, Victoria found herself gnawing at a nail, and made a face. Old habit, and one she’d been well rid of until now, it seemed. She pushed fretfully at dress after dress. This one, too worn, that one, of a fashion so out of date she couldn’t possibly wear it in San Francisco. She paused over a watered blue silk gown, trailing her fingers down the fitted sleeve. Could it have been so long? This was the governor’s ball, nearly what? twelve years ago? Tom had been so handsome in his rarely worn evening attire. Jarrod had still been an undergraduate, and Nick chafing at the reins, hating school and craving the same things his father had at his age. How old had Heath been then? Eleven or twelve? Working already, finished with what schooling he would ever have, and not far from signing up to fight in a war Victoria wondered if he’d truly understood at the beginning.

She hadn’t even known he was alive when she wore this dress. And now –

"Stop it," she whispered, letting go of the blue silk and dashing an impatient hand over her eyes. "Silly old woman. That won’t help."

Half an hour later most of her dresses were strewn about the room. A sizeable discard pile, much smaller suitable pile, and a few she wasn’t sure about. Thank goodness almost all of them would still fit, but there were only two she felt confident about. Everything else seemed…drab. Old-fashioned, or the wrong color, or simply – wrong.

She uncovered a velvet riding jacket, buried at the very back of the wardrobe, and found a startled smile on her face. Well, she hadn’t thrown that out after all. The heavy fabric still felt luxurious under her fingers. She’d had a fox stole to wear with it, although that she had discarded a long time ago.

Jennie and she had bought the fabric at the same time. Blue for Victoria, a pretty soft brown for Jennie. Even their stoles had matched: silvery fox and red. Jennie had been buried in hers. And Victoria wore her immaculate blue jacket with a matching skirt, the day she and Tom rode out to see this property for the first time. And never since.

"It’s all right to cry. Just don’t do it all the time. What fun is that?"

The voice was so clear, she actually turned to see if Jennie were really there. Sitting in a chair, wide eyes filled with laughter. So like Audra, it sometimes pained her to look at her own daughter.

"Why did it have to be this?" Victoria whispered, and wished Jennie would speak again. Just a few words, that’s all it would take. Just a breath, to say that something made sense, that there was a rhyme and a reason to it all. God giveth, and God taketh away, wasn’t that right? But why did He take so much? Tom, and the children, and Jennie, and now perhaps a son not of her own body, but most certainly of her heart?

She pulled the blue jacket off its hanger and clasped it to her breast, closing her eyes. "Not yet," she whispered, feeling her eyes stinging. "Just – not yet. Please, God, that’s all I’m asking. No more than that."

Someone knocked softly on her door, and she looked up, wiping away her sentimental old-woman tears once more. "Yes?"

Jarrod, of course. Looking tired, and worn in a way she hadn’t seen since Tom’s untimely passing. "Just wanted to say good night, Mother." He frowned. "Mother?"

"Yes, good night, darling." She forced a smile, and put the blue jacket on the discard pile. "Get some rest. You look exhausted."

He took a step into the room. "Are you all right?"

"Of course. Just going through these old clothes. I had no idea there were so many."

His expression wasn’t fooled. "Mother –"

"Leave me be, Jarrod," she said in a thick rush, shaking her head. "Now -- Now isn’t a good time."

"Can I help? Please, all you have to do is –"

"What?" she snapped suddenly. "Help? Who can help? Can you make Heath well again? Can you cure this horrible disease and put the color back in his cheeks? The flesh on his bones? If you can do that, then yes – yes, you can help. If not –" She broke off, covering her mouth with both hands. "I’m sorry," she said, muffled. "Oh God."

And it felt so ridiculously comforting to be held. To squeeze out a few more useless tears while someone else was holding her up.

"It’s not fair," she cried against Jarrod’s shoulder. "It’s not, it’s not! So little time, and now this, Jarrod. When will it end? What else does He want?"

Jarrod rocked her a little. "Who? What does who want?"

"God. If I could only understand, if I could see what He wanted, then maybe I could rest. Maybe then –"

"Mother, please." Jarrod drew back a little, face drawn with understanding and sadness. "Don’t do this to yourself. Please?"

"I won’t watch Heath slip away like Jennie," she whispered fiercely. "I won’t. If I have to travel the world ‘round, I’ll find a way to help him get better. I won’t lose him, Jarrod, do you hear me? Not yet, not now."

He gave her a shaky half-smile. "My thoughts exactly, dear lady. No matter what it takes."

"Yes. No matter what."

He kissed her cheek. "You’ve got a mess here. Want me to help you –"

"No, no." She stepped away, wiping her cheeks and startled to hear herself laugh a little. "I made the mess, I will clean it up. Go to bed, darling."

"Good night, Mother."

"Good night, dear."

After he’d gone, she stood staring at the debris, shaking her head. Then with a sigh, she bent to began picking it all up again.

~~~~~~~~~~~

9.

December shouted its arrival by dumping several inches of snow on the valley. It was unseasonable, the cold, and unwelcome. Soon, Heath was sure, the milder climate he was used to would return. The snow would melt in a day or two, the winds die down. But for now it was just plain cold.

He figured the temperature had something to do with his starting to feel worse. People got sick when it turned cold, nothing different about that.

But no cold he could remember had ever made him feel quite the way this did. He covered the best he could, forced himself to eat when he didn’t want anything, got out and rode and fixed things up and did what Nick and everyone was accustomed to him doing. But he couldn’t hide the way he lost weight anyway. Or the cough, the twice-damned cough.

On the fifth of December, he awoke to find the snow finally gone, and his bones aching with fever. It wasn’t something he could hide, even if he’d really cared about hiding. But caring took energy, and he was fresh out. He noted the tight discomfort in his chest, and propped up some pillows before deciding to close his eyes for just a few minutes.

"Heath?"

He opened his eyes to bright sunshine, and gazed up at Victoria. Her face was familiarly tight with concern. "It’s all right, darling," she said quietly. "I want you to drink something. Your fever is very high."

He sat up, fighting down the need to cough, and took the glass. Lemonade, odd in December, but he didn’t question it. It was cold and sweet, and it felt wonderful.

"Better?"

"Yeah." He handed her the glass and watched her wring out wet cloths. "Boy howdy, I’m hot." He pushed back the covers fretfully. "What time is it?"

"Nearly noon. Now don’t you even think about getting out of that bed."

"I ain’t. Just hot."

"Lie back. I have cool compresses."

The cloth felt good, and blocked out the too-vibrant light. "Gonna make me take some of that godawful medicine?" he asked.

"Not yet, honey. Do you feel like listening to me?"

"Sure."

"Everyone wants to visit you, but we decided it might not be wise right now. Dr. Merar feels strongly that you’re most catching when your fever is high, as it is right now. All right? So I’m afraid you’re stuck with me until you feel better."

He stirred, pulling the cloth away from his eyes. "Shouldn’t be you," he said with a drowsy frown. "Mother, I couldn’t live if you took sick, too."

Her expression was composed. "I’ve nursed others with consumption, Heath," she told him matter-of-factly. "You aren’t the first, and I’ve never come down with it yet. If I were going to I would already have done it. So put that out of your mind."

There was a flaw with her argument, but Heath couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He settled for scowling. "Still."

"Hush. How does your chest feel?"

"All right."

"The truth."

He sighed and looked away. "Ain’t so bad. Kinda heavy, I reckon. You got any more of that lemonade? I’m purely parched."

She did, and it tasted just as good. He chugged down two more glasses and then looked at her. "Reckon you could give me a second?"

"Why?"

He smiled a little. "Guess I better see a man about a horse."

She colored faintly. "Oh." A rueful laugh. "Of course. I’ll come back presently. Anything else you need, darling?"

A new set of lungs, he thought about saying, but kept it back. "No, Mother. Thanks."

After she left he saw to his business, and then crawled back into bed, shivering now. Funny how that worked. One minute you were frying, and the next, might as well be sitting in a snowdrift in your all-in-all. He burrowed under the covers, and shut his eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The coughing woke him. Tiredly familiar, and never-ending. When he could, he took the medicine Victoria offered him without complaining, and nodded when she asked if a poultice might make his chest feel better. Might, might not, but he was willing to give it a try, bad smells or not. This coughing hurt. Hurt bad.

He slept some in the evening, but that night when he coughed up gunk it had blood in it again. Scared him, in a way he hated Victoria to see. Wasn’t right, hawking up red stuff like that, no one had to tell him even once. He went through a raft of handkerchiefs, and hid them under the covers. If it was catching, well, not a lot he could do about it, but he’d be double-damned if he’d let her see the blood.

Doc Merar showed up long after dark, looking tired.

"You look tuckered out, Doc," Heath wheezed, sitting up.

"Molly Andrews had her baby this evening. Been a bit busy."

"Ought not to have come out, then. Reckon I’ll still be this way tomorrow."

Merar took out his stethoscope. "You’re probably right," he said. "Take some deep breaths for me."

Heath did, and coughed, as he knew he would. When he could breathe again Merar’s instruments were all put away.

"What’s today’s date?" Merar asked abruptly.

Heath squinted at him. "Huh?"

"Just tell me."

"The 5^th. Might be the 6^th by now."

"And you know where you are?"

"Well, I’m at home. Where else would I be?"

"What’s my name?"

"Now Doc, you know your name. Why’d you –"

"Relax." Merar smiled briefly. "Just making sure your noggin isn’t too muddled with that fever. Heath, you have pneumonia."

He stared at him, flummoxed.

"Not that unexpected, I suppose," Merar continued with a shrug. "But you’re very sick, and that’s a fact. I’m going to leave a few things with Victoria. You don’t ask her why, all right? If she gives you something you take it, and no complaining. Rest as much as you can, drink plenty of fluids. Ever had any willow-bark tea?"

"Mama used to make that some." Heath nodded. "She got headaches."

"Tastes like, well. But it’ll help your fever. Joints hurt?"

Heath nodded. "Kinda hurts all over, want to know the truth."

"It’ll help a bit with that, too." He snapped his case closed. "I’ll be back in the morning."

"All right."

He watched Merar leave, and then shivered and pulled the covers back up again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jarrod sighed and shook his head. "Just what he needs. Good lord."

"I was afraid of this," Victoria told Merar. "His fever got so high."

"Well, you know what to expect, I suppose." Merar produced a tiny shrug. "I’m sorry. Best I can recommend is try and keep that fever under control best you can. Make him drink as much as you can force down him. You have laudanum? If his chest hurts bad that ought to ease him a bit."

Beside Jarrod, Nick stirred but said nothing. A glance showed him a depth of fear that chilled him anew. "Mother," Jarrod began carefully, "you can’t take this all on yourself. No, I don’t want to debate it," he added when she sat up straight. "Howard, is this particularly catching?"

"Hard to say. A bit, but maybe not so much. Depends if it’s because of his generally weak condition, or as a direct result of the tuberculosis. The former, I think, and so I’d say the rest of you should be safe."

"Good. Then we’ll take turns tending him."

Merar nodded. "I know a woman out by Hampton’s parcel. Nell Moon, you know her?"

Audra looked up. "I’ve never met her, but she tends the children at the orphanage from time to time. Isn’t that her?"

"Right. Good with home remedies, and she’s tended many a sickbed, mostly miners. I’ll send her over here if she can come."

"We appreciate that, Howard," was Victoria’s quiet reply.

"Howard, it’s awfully late." Jarrod glanced at the clock. "You’ll be all right, riding home? Would you like to stay the night? It would be our pleasure."

"I should be going," Merar said, nodding at him. "I’ll be back in the morning, though, check up on him. Have to stop and check on Molly’s new one first."

"Understood."

He and Victoria saw the doctor out. Jarrod closed the door and glanced at his mother. "Why don’t you get some sleep?" he asked gently. "I’ll take this shift."

"No, he really should –"

"Mother. I may not be as qualified a nurse as you, but I can do the job. And it won’t do Heath any good at all if the rest of us sicken because we refuse to rest." He placed a hand on her arm. "Let us help. He’s our brother."

Her glance was still worried, but softer now. "Yes," she said slowly. "Yes, you do have a point."

"I’m a lawyer. I’m trained to look for those."

She smiled. "Of course."

In the parlor, Nick and Audra stood together, wearing twin expressions of worry.

"I’ll watch him tonight," Jarrod told them without preamble. "Mother’s going to rest. I suggest you do the same."

Nick lifted his chin. "If anything happens –"

"I’ll wake you," Jarrod finished, nodding. "Absolutely."

"Come on, Mother." Nick walked up and offered his arm. "Walk you up."

When they’d all gone, Jarrod went into the kitchen. Silas had an expectant look on his face, and Jarrod wondered how much he’d overheard. "Mr. Jarrod. What can I do for you?"

"Heath’s taken ill again. I wonder if you could make a pot of coffee? I’ll be staying up with him tonight."

"You bet I can. I bring it up to you directly, sir."

"That’d be marvelous."

He gathered some paperwork and a couple of books. Leaving the lights burning, Jarrod went upstairs. Nick stood on the landing, by Heath’s door. Jaw set, he murmured, "Now you know I’m not gonna be able to sleep. What if he needs something?"

"Then I’ll get it for him." Jarrod sighed. "Nick, someone’s got to run this ranch, whether or not Heath is well. You know that person is you. I can determine my own schedule to some great extent; you can’t." Forcing a smile, he added, "Don’t worry, you’ll have your chance. And if I know Heath, sick or well, he’ll be asking for updates. He’ll rest easier knowing you have everything in hand."

Nick’s slow nod conceded the point. But the sorrowing look in his eyes spoke louder than his actions. "Damn it."

"Go to bed, Nick. Heath will get through this. We’ll make sure of it."

But inside Heath’s room, his confidence was shaken. Heath lay in a troubled sleep, propped up on a multitude of pillows. His breathing was stertorous, cheeks hectic red from fever. And for the first time Jarrod saw that Heath’s lips had a blue tinge.

Laying his work materials on the dresser, Jarrod went to bend over Heath, touching his shoulder. The skin was so hot he felt like recoiling. "Heath. Wake up for a moment. Come on." He shook harder, and finally Heath’s eyelids fluttered, revealing a glassy blue gaze. "That’s it," Jarrod said unsteadily. "Come on, sit up."

Heath’s uncomprehending eyes widened, and then he coughed convulsively, a deep hoarse rattle that didn’t ease for too many minutes. Jarrod sat on the bed, sliding an arm behind Heath’s back. "Go on, Heath," he whispered urgently. "That’s it."

Finally the spasms ceased. Heath’s head lolled with pure exhaustion, but peeking at his face Jarrod saw that the frightening blue was gone from his lips. Still holding him up, Jarrod reached behind and stacked the pillows until he thought they would hold Heath almost upright.

"Here. Lie back."

Heath’s wandering gaze traveled over him. "Had a dream," he rasped, a troubling liquid gurgle in his voice. He caught a quick breath. "Fell into the crick. Dreamed – I was drownin’."

Jarrod gave a tight nod. "You very nearly were," he said quietly. "Heath, you have to sit up like this. I know it’s not too comfortable for sleeping, but it’s the only way."

"What time’s it?"

"I’m not sure. Don’t worry about that." Jarrod tucked the covers around him. "I want you to drink something now."

"All right."

But when he returned with a glass of water, Heath’s eyes were closed, and his breathing was even enough that Jarrod hated to disturb him. He set the glass on the nightstand and sighed, reaching out to place his wrist against Heath’s forehead. Hot, of course.

"Oh, Heath," Jarrod whispered, shaking his head. "Please fight. That’s all I ask."

After a moment he went over to get the papers he’d brought up, and settled into the chair. By the time Silas brought coffee, he was engrossed in discovery for a case.

~~~~~~~~~~~

10.

"Don’t lie to me, Howard." Victoria gazed out the window, eyes narrowed against the waning sun. "I’ll know if you do."

"I never have, and don’t plan to start now. He’s doing poorly, Victoria. I can’t say what will happen. No one can, except God. It’s in His hands now."

She nodded slowly, and let the curtain twitch back into place. Turning, she said, "I suspected as much. Is there anything more we can do? Something we haven’t tried yet?"

Merar’s expression was solemn. "Only what you’ve been doing. It’s not care that’s been lacking. But he was already weakened. This now, he’s not strong enough to fight as well as another would."

"I’ve prayed," she whispered. "I’ve prayed longer and harder than I can remember since Tom was shot. But I don’t think God is listening."

"He’s still alive," was Merar’s simple reply. "Are you so sure?"

She couldn’t think of a reply to that.

"I’ll let myself out," the doctor said gently. "You go tend your boy now."

Nell sat as Victoria had left her, knitting needles clicking at Heath’s bedside. Her plain face was pinched as she lay down her work. "I done what I can, Missus Barkley," she said. "He took some broth earlier, but he done sicked it up already."

Victoria patted her broad shoulder, but her eyes were only for the man in the bed. "Why don’t you go along home, Nell? You’ve been a great help. I appreciate it more than I can say."

"I’ll brew up some more of that tea afore I go. It eases him some, I reckon."

Victoria wasn’t so sure, but certainly it didn’t harm him. And it gave Nell something constructive to do, and that was clearly important. She was a good nurse, better than Victoria herself in some ways, and it stuck in her kind-hearted craw that her ministrations were having so little result.

"That would be fine, Nell."

"I’ll be back in the mornin’."

"Thank you."

When she’d gone, Victoria sat in the chair she’d vacated, reaching out to cover Heath’s lax fingers with her own. "It snowed again," she said softly, turning his hand and lacing their fingers together. "Almost a foot. We may have a white Christmas this year, what do you think of that? Nick and Jarrod are going tomorrow to look for the perfect tree."

He didn’t respond, not that she’d expected it. He rarely did, and wasn’t very lucid in those brief waking moments. The fever waxed and waned, but it had already burned what flesh he had left from his bones. His breathing was shallow and effortful, but he kept on doing it. And for that she was deeply grateful.

"Now when you get better, we’ll have our Christmas, and then we’ll be off to San Francisco." She squeezed his hand. "You know what I’m going to do while we’re there? Get you a really good suit. I know you hate shopping, and fitting worse, but that suit you have simply won’t do. We’ll be meeting a lot of people, and you must have something that fits you."

It occurred to her that in Heath’s present state, his old suit would fall off him, but she pushed the thought aside. "And I want you to be thinking about what you’d like for Christmas. I’ve gotten a few presents, but I’m hopelessly behind." She smiled, and felt her throat close up, painfully tight. "Oh Heath, son. Tell me you’ll be with me for Christmas. Please, just tell me that."

His fingers tightened on hers, and she started. "Heath?"

The blue eyes were still cloudy, but he smiled. "Told you – didn’t want to see – that look anymore, Mother."

She wiped her cheek and smiled. "I’ll do my best. Can you drink something?"

"Reckon so."

He sipped the water, and took some beef tea willingly enough. She steeled herself against showing anything when he coughed. He was right: he had enough on his plate without seeing her looking vaporish. So she helped as much as she could, and kept the basin handy in case he was sick again. But the liquids stayed put this time, and he finally shook his head. "Mother, I’m tired."

She quailed, hearing it. "I know, darling. You need to rest."

"Reckon – I ain’t felt this – purely awful since – I don’t know when." He leaned back, and a spasm of pain crossed his tight features. "Tell you somethin’?"

"You can tell me anything, Heath. What is it?"

He had to cough, and she said nothing about the red that flecked his lips. Only wiped it away with a wet cloth. "Kinda scared to sleep," he said thickly. "Wonderin’ if this thing – ain’t gonna carry me off."

"Not if you don’t let it," she managed. "You hush those thoughts, right here and now, Heath Barkley."

His smile was weary but she was glad to see it. "Yes, ma’am."

"And don’t call me ‘ma’am.’"

"Yes, Mother."

But after he slept, she bent to lay her head on the quilt and didn’t try to fight off the tears any longer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He could remember being very ill a few times. Years ago, the last one, but he remembered what it felt like. And so when he did his stint at Heath’s bedside he always reminded himself of those times. Kept them in the forefront of his mind, because when he didn’t, well, he felt a lot of things he had no right to feel.

Nick squeezed out the cloth and wiped it with as much care as he could over Heath’s flushed face. "Boy, now I think you’re takin’ this a bit too far," he said gruffly. "If you wanted a vacation, shoulda just said so. But no, instead you gotta make all this hooraw. When you get better me and you are gonna have words. That’s a fact."

He put the material back in the pan and sat back. If what he was doing was making a difference, he sure as hell couldn’t see it. And in spite of his control he felt lorn, sullen anger rising in his throat. Wasn’t right. Come in here and battle your way into our lives, and then our hearts, and then go and take ill like this. What was it all for, then? Make us love you, and then slip away? Why couldn’t you just have stayed gone? Then we wouldn’t have had to see you like this, and not be able to do a God-lovin’ thing about it.

The thoughts came faster and easier this time. And he hated himself for them, but in a way he knew they were the truth. A truth, at least. Every time he walked into this close, stuffy, sick-smelling room and saw Heath lying here, why, the thoughts were right there. And it didn’t help knowing they were born of the same aching feeling in his breast right now.

"Aw, come on now, Heath," Nick whispered, swallowing hard. "See, you can’t do this to me. You can’t just get inside like this and then go. You’re a fair man, and that isn’t fair. Not one stinkin’ bit fair."

Heath slumbered on, and Nick eyed the new beads of sweat on his forehead with weariness.

He was standing at the window sometime later, gazing out at the neglected stock in the corral, when a raspy voice said, "You just gonna stand there, or you gonna fetch me some water?"

Snapping around, Nick gaped, and then found himself grinning. "Look at Sleeping Beauty, awake at last."

The red was gone from Heath’s cheeks, leaving him pale but looking so much better Nick felt shaken anew. "Just don’t – kiss me, all right?" he wheezed, putting his hands behind him to lever himself up. "Don’t reckon I could punch you yet, but gimme a few days."

Nick threw his head back and laughed out loud.

It took only a second to check that yes, the fever was broken. At least for the moment, but Nick wasn’t dwelling on that. Too filled with pure relief to ponder anything else. Heath still coughed, but an hour later he was still awake, drinking his broth and looking so much on the mend that Nick’s knees actually felt a little wobbly.

"Mother sleepin’?" Heath asked at one point.

"Honestly? Don’t even know."

"You take care of her, Nick. You’ll do that?"

"Hell, I’ll make you do it. You’re the one put us all in such conniptions the past week."

Heath gazed at him, mouth ajar. "Week?"

"And some. You been some ill, Heath."

"But a week? Boy howdy," Heath said, and coughed absently. "Feel better now, though. Tell you, I had me some dreams. Whoo."

Nick nodded, smiling. "I’ll just bet. You feel up to some company? Mother needs to see you feelin’ better."

"Sounds all right." But Heath’s hand snuck out as Nick rose, and clasped his wrist. "You ain’t such a bad nurse yourself, brother," Heath said hoarsely. "Thank you kindly."

"I don’t aim to make a habit of it, either," Nick shot back, but he covered Heath’s fingers with his own. "Just you see that you don’t go makin’ me, all right?"

Heath gave a slow smile. "Do my best."

"Lemme go get Mother. Although why she’d want to see your ugly mug is more’n I can figure."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

11.

It took seeing Doc Merar’s flabbergasted expression to really show Heath just how near a thing it had been. Merar hadn’t expected him to live, that much was clear. The realization bothered him, but he was too glad to be on the mend to mind it for long.

"I know, I know," he said when the doctor drew a deep breath. "I promise I won’t overdo it." He gazed at him. "That is what you were gonna say, right?"

"Just about." Merar shook his head and uttered a wry laugh. "Beat me to it."

Heath grinned.

Although it wasn’t only Merar telling him he’d just about met his Maker. He could feel it. That first day sitting up was the best he could do, and the second day he made it about halfway to the commode before Nick had to start doing most of the work for him. His legs felt weaker than a brand-new foal’s, and his head spun a little when he stood up.

But he kept at it, and a week after his fever broke Jarrod walked him down the stairs. Vigilant, and Heath appreciated that, but he was for damn sure going to see another four walls besides the ones he’d been staring at lately.

"Are you sure this is wise?" Victoria gazed intently at him.

"Ain’t gonna be riding any roundups this week," Heath replied breathlessly. "But I aim to sit at that table for supper."

And sit at it he did, not saying much but glorying in the pure ordinariness of the conversation around him. The roast was just about the best thing he’d ever tasted, although it was only about four bites before he couldn’t make himself eat more. He just listened after that, and soon enough the topic at the table turned to San Francisco.

"I was thinking the week after New Year’s." Jarrod wiped his mouth with his napkin and leaned back in his chair. "I’ll need to return by then in any case, and that gives Heath a couple more weeks of recuperation time."

Heath caught a few wary glances, and nodded. "Hell, by then I plan to be workin’ again," he said. "Oughta give me time to get caught up on things."

Jarrod gave him a considering look. "I’ve taken the liberty of contacting a couple of specialists for you," he said slowly. "I hope to hear back soon, with appointments."

"Sounds about right."

"After we’ve gotten some opinions we should know how to proceed."

Heath shrugged. "Well, I got the answer to that. Gonna come home and start thinkin’ about spring."

"Heath." Jarrod exchanged glances with Victoria. "There will have to be changes. Long-term ones. You must recognize that."

"Don’t see why. I ain’t sick now, and way I see it, by spring I oughta be good as gold."

"Ideally, yes. But I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that your disease…. It will come back eventually."

Nettled, Heath glared at him. "And when it does, well, I’ll slow down. Till then, don’t see any difference."

"Heath," Victoria said. "The idea is to keep that day from happening at all. But in order to do that, you must take care of yourself. In ways – you may find constricting."

"What they’re tryin’ not to say," Nick rumbled, "is that I’m not lettin’ you just go on about like nothin’ happened. Gonna change the way things work around here, is what I mean."

"Well, I ain’t sittin’ around here just waitin’ for my ticket, either," Heath shot back. He fought down the urge to cough, and snorted. "Won’t be no good for anybody if I do that. Sit around here all day, every day? No sir. That ain’t for me."

"No one’s suggesting you do nothing, Heath." Victoria looked troubled. "Far from it. But can’t you see the cycle, already? You get worse, you rest, you get better and do too much, and next thing you know you’re sick again. What I want is to prevent that. And if it means you do less, then that’s what you’ll do. Wouldn’t you rather that, than to be confined again?"

She had a point, much as it pained him to hear it. Staring at his plate, Heath gave a reluctant nod. "When you put it that way."

"Believe me, it doesn’t mean you’re getting off that easy." Nick let out an explosive laugh. "Far from it."

"We can decide the details some other time," Jarrod announced smoothly. "For the moment, I hope we can focus on your complete and timely recovery."

"Amen to that." Nick took a swig of his coffee.

Heath ran out of steam not too much later, and let Victoria chivvy him up the stairs without complaining too much. At least his room smelled better; the windows had been opened to let in the cold fresh air, and the lingering odors of turpentine and sweat had mostly departed. He undressed wearily, and lay down again with relief.

Not too much later he was almost asleep when Victoria looked in on him. "Anything you need, darling?"

He shook his head. "Reckon I’m set," he said drowsily. "But thank you just the same."

"Good night, Heath."

He smiled and closed his eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~

The final week before Christmas passed in a flurry of activity. By unspoken agreement they were keeping it small this year, in deference to Heath’s lingering fragile condition. But Victoria had glimpsed the various parcels and bags smuggled into the house by her children, and she’d already made two shopping trips herself. Normally she’d have done at least one expedition to San Francisco, where the stores were more numerous and the merchandise finer and far more varied. Still, this year’s presents might not be the most elaborate, but they’d do just fine.

And there was no question that Heath’s rally had spirits far higher than just a couple of weeks ago. As she told Jarrod one night, after the rest of the household had retired, her greatest fear for the holiday had been the possibility of planning a funeral instead of a celebration.

"Well, then he proved both of us wrong." Jarrod tilted his glass in her direction.

"This time he did," she agreed. "But he seems so determined to believe that everything will go back the way it was. But how can it?"

"Mother, as much as we might want to keep him safe in the house at all times – what sort of a life is that for a man like Heath? Oh, I agree," he said readily, when she directed a pointed look at him. "I feel the same as you. But it seems to me that Heath’s already agreed to more than he perhaps wants. The trip to Frisco, the doctors -- If he had his druthers I strongly suspect he’d simply rest up and go on."

"Maybe the doctors can talk some sense into him. Jarrod, he can’t go back, doing what Nick does. He was lucky this time," she said bleakly. "But does he seem the lucky sort to you?"

Jarrod’s pursed lips conceded her point. "Not particularly, no."

"We’ll simply have to find him something else to do. Something that contributes, and yet doesn’t tax his strength. Something he’ll enjoy."

"A admirable notion. But more easily said than done. I can’t imagine Heath happy indoors."

"It doesn’t have to be inside. You said yourself, in that lecture you attended – that physician recommended fresh air. It’s overtaxing himself that worries me. On horseback, out riding the land – so many things can and do happen. A year ago I wouldn’t have given them a second thought. Today? I think about it. And Heath should think about it."

"Perhaps he does. In any case, Mother, all of this is just – conjecture at this point." Jarrod sipped his brandy and shook his head. "We don’t yet know what these specialists are going to recommend. Until that time -- Let’s get ready for Christmas, and face other things as they arise."

And that was what they did, although Victoria felt the tug of lingering unease in her breast. Their Christmas wasn’t white, although that morning the valley was pale with frost. There were mountains of gifts, including several from Heath. He just shrugged when Victoria asked how he’d managed to shop. As Audra later explained to her, Heath had a very specific list for each of his siblings, with precise instructions as to what and how much. That way no one knew what Heath had gotten for his- or herself, but was in on the secret for a different sibling.

The only wrinkle in Heath’s plan was revealed after their generous Christmas dinner.

"With all that loot I dunno what’s making you pull that long face." Nick scowled at Heath. "What’s on your mind, boy?"

Victoria watched Heath shift positions. "Meant to go on out to Strawberry before Christmas," Heath muttered. "Got a gift I wanted to deliver."

"Well, hell, we can take care of that for you. Might have to be tomorrow, but late’s better than never."

"Reckon so?"

Nick glanced at Victoria and nodded. "I’ll send one of the men with it. Consider it done."

Heath’s expression was lighter now, and a little sheepish. "Guess I shoulda thought of sending someone else. Never occurred to me."

"Next time it will."

Heath didn’t say anything to that.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that evening Heath was playing a game of checkers with Audra when Jarrod came in. "Who’s winning?"

"I am," Audra declared with a shining grin.

Heath gave her an injured look. "Musta been that brandy. I can’t hold my liquor since I got out of that bed."

"Yes, Heath, it was the brandy." Audra dropped Jarrod a huge wink.

"Well, when the slaughter is done, I have a few dates to go over with Heath, if you don’t mind."

Heath snorted and leaned back in his seat. "She took me two out of three, and now she’s liable to do the same six out of ten, so I think that’s – what? What’s the word, Jarrod?"

"A fait accompli? Coup de grace?"

"If you say so."

"All right." Jarrod sat down on the divan and took a handful of papers out of his breast pocket. "I received replies from both of the doctors I contacted before Christmas. Your appointments are for the 3^rd and the 4^th respectively, in January. If we travel on the 2^nd, we should make it in plenty of time."

Heath nodded slowly. "Two of ‘em, huh?" He resisted the urge to make a face.

"The first is with a Dr. Jeffries. He’s a well-known pulmonologist, with a long history of treating miners as well as consumptives. That’s the traditional path. The other appointment is with Dr. Ralston."

"Ain’t -- Isn’t he the one gave that lecture?"

"The same." Jarrod put the papers on the end table. "I thought it might be best to see what both conservatives and more innovative types might say about your condition," he continued.

"Reckon it’ll be that different?"

"From what I could ascertain Ralston is definitely more the voice of the leading edge of scientific progress. But I would rather wait to see what both doctors say before we make any decisions."

"Don’t care what they say." Heath regarded him stonily. "When we’re done there I aim to head back here and get on with things. I’m no invalid, Jarrod. Ain’t -- Never been one and don’t plan on startin’ now."

Jarrod’s expression was impassive. "I respect that, Heath. Change is difficult, for all of us. But you must realize there is a difference between taking care of oneself, and reckless endangerment."

"Last time I checked this was still a free country," Heath said, shrugging. "I don’t aim to be stupid. But it ain’t your decision, even if you are my big brother. I get a say, too."

"Of course. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise."

"Just so we’re all in agreement."

"We are. I promise you."

Heath allowed a short nod, and reached into his pocket for his tobacco. "Gonna step outside now."

Jarrod frowned. "Are you sure you should?"

In his present mood Heath found the comment vexing. "Just gonna have a smoke, or you think one of them doctors won’t like that, either?"

"I’m not sure it’s good for your lungs."

"Clears ‘em out. Besides, never heard anybody say a smoke made much difference to consumption."

Jarrod sighed. "It makes you cough, Heath. That’s why I brought it up."

Standing, Heath gave a shrug. "Seems to me my cough done turned into everyone’s business," he said tightly. "But that don’t make it so, Jarrod. I respect your concern, but you best leave that alone."

Jarrod responded with a slow nod. "Understood," he replied softly.

His tobacco was stale, and the cigarette he rolled tasted like it had been cut with straw from the barn, but he smoked it doggedly anyway. And it did make him cough, harshly. Finally Heath regarded the butt with a weary sigh, and dropped it. Maybe Jarrod was right. Damn smarty-pants lawyer that he was at times, he was also without a doubt the most learned man Heath knew. And it didn’t feel good to have a smoke now, not like it used to. Used to, it cleared the mind, gave him a chance to think while he smoked. Now, though, it felt rotten when he inhaled, and worse when he coughed it all out. Like that smoke had fingers with sharp little nails, digging into the soft places inside his tired lungs and burrowing deep.

He regarded his remaining tobacco with a jaundiced eye. Maybe some other time.

Inside, he didn’t react to Jarrod’s inquisitive look. But upstairs in his room he dumped the stale tobacco in a waste basket. And after a long moment he shrugged and added his cigarette makings to the mix. Someday he might take up the habit again, if his chest got better. For the moment, maybe this was something he could live with leaving behind.

~~~~~~~~~~~

12.

"For goodness’ sake, Audra, we’re only going to San Francisco."

"But Mother! What if I need these?"

Victoria sighed. "If you changed dresses four times a day you might. But you won’t. I promise you."

Audra glared at her. "You don’t know that!"

"Don’t worry, Mother," Jarrod murmured at her side. "We’ll manage."

And so Audra’s four suitcases were loaded onto the train, while Victoria looked on despairingly and Jarrod tried – and failed – to hide his amusement. "Heaven forbid we should ever think of sending her on a European tour," Victoria said under her breath to her oldest son. "I think the ship would sink before they got out of the harbor, from all her luggage!"

Jarrod laughed more, but refrained from any comment.

In contrast to Audra’s extravagance, Heath had packed only one small case, and stood now a few feet away, the case between his ankles and hands stuffed in his pockets. Victoria thought he looked painfully young. And there was no question that he was not particularly well. His clothes fit him badly, and his cheeks were colorless.

"Heath?" Victoria walked over, touching his elbow. "Are you all right?"

He nodded. "You get all those bags to fit?"

"I think so. Come on, let’s board now. You should sit down."

"I’m all right, Mother." A peevish tone crept into his voice, and he looked away. "Just watching the to-do."

The station did have a faintly frantic air to it: luggage being loaded, families shouting last-minute greetings. Victoria gave a slow nod, and then Jarrod caught her eye. "Look, there’s Jarrod. We really need to board now."

Heath followed behind her without comment. Finally everyone was aboard, and Victoria breathed a relieved sigh.

"Just think," came Jarrod’s wry comment, uttered under his breath. "Once we arrive we get to take all those bags to the house."

Victoria gave him a severe look. "I’ll remember what you told me at the station."

"Damn." Jarrod’s teasing smile faded as he looked over at Heath, sitting silently next to the visibly excited Audra. "Brother Heath, how are you feeling?"

"Same as the last fourteen times you asked me," Heath said coolly. His gaze didn’t waver from the window. "Just fine."

"Sorry. I was – concerned."

"Needn’t be. Reckon you’ll know it when I’m not."

Jarrod nodded curtly. "I suppose you’re right."

The noise level rose as the train cycled up to its normal running speed. Under the cover of convenient clatter, Victoria said in a low voice, "He’s been like this the past few days. Is he angry with us?"

Jarrod gave a minute shake of his head. "I’m not sure. He’s such a private man. I would imagine all this attention feels a little – stifling."

"Maybe so."

Audra, she saw, was impervious to Heath’s dark mood, clasping his arm and talking animatedly about something. And it seemed to work, because as the miles passed Heath’s frowning visage lightened, until he seemed almost his normal self again.

But even Audra noticed that the trip took its toll. Heath might be more cheerful now, but the dark smudges beneath his eyes spoke to his exhaustion. Climbing out of the car at the crowded San Francisco station, he stumbled, and Jarrod almost didn’t catch him in time to avoid a nasty tumble.

"Sorry," Heath said breathlessly. His cheeks were red with embarrassment. "Didn’t see that last step."

Victoria thought he had, but refrained from comment. She settled for taking his elbow again, and Jarrod the other, and was relieved to see him accept the help without his previous sour comments.

It took two porters and Jarrod to load all their baggage onto the cab, but finally they were headed in the direction of Jarrod’s house. Audra’s visible delight at being back in the city lightened the mood, along with the general bustle they passed, but Heath’s morose mien had returned. He gazed out the window at the passing sights, his posture one of interest but his expression curiously distant.

His father had been subject to black moods at times, Victoria reminded herself. They were rare; he’d been too busy and driven to succumb often or long. But disappointment or criticism Tom Barkley had always taken hard, and never worse than when self-inflicted. During those times Victoria had done her best to give him needed space. There was no talking him out of his melancholia; the process had always been an internal one, and after a time he would emerge, looking determined and never mentioning what had caused the episode in the first place.

Heath, it seemed, was subject to something similar. His mood had fluctuated in the past few weeks, from stoic acceptance to sudden flares of anger, leading inexorably to the melancholia that seemed evident now. And, Victoria thought tiredly, who could blame him? He was a young man, in the prime of his life, and a proud person to boot. It could not be easy, contemplating a shortened life filled with illness and possible disability. Heath had been self-sufficient at an age when many children depended wholly on the care of their parents. He’d never depended on anyone; how would it feel now, to recognize this forced dependence?

She herself wouldn’t have liked it, she knew. And Tom would have been impossible: miserable at being cooped up, angry that his body no longer allowed him to do the work he’d taken for granted before. No, she couldn’t blame Heath for feeling melancholy. Perhaps a busy schedule in the city would lighten his demeanor. Even if it would be time spent largely in the company of doctors. She resolved then and there to organize some outings strictly for entertainment.

Soon enough they pulled up in front of Jarrod’s brick Nob Hill home. Gazing at the exterior, Victoria noted with satisfaction the repairs made after the most recent earthquake.

Jarrod’s man, Easton, stood alertly at the curb, ready to begin unloading their baggage. He gave Victoria a capable hand out of the cab, and then Audra, whose eyes were sparkling with enthusiasm.

"Oh, Mother, tomorrow after Heath’s visit, we must go shopping. I have a thousand things on my list!"

Victoria smiled. "If time permits, dear," she agreed absently.

"I’ve made a few improvements to the house," Jarrod told them, walking up the brick path to the front door. "That big shake last year did some damage, but the engineers I hired say the house is better equipped to withstand the next one now." He opened the red-painted front door. "Après tu."

Victoria had stayed several times in Jarrod’s house, but it had been some time, and she eyed the quietly elegant interior with acute pleasure. "It’s truly your refuge, isn’t it?" she asked, turning to smile at him.

"Home away from home," he agreed. "Larger than I need, really, but good for guests."

"And entertaining," Audra said, with a luminous smile.

"Occasionally, yes." Jarrod raised his eyebrows. "In fact, now that you mention it, I was considering having a few guests over for supper tomorrow night. Give you a chance to meet them, and they you. Single…guests," he added, with a wink at Audra.

"That would be lovely, Jarrod," Victoria said. She glanced at Heath, whose eyes roamed the foyer with reassuring interest.

"You’ll want to freshen up." Jarrod lifted his chin. "Let me show you to your rooms."

Jarrod’s house was tall and narrow, a familiar shape in this neighborhood. Victoria saw with relief that Heath’s bedroom would only be one flight of stairs, while Jarrod had tactfully given the healthier visitors the two third-floor bedrooms.

"Mighty nice, Jarrod," was Heath’s comment as he walked into the roomy space. He laid his case on the floor next to the wardrobe, and nodded slowly. "Thank you."

Victoria watched him sit down in the wing chair by the window before following Jarrod to the landing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

After stashing his mother and sister in their upstairs bedrooms, Jarrod trotted back downstairs, pausing at Heath’s door. His company smile faded when he saw Heath with handkerchief to mouth, clearly only just having suffered a coughing fit.

"Would you like something to drink?" Jarrod asked quietly, taking a step inside the room.

"Some water – do me fine," Heath agreed.

Jarrod poured him a glass from the pitcher on the desk, and brought it over. Heath drank thirstily, and finally gave him a furtive half-smile. "That damn feather-duster."

"Beg pardon?"

Heath set the glass down, resuming his survey of the view outside the window. "What it kinda feels like, when I get to coughing. Like there’s a feather-duster, tickling my insides."

"Ah." Jarrod nodded, and walked over to perch on the side of the bed nearby. "You seem tired, Heath," he added gently. "Why don’t you get some rest? It’s been a long day."

"Reckon I’ve rested enough lately. Tired of it. Just about slept my life away."

"You’ll need your energy tomorrow, when you go see Dr. Jeffries."

Heath produced a limp shrug. "I’ll just do some breathing for him. Doesn’t take much energy."

"Heath? Are you all right?"

Heath glanced at him, revealing a snap of hot anger in his blue eyes. "Now that’s kind of a silly question there, don’t you think? Brother?"

A bit taken aback, Jarrod gave a cautious nod. "I don’t mean physically. I mean – your thoughts. You’ve been so preoccupied. Understandably, I might add. But if there’s anything you’d care to discuss with me –"

"Don’t guess so." The fire suddenly quenched, Heath turned back to the window. "Seems like it’s all decided already."

"Heath, nothing’s decided. We’re simply here to get the opinions of a pair of different doctors. Once we know what they think, we can look at various options."

"Won’t discuss much once you stick me in that hospital place."

Jarrod blinked. "Hospital? What on earth are you talking about?"

Heath made a tight, aimless gesture with one hand. "That thing you heard about. Sana -- Sanat -- Can’t rightly say the name."

"You mean Dr. Brehmer’s sanatoria? Heath, those are hardly hospitals. More like – convalescent facilities. I –" He broke off, sitting very still. "You’re afraid we’ll send you away, aren’t you?"

"Ain’t got room for a man can’t pull his share of the load. Reckon that sana-whatsits might be best. Don’t want to cause any fuss."

It was said in a voice so thick with dread that Jarrod felt his own throat tighten with unbidden sympathy. He shook his head vigorously. "Heath, we don’t even know that Dr. Ralston will suggest a stay in a sanatorium. And as God is my witness, if you don’t want to go we would never force you. Is that what’s eating at you? Fear that we’ll exile you to one of these places?"

Heath studied the nails of one hand, face hidden from Jarrod’s view. "Gotta do what’s best for the family, and the ranch. Wouldn’t blame you."

"Heath." Smiling helplessly, Jarrod leaned forward. "Listen to me. If we wanted to – get rid of you – do you think any of us would be here with you today? There’s no nefarious plan. I swear to you. My word, Heath, as a Barkley. As your brother."

Heath was silent so long, Jarrod wondered if he’d truly registered his words. Then Heath shifted a little, sagging in the chair. "I’m -- I’m sorry, Jarrod," he muttered. "Reckon -- I guess I’ve been kinda blue lately."

"Understandably. Heath, this has been a series of terrible blows. If anyone deserves a blue funk it’s you. But we’re not abandoning you. Ever. Do you understand me? Not in a month of Sundays."

"Jarrod, I’m mightily afraid," Heath said in a rushed whisper. "Don’t reckon I’ve ever been this scared in my whole life. Not even when I came to work at the ranch, and faced Nick that day in the stable."

Stricken, Jarrod reached out to cover Heath’s ice-cold hand with his own, and felt Heath’s fingers tighten around his. "I know, Heath," Jarrod said softly. "I know."

"I know we all gotta die sometime. Aren’t any of us gonna miss that one." Heath cleared his throat rustily. "But I always figured my time was a long ways off. Or else it’d be fast, get shot, or something. Never figured on taking sick, not like this."

Jarrod nodded silently, and Heath swallowed. "Know what’s worst? Mother. She knows. She knows what’s comin’. And she’s scared. When I see that, why – I reckon that scares me more than anything else. She’s the strongest woman I ever known, stronger than my mama, and she was strong, too. But I’ve seen the look in her eye, when she thought I didn’t. I reckon if it scares her that much, I’d best be scared, too."

"You know about Jennie. Her sister."

"Nope. That why?"

Jarrod gave a slow nod. "It’s given her a lifelong fear of consumption. But a lot of that is memory, Heath. It happened more than thirty years ago. Times have changed, and science has progressed. Your situation is entirely different."

"Guess so."

"Heath, I think you should rest. Put it out of your mind, if you can. Mother’s burden – it’s not yours to carry. Dr. Ralston, the sanatorium -- None of it is set in stone. We’re simply here for…reconnaissance purposes. Scouting."

Heath gave a tiny smile. "Makes sense."

"Damn straight it does. All right." Jarrod gave Heath’s hand a pat, and released his fingers gently. "I should go see what we may have handy in the way of supper. Easton’s not quite Silas’s caliber, but he whips up a decent steak."

"All righty."

~~~~~~~~~~~

13.

He’d been to San Francisco twice before this. Once with his brand-new family, and once before he’d ever known his name might one day change. The more recent visit had been fairly pleasant. The previous had been ugly, and he wondered if he’d ever come back without thinking about that first time. Probably not.

This trip, however, was nothing like that, although he sat waiting in Dr. Jeffries’ paneled waiting room with more than a little trepidation. It was a bright, sunny day, and he liked the air outside, filled with smells of water and salt. But inside it smelled strongly of camphor and something else his nose couldn’t define, but which made the ever-present tickle in his chest worsen.

There were two other patients in the waiting area. One was an elderly lady, impeccably dressed, with a male companion Heath judged to be her son. The other was far younger, a gentleman in a tailored suit far sleeker than the one Heath wore. He sat alone at the far right, and hearing his horrible cough made Heath fight to stifle his own. He studied the man’s grayish features and felt a prickle of creeping horror. Did that man have the consumption, too? Because if so, Heath felt he might simply have to walk back out of the room again. He was not prepared to face this. Not yet.

As if sensing his mute distress, Victoria placed her hand on his. "Would you like seafood for luncheon today?" Her voice was beautifully calm, soft and reassuring. "Jarrod knows a wonderful place, not terribly far from here."

"Sounds all right," Heath said tremulously.

Her fingers tightened, although her tone was modulated. "Audra will want to shop today. I know that isn’t your favorite activity in the world, but we could see Jarrod’s tailor while we’re in the neighborhood. And you wanted to pick up something for Nick, didn’t you?"

He nodded. "Not sure what."

"We’ll look around. I’m sure you’ll see something."

The man coughed again, and Heath closed his eyes.

"Mr. Barkley?"

His eyes snapped open, and he nodded at the severely dressed woman standing at the inner door. "Come with me, sir."

"Would you like me to come with you, Heath?" Victoria asked softly.

"Yes’m," Heath whispered.

The boards creaked beneath his boots as he walked over to the door. It felt absurdly good to know that Victoria was behind him. Ridiculous for a grown man, but he was so nervous he didn’t much care right now about such things.

The nurse, if nurse she was, gave him a slight nod. He thought dimly that she was one of the most coolly beautiful women he’d ever seen. Translucent porcelain skin and amazingly fine bones, set off by her tight no-nonsense hairstyle and black dress. She had huge eyes, of a blue so dark it was almost black. "If you’ll follow me, Mr. Barkley," she said softly. "We’re just down the hall."

She led the way to another paneled room, this one much smaller and somewhat familiarly medical in atmosphere. A far cry above Dr. Merar’s humble examination facility, but some things looked the same. The woman directed him to sit in a high-backed chair in the center of the room.

"You the nurse?" Heath asked awkwardly, sitting in the chair.

The woman gave him a steady look. "I’m Sarah Blackwell," she said evenly. "I am Dr. Jeffries’ associate."

Heath swallowed. "Beg pardon, ma’am."

The faintest hint of a smile twitched Blackwell’s lips. "I’ll be graduating from the medical college next spring. Now, you’ve come to us for treatment of tuberculosis, am I correct?"

"Yes’m."

"When were you diagnosed?"

The questions were numerous and detailed, and more than once he had to ask Victoria for help remembering everything. But finally Blackwell nodded and closed the heavy folder she carried. "Dr. Jeffries will be with you shortly. Is there anything you need right now?"

Heath shook his head. "Sorry about the nurse thing," he blurted. "I ain’t -- I never met a woman doctor before."

"I’m not one yet," she said without visible reaction. "But my aunt was the first woman to become a doctor in this country. A Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell."

"I, ah. I see."

Blackwell laughed suddenly, the expression softening the severe lines of her face and rendering her, to Heath’s eyes, unspeakably beautiful. "You’ll get used to the idea, Mr. Barkley," she said lightly. "Give it time."

He nodded wordlessly, and watched her leave.

"And you thought suffrage was adventurous," came Victoria’s dry comment from where she sat near the window.

"She, ah." Heath felt his face flaming, and when he coughed he’d never been so grateful for it.

"Strikingly attractive, as well." Victoria’s eyes were narrowed with amusement. "Why, Heath, you’re blushing."

"Aw, Mother."

Victoria laughed.

He’d recovered from his mortification by the time Jeffries arrived. Bustling, a tall, lean man with a shock of salt-and-pepper hair, Jeffries made Heath feel breathless just watching him. "Mr. Barkley!" He strode over, shaking Heath’s hand vigorously. "Adam Jeffries. And this vision of radiance must be…?" He glanced at Victoria.

"Victoria Barkley," Heath stammered, standing when Victoria did.

"Heath is my son," Victoria added, smoothly taking the doctor’s hand.

Jeffries made a courtly bow over her hand, smile broadening. "Just so. Welcome, welcome. You’ve come all the way from Stockton, I see. And your journey was fine?"

"Very pleasant, yes." Victoria resumed her seat, and after a second Heath followed suit.

Jeffries’ examination was brisk and efficient, although he listened for a long time to various parts of Heath’s chest, his rapt stillness all the more surprising for its contrast to his earlier action. Heath breathed obediently, coughed, and finally it was done.

Consulting the folder, Jeffries pursed his lips. "And you were quite recently diagnosed, you say."

Heath gazed at him and felt another cough rumbling in his chest. "Few weeks ago," he managed, and rummaged the handkerchief out of his pocket before he had to let the cough loose or risk exploding.

When he looked up again Jeffries was nodding slowly, expressive face solemn. He stood and walked to the counter behind him, pouring a glass of water. "Here." He handed it to Heath. "You’re dehydrated," he continued, watching Heath drink thirstily. "Your water needs are higher than you might imagine."

Heath finished half the glass and nodded. "Thank you."

"All right, then." Jeffries sat down once more and crossed his legs, lacing his fingers together. "If it’s a second opinion you want, I can concur with your family physician’s findings. By your symptoms, and the auscultation of your chest, it appears to me that you have not actively suffered from tuberculosis overly long. A few months, perhaps six."

Heath glanced down at his hands. Not quite as hard as hearing it from Merar, maybe, but definitely not what he’d hoped. A stupid hope, it appeared, but he had cherished a tiny idea that perhaps Jeffries would refute that diagnosis. Tell him it was just a cough. He nodded again, slowly.

"This is an advantage, Mr. Barkley," Jeffries added gently. When Heath looked up Jeffries smiled. "The sooner such syndromes are diagnosed, the sooner an effective regimen of treatment can be prescribed. Now. How long are you in the city?"

He glanced at Victoria. "Not sure. Don’t guess we’d decided yet."

"The treatment I have in mind will require at least a week, to be most effective. After that, we will determine whether or not continued therapy would be recommended."

"You have a treatment?" Victoria leaned forward, her entire frame tense with rapt interest. "I was under the impression that little could be done."

Jeffries’ smile didn’t waver. "Some physicians in, shall we say, more rural areas, lacking the finer technology available to specialists, may say such, madam. However, such is not the case." He turned back to Heath. "Now, sir. Your chest pains you, does it not?"

Heath nodded slowly. "Hurts a little to breathe. And when I cough."

"Does it always hurt to breathe, or only sometimes?"

"Most all the time."

As Jeffries questioned him he was aware of Victoria’s intent study. He didn’t risk meeting her eyes. It was too much right now, seeing her renewed shock as he admitted to having symptoms he hadn’t told her about lately.

"How often do you see blood in the expectoration?"

"Mostly only when I was sick last month. Well, couple times before that."

"You are significantly underweight. Were you, prior to your first symptoms?"

Heath shook his head. "Guess I was pretty average size."

There were more questions, a wearying set of them. Finally Jeffries cleared his throat. "As troublesome as your cough no doubt is, it wouldn’t be wise to attempt to halt it completely. However, for times when hemoptysis is present, I will prescribe a soothing atomizer mist. It will calm you and ease the power of the coughs. For the expectoration, I have another medicine, which will reduce your need to cough and relieve congestion."

Heath nodded warily. "You breathe ‘em in?"

"Spray directly into your mouth and inhale. It will feel awkward at first, but you’ll soon manage it." He had begun writing briskly in the folder he carried. "Miss Blackwell will be in presently to administer your first oxygen treatment."

"Oxygen?"

Jeffries glanced up, warm smile in place. "You are hypoxic, sir, which means your lungs are not depositing sufficient oxygen into your bloodstream. It accounts for your lingering weakness and dizziness upon rising, as well as the distinct pallor to your cheeks and extremities. I have found that the therapeutic application of oxygen, in proper concentration, relieves these hypoxic symptoms."

"All right," Heath said after a moment. "You’re the doctor." He smiled awkwardly.

"You’ll need to return this afternoon, and twice daily for the next week. At the end of that time we’ll discuss how to proceed from there." He held out his hand. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Barkley."

"Likewise." They shook, and there was another flurry of flowery compliments for Victoria before Jeffries bustled out again.

"Fascinating," Victoria said after the doctor had left. Her expression was preoccupied. "He certainly does seem – confident."

Heath allowed a slow nod. "Sure does."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Whether it was the doctor’s absolute confidence, the oxygen, or the renewed presence of the ravishing but unsmiling Miss Blackwell, Heath felt renewed energy by the time they left the office. He flagged down a passing hansom cab for them, and soon they were on their way to the restaurant where they were to meet Jarrod and Audra for lunch.

Gazing at him in the watery sunlight, Victoria gave a brisk nod. "You do look better, darling," she said suddenly. "How do you feel?"

"Pretty good." He grinned. "Hungry."

"Good!"

The boost of energy carried him through lunch, which was delicious if a little fancy for his tastes. Audra was filled with plans for them, including an amount of shopping that seemed extreme even for her. While she and Victoria briefly left the table after lunch, Jarrod gave Heath a sober look.

"So it went well, did it? I’m sorry I couldn’t be there with you."

Heath drank off the rest of his excellent coffee. "Seems as if this Jeffries feller knows what he’s talking about."

"You liked him."

"Reckon so."

"Good, good."

He lasted about an hour shopping, and then begged off, claiming tiredness. Not entirely feigned, although whether it was real or simply brought on by Audra’s fearsome enthusiasm for San Francisco stores, he wasn’t completely sure. In any case, he napped during the afternoon, and Easton barely awoke him in time for his second oxygen treatment at Jeffries’ office. But that left him so restored he even viewed the evening’s upcoming dinner party with less trepidation than he might have a few days ago.

"What’s this?" he asked, looking at the clothing draped over his bed.

"Oh." Jarrod nodded. "I took the liberty of ordering an evening suit for you yesterday. Off the rack, I’m afraid, but Easton made a few nips and tucks earlier today."

Heath fingered the fine wool absently. "Mighty nice, Jarrod, thank you."

"Don’t mention it."

The suit was a little large, but otherwise fit better than he expected. He was glad he had it once he saw the elegant attire of Jarrod’s dinner guests. Although Jarrod had protested it wasn’t a formal event, by any means, still the cost of the jewels and clothing Heath saw would have kept himself and his mother in clover pretty much his entire childhood. He felt no real bitterness, though. What good would it do? Wouldn’t help any more than wishing he hadn’t caught consumption.

There were six guests, four men and two ladies. Neither of the women were as starkly lovely as Miss Blackwell had been, but far more elegant, and both were clearly smitten with his oldest brother. Miss Alexander, in particular, seemed magnetically drawn to Jarrod, and visibly fidgeted seated between Heath and a man who jovially introduced himself as an "old Harvard chum, Tad Rippington." After shaking Heath’s hand painfully hard, he proceeded to ignore him in favor of Audra, which Heath found he didn’t mind so awfully much.

"And you live at the ranch?" Miss Alexander asked, poking her shrimp salad with her fork but not eating. Her eyes didn’t quite focus on Heath’s face.

"Yes. Guess you live here, huh? I mean, in the city. San Francisco." He felt his cheeks heating, and silently cursed his fumble.

Miss Alexander laughed prettily, a sound like tinkling glass. "Here? Oh, heavens no! I live in Boston, Mr. Barkley. I’m only here to visit my aunt."

He gave a game nod and speared a shrimp, dipping it gingerly in the sauce. Didn’t look like much, but tasted all right. "How do you like it?"

Her eyelids fluttered, and she gave him a brief look. "What? Oh, I’m sorry. Yes, I like it quite well, thank you."

He looked in the same direction, and saw Jarrod deep in conversation with the lady next to him. A fast look back at Miss Alexander showed a quick flash of fury, just as immediately suppressed. "And you, sir?" she asked him stiffly, reaching out for her glass of wine. "Are you staying long?" She drank thirstily.

"Rec -- I don’t think so, no, miss. Week or two, probably."

"That’s too bad," she said pallidly.

He nodded and ate another shrimp.

By the time the dessert arrived, he and Miss Alexander had run out of meaningless things to converse about, and he strongly suspected she was drunk. Her obvious jealousy of Jarrod’s companion had begun to seep through her polished façade, and Heath wondered if that wasn’t why she suddenly grasped his arm and laughed loudly. He hadn’t made a joke, and felt a little bewildered. And very, very tired.

"Sauternes, sir?" Easton stood at his elbow, bottle held ready.

Heath shook his head, and was unsurprised to see Miss Alexander’s glass filled. He took up his spoon and stared at the dessert. Not quite sure what it was, but it must be ice cream of some kind. Frozen into fancy shapes or something. He took a cautious taste, and raspberry exploded on his tongue.

"Something Easton developed while I was away," Jarrod told him across the table. He was smiling, but his eyes were calculating. "How do you like it?"

"S’good," Heath said, nodding. His stomach lurched, and he paused. "Thanks."

Jarrod’s smile faded. He seemed about to ask something else, when Miss Taylor at his side whispered something to him, and the moment was gone.

Heath waited ten minutes for the feeling to subside. When it didn’t, he carefully placed his napkin on the table. His face felt cold, and he reached up and felt sweat on his cheeks.

Fortunately, it seemed that no one was paying that much attention. Miss Alexander, of course, was preoccupied with Jarrod’s preoccupation with Miss Taylor. Rippington, to his left, was currently boasting to Audra about his prowess at tennis. Somewhere down the table was Victoria, and Heath hoped she was faring equally well. Without stealth but as quietly as possible he excused himself.

He saw Easton in the hallway, wearing a concerned expression, but by that point it had become crystal clear that if he didn’t hurry, Easton’s extremely nice supper would be decorating the stairs. The thought filled him with dismay, less for his own embarrassment than Jarrod’s, and he forced himself to hurry.

Thanking God that his bedroom – and basin – weren’t any higher up, he closed the door carefully after him and reached up to loosen his tie.

~~~~~~~~~~~

14.

"Heath still hasn’t come back," Audra whispered in his ear as they rose to leave the table. "Or Mother."

Jarrod nodded curtly. "I noticed. I’ll go and check on them. Go on; I’ll join you shortly."

Alice hadn’t missed Heath’s exit, unfortunately, and now wore a concerned expression. "Is your brother quite well?" she asked softly. Her hand was cool on his wrist. "He looked pale."

Jarrod gave her a brief smile. "I’m sure he’s fine," he said as glibly as he could. "Why don’t you join the others in the parlor? I won’t be long."

Her full mouth drew down in a practiced pout. "Please hurry, Jarrod," she told him. "It won’t be the same without you."

He nodded a little more curtly than he intended, and gave a slight bow over her hand.

Easton emerged from the kitchen bearing a tray of cordials. "Have you seen Mr. Barkley?" Jarrod asked, his company smile disappearing completely.

"He went up, not that long ago, sir," Easton told him.

"Did he look ill?"

"A bit, sir." Easton’s genial features twisted with alarm. "You don’t reckon it was the food, do you, sir?"

Jarrod clasped the man’s shoulder briefly. "Not to worry. Heath was – under the weather, before he even arrived."

Easton’s face expressed his relief.

Upstairs he found Victoria on the landing. Her expression was grim, and Jarrod tensed again. "How is he?"

"Ill," she said, with a tight shrug. "But I think he’s mostly tired."

"I’ll go and check on him."

He almost wished he hadn’t, when he entered Heath’s bedroom; the smell of sickness was unmistakable. But then, thought Jarrod ruefully, it hadn’t been Heath’s idea to entertain tonight, had it? He cleared his throat. "How are you feeling?"

Heath sat slouched on the bed, the recently used basin nearby. His face was pale and sweaty, and he shook his head. "Sorry ‘bout that, Jarrod." His voice sounded rusty. "Didn’t mean to spoil your party."

"You didn’t spoil anything." Jarrod sat on the edge of the chair, brow furrowed. "Should I send Easton to fetch a doctor?"

Heath gave him an appalled look. "Aw, no. Honest, think I just ate too much or somethin’. I’ll be fine directly."

Jarrod nodded slowly. Not for the first time he noticed how Heath’s manner of speaking changed when he was tired, or feeling unwell. The less well, the stronger the tinge of country in his voice. And right now Heath sounded about as country as Jarrod had ever heard. A sure sign that despite his reassuring words, his brother was far from well, and certainly not up to rejoining the party.

"I shouldn’t have organized this so soon after your arrival," Jarrod said awkwardly. "I don’t know what I was thinking, Heath, I’m sorry. Too much, too soon."

Heath shrugged and shook his head again. "Reckon Audra and you were enjoying yourselves; why shouldn’t you? Just think I mighta ate too much, that’s all."

"Jane seemed quite taken with you," Jarrod offered, smiling.

"Who? Miss Alexander, you mean?" Heath lifted an eyebrow, looking so completely normal for a moment Jarrod was a little startled. "Ain’t me she’s sweet on. And I don’t reckon she much liked your other lady friend."

Jarrod blinked. "Who? Alice? They’re old friends, Heath. Why would you think that?"

"Maybe so. But they both got their eye on you. Mark my word. Miss Alexander wasn’t any too pleased."

"I’m sure you’re exaggerating, Heath." Jarrod smiled and reached out to pat Heath’s knee. "Tell you what. I need to go shoo my guests out, and then I’ll see how you’re faring."

"Don’t need to babysit me," Heath said calmly. His color had come back a tiny bit, Jarrod saw. "But if it’s all the same to you, I figure I might just call it a night."

"Of course."

"Tell Miss Alexander I’m sorry I up and run like that, would you? Wasn’t real gentlemanly of me."

"Don’t give it a thought."

"All right."

He met Victoria outside the room, fresh towels in her hands, odd when contrasted with her elegant gown. "He says he’s feeling better," Jarrod told her. "But I think he won’t be rejoining us."

"That’s probably best. I may be a few moments myself, darling. Do you mind terribly?"

He shook his head and kissed her temple lightly. "Of course not."

Downstairs, his party had stumbled, as he knew it might. Tad was still flirting valiantly with Audra, who to Jarrod’s eyes looked a little bored. And Alice and Jane were sitting as far apart as the room would let them, which lent a little credence to Heath’s odd theory. Deciding to put off testing said theory till another day, Jarrod walked inside.

"Oh, how is Mr. Barkley?" Jane asked, looking fetchingly woebegone. "Did he take ill?"

"He’ll be back on his feet tomorrow, I’m sure," Jarrod told her, feeling a sharp twinge of guilt.

Tucker, who looked a bit worn himself, stood up and patted his coat. "Jarrod, old friend, I should be off myself. I’m stuck with Judge Morris tomorrow morning at 8:00am sharp, and you know how the old coot feels about Easterners."

Jarrod smiled. "I do, indeed. Thank God I’m not one."

There were some laughs, and then a general bustle of leave-taking, and twenty minutes later he finally deposited Tad in a cab. "Be careful!" Jarrod called, watching Tad’s hand waving from the window.

On the front step, Audra stood with arms crossed. Jarrod walked back, hands in his pockets. "Tell me at least you had fun," he said glumly. "And it will be worth giving Heath a bout of dyspepsia."

"It was fun." Audra caught his look, and dropped her gaze. "Mostly fun. Just – Mr. Rippington was a bit… Well."

"Yes, he does tend to be a bit, well. But I’d thought you’d like Bob Tucker."

"Oh, I did! It’s only -- Well, I’d have liked to talk with him, but he couldn’t get a word in edgewise! Mr. Rippington, going on and on about Harvard and tennis and horses, oh the HORSES. I love horses, you know I do, but I swear, I wanted to stuff my napkin in his mouth and shove him under the table!" Her eyes widened. "No, I didn’t, really, Jarrod, it’s only that –"

Laughing, Jarrod shook his head. "Well, the next time I invite Tad to dinner," he said, taking her arm and leading her back inside, "I’ll make sure to leave spirits off the menu."

"Alice -- Miss Taylor – You know she’s sweet on you. Was there something you wanted to…tell us, Jarrod?"

"Nothing special, no. Why?"

"Oh." She sighed, and then smacked his upper arm. "Men! You mean to tell me you didn’t notice? If Miss Taylor and Miss Alexander had been able, I think they’d have clawed each others’ eyes out!"

"Audra, you’re exaggerating. Just like Heath."

"Heath saw it too! Well, there you have it."

He locked the doors behind them and gave his sister a look. "I didn’t notice any fur flying. Did you?"

Audra gave a pretty toss of her head. "Heath and I seem to have noticed a number of things you didn’t, Jarrod. Time will tell."

"And so it will."

"Tell what, may I ask?"

Jarrod glanced over at Victoria, making her way downstairs. "Nothing, Mother, I promise. Just a few – alleged shenanigans, that’s all."

"It wouldn’t be a party without a few shenanigans," Victoria remarked, with a brief smile.

"How’s Heath?"

"Sleeping." Victoria sighed and walked over to take Jarrod’s elbow. "He was exhausted. Please tell Easton it wasn’t the food. Clearly – we’re all fine. Heath’s digestion has been a bit compromised, I suppose."

"Too bad Silas isn’t here," Audra said, accepting Jarrod’s other elbow. "He could whip something right up."

"Well, we’ll simply have to make do." Jarrod lifted his eyebrows. "Coffee or brandy?"

"The former would be lovely, dear."

~~~~~~~~~~

"I should never have planned entertaining with Heath here." Jarrod stared into the depths of his coffee cup, brows furrowed. "It was a rotten idea. Why didn’t you stop me?"

Victoria smiled and sipped her coffee. "You’re a grown man, Jarrod," she replied mildly. "I can’t direct you in your own house."

He snorted. "I don’t see why not. Especially when I do something so foolish!"

"Jarrod," Victoria sputtered with a laugh. "Everyone had a fine time. Well, most everyone. It isn’t your fault that Heath -- I strongly suspect he would have felt pooorly even if it had only been the four of us. Don’t punish yourself for that."

"But he looked so well today. Almost –" She watched Jarrod bite off what he had almost said.

"Almost himself again?" Victoria murmured.

"I suppose. Sounds selfish of me. It IS selfish of me." Jarrod set down his cup and leaned back with a sigh. "I want things the way they were. I want Heath the way he was. There, I admit it. I want him well. Is it so much to ask?"

"It’s why we’re here, darling. We all want that." Victoria regarded him steadily. "I don’t suppose you –"

She was interrupted by a mighty hammering at the front door. Jarrod flinched, and Victoria herself nearly spilled her coffee from the surprise.

"If that’s Rippington come back for more," Jarrod growled, "I’ll soak him in coffee myself. Just a moment, Mother."

Easton was already at the door, unlocking it when Jarrod and Victoria emerged into the hallway. "Easton, don’t worry about that," Jarrod called. "Probably one of the guests, who forgot something."

"As you wish, sir." Easton retreated to the door to the kitchen, where he lingered, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"As God is my witness, Tad, this had better be –" Jarrod finished swinging the door open and froze.

"Tad?" Nick bellowed, breath pluming in the cold air. "What kind of a name is that for a man?"

"Nick?" Victoria’s mouth opened in new surprise. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"Can I come in first? Damn cold out here."

Still looking thunderstruck, Jarrod stood to the side to allow Nick in the door.

"That’s better." Nick took off his gloves, stuffing them in his coat pockets. "All right, where’s Heath and Audra?"

"Upstairs, Nicholas." Jarrod secured the door behind him. "Previously sleeping, until you decided to batter down my door in the middle of the night. Aren’t you supposed to be keeping an eye on the ranch?"

"Ranch isn’t going anyplace in January, as you well know." Nick gave Victoria a belated buss on the cheek. "Which is more than I can say for you people, considering I waited all blessed day for a wire that never got there!"

"We completely forgot," Victoria breathed. "Oh, Nick, I’m so sorry!"

"Figured that much out on my own."

"We were busy all day, the doctor’s appointment, and then the party –"

"Party?" Nick rolled his eyes. "Mighta known. Leave me at home, and -- Party?" he repeated, the teasing leaving his voice. "What in the name of all that’s holy are you doing having a party?"

Jarrod looked guilty again. "Well, it was only dinner –"

"Have you even noticed that Heath is sick?" Nick interrupted, eyes blazing. "What, you think he came to Frisco to meet women or somethin’? That it? A month ago you two were plannin’ his damn eulogy and now you’re havin’ a PARTY?"

"A small party," Jarrod said stiffly.

"I see I was right to come," Nick observed, glaring at him. "He needs rest, Jarrod, not a damn social season! You think he came here to be wined and dined and –"

"If I recall correctly," Jarrod interrupted, face gone pale, "it wasn’t you who saw what was wrong with him in the first place! I resent your implication that –"

"Enough!" Victoria said stridently. Both men stared at her, mouths still agape. "I will not have this!" she continued in a softer but no less intense voice. "Look at you! At each other’s throats, and it’s because you’re afraid! Well, we’re all afraid! Nick, we didn’t have a party to pretend everything’s fine – we had a party because Heath needs to remember he’s still alive, and going to stay that way. And both of you, this isn’t a contest to see who can do the best job seeing to Heath’s needs! Stop it! Immediately!"

Jarrod nodded, even paler than before. "I apologize, Mother. Nick. I –"

"Sorry about yelling at you, Jarrod." Nick shook his head, closing his eyes briefly. "Didn’t mean what I said there."

"Nick?"

They all flinched, and glanced at the stairway. Audra stood with her dressing gown wrapped tightly around her, hair done up in nighttime pigtails. "When did you get here?" she asked, rubbing her eyes.

"Just a few minutes ago. How’s Heath?"

"He was coughing, so I got up to get him Dr. Jeffries’ medicine. Then I heard yelling. Mother?"

"Everything’s fine, darling," Victoria told her, sparing her two sons a scathing look of warning. "I think we’re all just a bit emotional at the moment."

"Oh, Nick." Audra’s expression was tragic. "We forgot to wire you, didn’t we? I’m so sorry!"

"It’s all right," Nick said grudgingly. "Never did think it was a good idea, me staying behind like that. Can’t take the not knowing."

Audra nodded slowly. "He’ll be so glad you’re here."

Nick’s expression lightened. "Good, good."

"It’s very late," Victoria said quietly. She sighed. "And we’re all tired. Can we present a united front now? We’re all on the same side here. We all want Heath to get better, and that’s what we must all focus on now. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Mother," all three of her children said in unison, and then exchanged startled looks and a few laughs.

"Good." She gave a crisp nod. "I’m going up to check on Heath, and then I’m going to bed. I suggest you three do the same."

"Mind if I come along, Mother?" Nick asked, still sounding a little squelched. "Sounds silly, but."

She saw the pain in his eyes, and relented. "Of course, darling."

Walking to the stairway, she noted a much warmer exchange of looks between Jarrod and Nick, and felt her tired tension fading a bit. With Audra in front of her and Nick at her heels, she began climbing the stairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

15.

Hope is patience with the lamp lit. (Tertullian)

If he’d had any questions about coming before now, Heath’s reaction put them to rest. His expression when Nick peered into his room was tired, but purely delighted.

"Wondered when you’d turn up," Heath commented, and coughed into his fist.

Nick grinned broadly. "Can’t fool you, brother, can I?" He walked over to grab a chair, taking a seat near the bed. "How you feelin’?"

Heath shrugged and sat up a bit. "All right, I reckon. That you I heard down there yellin’ at Jarrod?"

"None other," Nick admitted, leaning back.

"He didn’t do any wrong, Nick. Wasn’t a dinner party done this to me. You know that."

"I guess. You see that doctor today?"

"One of ‘em."

"And?"

"Said about the same thing."

Nick nodded slowly, feeling a twinge in his breast he had to fight not to show. "Damn. Audra said you got you some new medicine."

Heath gave a look at the containers sitting on the bedside table. "Can’t tell as how they’re doing all that much," he said with a shrug. "Guess we’ll see."

"Sound better."

"He give me some air to breathe. Oxygen," Heath corrected. "Now that did help some. Funny."

"Good. I ought to let you sleep."

"Ain’t sleepy."

Nick smiled. "Bet Jarrod’s got some cards round here someplace."

"Bet you’re right." Heath drew a breath to add something, and coughed harshly. Nick waited for the paroxysm to end, but when it kept going and Heath’s face contorted with pain, he felt his worry growing.

"Which one?" Nick asked, eyeing the bottles on the table.

Heath pointed, and to Nick’s surprise sprayed the contents in his mouth.

"What the hell?" Nick murmured.

Catching his breath, Heath swallowed a couple of times and set the bottle back on the table. "Miss Blackwell says it’s to calm the coughin’." He blinked and shook his head. "Reckon it’s got somethin’ like laudanum in it. Makes me feel funny."

"Miss Blackwell? Now who’s that?"

"Lady doctor." Heath leaned back, still blinking. "Works with Dr. Jeffries."

"Pretty?"

"And some." A dopey smile appeared on Heath’s face. "Reckon a man don’t so much mind takin’ ill, if his doctor looks like that."

"Maybe." Nick eyed him cautiously. "Heath, that medicine’s made you drunk."

Heath uttered a thick laugh, and coughed once. "Somethin’, not sure." His words were slurred. "Still gotta – cough, but – don’t much care."

Nick saw the pupils of Heath’s eyes had grown so much they nearly crowded out the blue altogether. Unsure whether to laugh at his brother’s obvious loopiness or worry at same, he made a face. "Guess now we know what’s in that stuff."

"Like that one better – than t’other one. Burns."

"Maybe you oughta sleep now."

Heath’s eyelids sagged. "Maybe – so."

Nick stood and awkwardly pulled the covers up over Heath’s chest, lingering to gaze down at him. "You give a holler, you need anything."

Heath smiled goofily and closed his eyes.

Troubled, Nick doused the lamp before leaving. On his way up the stairs he saw Victoria coming out of one of the rooms. "Audra and I will double up," she told him in a low voice. "You’ll have this room."

"You sure?"

"Of course. How’s Heath?"

Nick shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Got to coughing, and breathed up some of that medicine. Made him drunk as a skunk."

Victoria nodded slowly. "I believe it has opium in it."

"Think you’re right about that. Hate that he has to use it."

"This morning he told the doctor that his chest hurts, almost all the time. I didn’t realize he was in such pain."

"He was hurting just now," Nick agreed after a moment. "You know him, he doesn’t like to admit it. But I think he was glad for the stuff."

"At least it should let him sleep."

"Out cold when I left."

"Good. Well, good night, sweetheart." She smiled tiredly at him. "I’ll see you in the morning."

"Already morning," Nick quipped, but smiled back. "Night, Mother."

"Nick?"

"Yeah?"

"I’m glad you’re here."

He smiled again. "Couldn’t keep me away."

She nodded and patted his arm before disappearing into the other room.

~~~~~~~~~~~

No one was at their best the following morning. Nick woke with the sun, later than he usually did, and lay for a second trying to remember where he was before sitting bolt upright in bed. Jarrod’s house, San Francisco. And this morning was that other doctor’s appointment for Heath.

He rummaged for his pocket watch, and grimaced at the time. Dressing fast, he opened the door and trotted down to the next floor. In Heath’s room he found Victoria, up and dressed already, and holding a fresh shirt.

"Overslept," Nick said hoarsely.

"We all did," she said, laying the shirt over a chair. "Heath?" She walked to bend over the bed, touching the slumbering man’s shoulder. "Wake up, darling."

It took several shakes to bring Heath around, and even then his blue eyes were cloudy with sleep and probably the medicine, too. "Nick?" he asked, giving him a confused look. "Didn’t know you were here. When’d you get here?"

"Got in last night. You don’t remember?"

Heath shook his head and coughed. "Head feels funny."

"Sit up, darling," Victoria told him. "You have to get dressed. Your appointment’s this morning."

Heath sat up, scrubbing his hands through his hair. The result was so messy Nick couldn’t bite back a snort. "Better tame that haystack before you go, brother."

Heath gave him a bleary smile and took the shirt Victoria offered him.

By the time they got him dressed and weaving out the door, Audra and Jarrod were up and about as well. Audra looked something less than radiant, although Nick believed nothing short of illness itself could completely spoil her natural beauty. Jarrod, on the other hand, looked like Nick felt, which was to say, tired, annoyed, and itchy at the time.

"Easton’s put on a cold breakfast for us," Jarrod said without preamble, leading the way down the stairs. "No time for more, I’m afraid."

"That will be fine, Jarrod," Victoria told him. She took a firmer grip on Heath’s arm. "Careful, darling," she added.

It took some doing, but Heath came around a bit with a fast cup of very strong coffee. Nick drank his own gratefully, and soon he, Jarrod, and Heath were installed in a hired cabriolet, making their way briskly to the other doctor’s office. Victoria and Audra both wanted to go, but the thought of Audra around folks probably sicker than Heath himself was very unpleasant, and Mother had already taken her chances yesterday. They left with promises to pick them up later for lunch.

Heath still looked dazed, and his cough was not comforting, but Nick resolutely pushed his anxiety away. He glanced at Jarrod. "So this is the man you heard speak last month, right? With all the newfangled ideas?"

Jarrod nodded. "I’m afraid I left before he was quite done, but I got the gist of it. His ideas weren’t too popular, it didn’t seem. But he was very confident."

Nick listened intently to Jarrod’s explanation of Dr. Brehmer’s sanatoria, only stopping him once. "He was cured?" he asked, staring at him. "You mean, completely?"

"According to Ralston, yes." Jarrod produced a tired smile. "You see my interest."

"Damn right I do."

By the time Jarrod had wound down, they were almost to their destination and Heath had dozed off again, head heavy on Nick’s shoulder. Jarrod met Nick’s grim look stolidly. "How many times do you want me to apologize?" Jarrod asked finally, shaking his head. "But I don’t think it’s only the party that’s left him this way, Nick. I truly don’t."

"You’re probably right," Nick admitted after a long moment. "Just – feels odd, to see him like this." He shifted a little as the cab hit a chuckhole and Heath nearly toppled the other direction. It had the benefit of waking him, though, so Nick wasn’t complaining. "Come on, boy, rise and shine," Nick said gruffly. He put an arm over Heath’s shoulders and tried not to notice how bony they were. "Think we can get him some more coffee?" he asked Jarrod, and patted Heath’s cheek. "Up and at ‘em, Heath. Come on."

Heath’s blue eyes regarded him balefully. "Leave me alone," he mumbled.

"Nope. I’m damned if I’m carryin’ you in there. Sit up."

"Tired."

Hating himself a little, Nick said, "Well, we are, too. And you don’t see us loungin’ around, do you? Come on now."

In a low voice Jarrod said, "This is us."

It was a strange and anxious experience, getting Heath out of the cabriolet, and one Nick hoped never to repeat. Heath’s condition was something more than drowsiness; his movements were clumsy, marionette-like, and if Nick hadn’t known better he would have sworn his brother was flat drunk. Drunk almost to the point of sickness.

Dr. Ralston was seeing patients out of the offices of a fellow specialist, but today they saw no one else besides the office staff. A matronly looking woman took their names and nodded, and a few moments later Dr. Ralston himself appeared, nattily dressed and fitting Jarrod’s description to a tee.

"Doctor, I’m Jarrod Barkley, and these are my brothers, Nick and Heath."

Ralston shook hands with him and with Nick, but his focus was already on Heath, who sat mute in a chair, eyelids sagging. "Heath is the patient, I presume," he said absently. He hunkered down and reached out to lift Heath’s chin. "Help me bring him inside, would you?"

Together they manhandled Heath into the inner office, a room that had clearly served as a storage space until it had been pressed into alternative duty. Under Ralston’s supervision Nick and Jarrod maneuvered Heath into a portable examination chair.

"How long has he been like this?" Ralston’s eyes narrowed as he examined Heath’s face critically.

"Since he got up," Nick said, crossing his arms. "Boy just won’t wake up this morning."

Ralston held Heath’s jaw with one hand while he peeled back an eyelid, making soft clucking sounds. "Huh."

Jarrod’s eyebrows lifted. "Yes?"

Letting Heath’s head sag back against the chair back, Ralston nodded crisply. "And no wonder. He’s quite drugged."

Nick frowned. "He took the medicine he was supposed to. But that was last night. Why’s –"

"Let me guess." Ralston’s gaze was darkly amused. "Atomized mist?"

"Sounds about right, but –"

"A very powerful concoction consisting primarily of opium. He might as well gulp down a pint of laudanum. The effect is the same." Ralston shook his head. "A misguided attempt to give the patient rest from coughing, when in fact the decoction anesthetizes, thereby worsening the problem. Without coughing, the congestion only increases."

"But he couldn’t sleep for the damn coughing, how was he supposed to –"

"Poppycock," Ralston interrupted crisply, walking over to where a sheaf of papers lay on a counter. "He saw another doctor, did he? Hughes? Or was it Jeffries?" He rustled through the papers, evidently not finding what he sought. "Opium, and that rotted carbolic acid. Balderdash. Did he use oxygen as well? Useless."

Nick drew an indignant breath to say something, he wasn’t sure what, but Jarrod’s warning glance stifled him for the moment. "I believe he did use oxygen, yes," Jarrod said in a level tone. "Heath felt quite improved, but it seems to have been temporary."

"The patient must cough, in order for the congestion to improve. That in turn improves the oxygen flow, thereby negating the need for supplements." Ralston said it all in an impatient voice, and Nick bristled anew at the supercilious tone.

"So," Nick barked, a little pleased to see Ralston’s sharp look. "You got all the answers – tell us what to do."

"Stop giving him useless medicaments, for one," Ralston shot back. "Prescribed by quacks who have not the slightest idea of how to adequately treat consumption, and hide their lack of knowledge behind jargon and barbiturates!"

"So you think a sanatorium is the right treatment for our brother?" Jarrod asked intently.

"Not only right, Mr. Barkley, but the only treatment that stands a chance of helping him." Ralston’s face had gone red during his interchange with Nick, and now he blew a sigh of frustration. "You have not the faintest inkling of the frustration I feel," he continued in a lower voice. "Trying to educate those who willfully refuse that education. These doctors here, they cannot admit the truth. No medicament is useful for someone in your brother’s condition. No matter how arcane or glamorous."

Nick drew a long breath, fighting for calm and failing. "So if doing something won’t help him, how can NOT doing something help?"

"I’m not advocating inanition. But you, sir, must realize that there ARE no effective medicaments available. So abandon that course of action, or accustom yourself to seeing your brother in this condition." Ralston’s hand went to smooth his mustachios. "What I AM advocating is the regimen prescribed by Dr. Brehmer."

A queer expression came and went on Jarrod’s features, one that Nick couldn’t quite define. "But are there any American sanatoria at all?" Jarrod asked. "From your lecture last month it sounded as if they’re all European."

"I know of no adequate facility in the States as yet," Ralston conceded. "But unless I miss my guess yours is a family of certain…means, yes? As such, a voyage to the European continent should not pose an insurmountable obstacle."

"True," Jarrod said quietly. But to Nick’s eyes he didn’t look happy. "Is that all, then? Do you have any instructions aside from that?"

Ralston sighed. "Stop these ineffective remedies immediately, of course. They do no good, and may in fact do harm if prolonged. Your brother must rest, outdoors if possible. Fresh air, a healthy diet, and no excitement! Those are the building stones of recovered health.

"In any case, he should not stay in this city any longer than absolutely necessary. And this one is better than most! The sea breezes blow some of the foulness from the air. But clean air is best."

"Thank you, Doctor," Jarrod said, nodding. "We appreciate your time."

Nick goggled at him. "That’s it? That’s all?"

"Nick –"

"No! I’m gonna say my piece! You mean we brought him all the way here – in his condition – just to find out we shoulda done nothing at all?" Nick snorted and flung up his hands. "Might as well have stayed home!"

Jarrod’s eyes were flinty. "We can discuss the details later, Nicholas," he said in a crisp tone. "Let’s see to Heath first, all right?"

Nick glared at him, but finally gave a curt nod.

~~~~~~~~~~~

16.

He awoke at mid-afternoon, his head pounding and mouth dry as toast. Squinting, Heath reached for the glass at his bedside and poured himself some water. It tasted flat and salty, but he drank it down thirstily.

It was only after finishing a second glassful that he realized he couldn’t remember doing anything today. Had he slept all day, then? What on God’s holy name was in that medicine? He cast a wary eye at the canisters on the table.

And then it penetrated the fog in his mind, the time. Nearly three-thirty, and he had to go for his treatment at four every day for a week.

He nearly fell getting out of bed, feet tangling in the coverlet, but he righted himself and grabbed the first shirt and pants he could find. A glance in the glass showed him hair that he already knew wouldn’t be tamed, so he ran a comb through it and shrugged. It’d do. If Miss Blackwell didn’t like it, well, nothing for it.

He spared a second to wonder why he’d immediately thought of her, and then decided it might be best to focus on getting downstairs without falling and breaking his neck first.

That goal reached, he found the remainder of his family in Jarrod’s dark, comfortable sitting room, to a one looking startled at his entrance.

"Heath," Victoria exclaimed with a smile. "You’re up."

"Can’t tarry, Mother, I’m late." He stuck his arms in the sleeves of his coat. "Why didn’t you all wake me?"

"Wake you for what?" Nick rumbled. "Where’s the fire?"

Heath adjusted his collar and shot his cuffs. "S’posed to have a treatment twice every day. And I done missed this morning’s already."

Jarrod’s brow creased in a frown. "Heath, you aren’t going to Dr. Jeffries, are you? You heard what Ralston said this morning. It’s –"

"Ralston?" Heath frowned back at him. Then his mouth sagged open. "Did I miss that one too? Boy howdy, folks, I am some –"

"Heath, we went," Nick said sharply. "Or, well, Jarrod and I went and dragged you along. You don’t remember, do you? Damn that stuff you’re taking! Wiping your brain clean."

Heath gazed at him, and then shook his foggy head. "Jarrod, you keep any horses? I’m gonna have to –"

"Easton can fetch you a cab." The quizzical expression hadn’t left Jarrod’s face. "But there’s truly no need, don’t you see? Dr. Ralston says these treatments are for all intents and purposes useless."

"Didn’t feel that way yesterday. Reckon that air she had me breathe did about the only good I seen so far."

"She?"

"I suspect he means Miss Blackwell," Victoria told him dryly. "Dr. Jeffries’ associate."

"Look, I ain’t got time to sit here jawin’ about it," Heath said. He drew a breath to add something and coughed sharply. Waving a hand, he added, "Just – get that cab – wouldja?"

With his family still uttering various forms of protest, Heath went outside, shivering in the damp sea air. A moment later Nick joined him, wearing his coat. When Heath looked his question at him Nick shrugged. "Whatever you do, you’re not doin’ it alone," he said, stuffing his hands in his gloves. "Damn, got cold out here."

The cab showed up finally, although Heath’s estimate said he’d be late regardless. Inside the cab, he sighed, and then covered his mouth to cough.

"You know, that Ralston fellow, the one you don’t remember." Nick leaned his elbow against the window frame. "He says fresh air’s the ticket. Just thinkin’, you said something about fresh air to me a while ago. Said it’d help."

"Way I remember it," Heath returned, drawing a long breath, "you said I was wrong at the time."

"Now I didn’t say you were wrong. Don’t you go puttin’ words in my mouth."

"Might as well have."

"Not the same thing."

Heath looked at him, and coughed again.

"Besides, had to get a look at this lady doctor of yours." A quirky smile crept over Nick’s lips. "Must be somethin’, if you’re dragging your carcass out to see her."

"Not goin’ to see her," Heath said thickly. "Treat – ment."

"Uh huh. Tell me another one."

"Ain’t – lyin’."

"Ain’t telling all the truth, either."

Heath settled for coughing, and wasn’t too sorry right at that moment to be doing it.

Nick smiled again, and laid a hand on Heath’s shoulder. "Tell you what, you were somethin’ else this morning, Heath. Now I’ve seen you in your cups a few times – not that often, but more than once – but I never seen you like that. Would have been funny if we hadn’t’ve had to nearly carry you everyplace."

Heath frowned, turning to stare out the window. "Can’t remember none of it," he said quietly. "Don’t think I like that."

"Didn’t do much but stagger around and then sleep. Believe me, I’d tell you if you’d done something really funny."

"Reckon you would at that."

"Between you and me? I don’t much care for that Ralston person." Nick sounded more intent now, and Heath looked over at him. "Ask me, he’s way too sure of just how important he is. The way he talked about this treatment and that doctor, was like listening to someone evangelizing."

Heath shrugged. "Reckon that’s all right, long as it works. You think it’d work?"

Nick had taken off his gloves in the cab, and now flicked one restlessly against his thigh. "He pretty much says do nothing," he said slowly. "And I confess that sticks in my craw. But seeing you like you were this morning –" He shook his head. "Hate to think of you like that, Heath. I don’t think that spray stuff did anything but make you sleep, and from where I sit that isn’t a treatment. Just – an excuse."

"Excuse?"

"Something that other doc gave you because he didn’t know what else to do. I mean, if you’re sleepin’ it isn’t like you’re gonna complain."

Gazing at him, Heath couldn’t think of a way to deny it. He looked away instead, focusing back outside the window.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Any better?"

Heath looked up and smiled. "Yes’m, reck – I think so. Thank you kindly."

Miss Blackwell didn’t quite smile, but her lips turned up the tiniest bit. "Your color is much improved," she said, stowing the tubes neatly away. "The oxygen treatments seem to make quite a difference for you. How is your cough? Have you noticed any improvement?"

He thought about lying, just because. But he couldn’t. "No, ma’am. Not so’s I can tell."

"Ah, well. It is only your second day, after all. And you missed this morning."

There was no trace of censure in her voice, but he sat up a little straighter anyway. "Sorry about that. I -- Well –" It occurred to him that he didn’t really want to tell her – or Jeffries – that he’d been to see another doctor, even if he couldn’t remember the visit.

"Were you too ill to travel?"

He wanted to think the concern in her eyes was personal, but couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it. "Well, one of the sprays the doc give me -- Can’t say I remember much about this morning, if you want the truth."

Miss Blackwell gave a slow nod. "You may be especially sensitive to it," she remarked, continuing to watch him. "I would recommend a smaller dose, perhaps building up to it."

"Yes’m." He looked down, and then back at her. "Can -- May I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Jarrod -- He’s my brother, oldest brother. Last month he heard a doctor talk about other treatments for the consumption."

"Ah. Dr. Ralston, I assume." She took a seat nearby, the same one Victoria had occupied the day before. Her expression was cautious. "I attended that lecture as well."

Nodding, Heath swallowed. "Reckon – there’s any truth to it? What he says about fresh air and the like?"

Miss Blackwell nibbled her lower lip for a moment, brows drawn together in what Heath thought was a most fetching frown. "Dr. Ralston’s ideas are…quite sensational," she told him slowly. "Was he the reason you missed your treatment this morning?"

Heath nodded, feeling his cheeks flushing. "Can’t say I remember much of it, though," he added. "Mostly what my brothers told me after."

"Mr. Barkley." Miss Blackwell glanced down at her hands. When she looked up again her expression was composed, but her eyes seemed worried. "I can only speak on the matter off the record, as it were," she began carefully. "My associate, Dr. Jeffries, does not think well of Dr. Ralston’s methods."

"You agree with him?"

"Which, Jeffries or Ralston?" she asked with a flash of a smile.

"Either one, I reckon."

She sighed, and he missed her smile when it faded quickly as it had appeared. "On the face of it I can see nothing – amiss – with the idea of fresh air and a clean environment. I have been taught that close quarters and miasmas provide a nourishing atmosphere for contagion, and so to be free of that is certainly beneficial. As are a healthy diet and plenty of rest." She shifted a little, reaching up to tuck a stray tendril of dark hair behind her ear. In contrast to her very fair cheeks, her hands were red and chapped-looking. "But Dr. Ralston’s suggestion of an outright cure is, I think, perhaps premature. It seems to me rash to promise such things."

Heath nodded. "Jarrod says that doc thinks these medicines won’t do me any good. Might even do some harm."

"Opium, it is true, will only disguise your pain, not rid you of the cause of it." Now her eyes were distinctly unhappy. "I believe no one of any substantial medical training would say otherwise. As to the other medicament –" She paused, and then shrugged. "I’m certain if it were capable of causing real harm, Dr. Jeffries would not have prescribed it."

"And will it help?"

She was silent a long moment. Her subsequent shrug was eloquent.

"This stuff here –" He gestured at the equipment around them. "This air you got me breathing, it does feel some better."

"Then we should continue it, don’t you think?"

He allowed a nod. "Sorry if I stepped on your toes, askin’ you about Ralston and all that." He sighed, and fought down the urge to cough. "Felt funny, askin’ at all."

"My concern is for your restored health, Mr. Barkley," Miss Blackwell said. "But you must remember, I am not yet a medical doctor. Merely a student. I cannot advise you in any other capacity."

"I respect that, ma’am."

She sat back, smoothing her skirt with her chapped hands. "Then I will see you in the morning, sir?"

He smiled awkwardly. "Yes’m. Won’t forget this time."

Her smile warmed her features. "I will look forward to it."

"So’ll I."

Nick paced impatiently in the outer waiting area, glowering at Heath when he caught sight of him. "About time there. You all done?"

"Yep." Heath turned to glance at Miss Blackwell. "Thank you kindly, ma’am."

"No thanks needed," she said quietly.

"Oh, this is my brother. Nick Barkley. Nick, this here’s Miss Blackwell."

"Pleasure, ma’am." Nick’s acute gaze took her in. "Appreciate what you’re doing for Heath here."

She gave him a cordial nod, and glanced once more at Heath before ducking back through the office door.

Outside, Nick paused to give Heath a look. "You do look better."

"Thanks."

"Although I wonder if it’s the air or that pretty doctor lady done it."

"Think it’s the air," Heath said mildly.

"Oh, do you." Nick grinned. "But even you gotta admit, doesn’t hurt when your doctor looks like that."

"She ain’t a doctor, not yet." But he relented, meeting Nick’s teasing gaze. "I reckon she’s mighty pretty, though," he admitted, unable to hide his own smile.

Nick shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels a little. "Way she looked at you up there, seemed she was a bit taken with you, too."

"Doubt that."

"Why?"

Heath’s smile faded. He took a few steps to the curb, glancing down the street for passing cabs. "Don’t reckon she’d be interested in a consumptive, Nick," he said calmly. "Ain’t like she doesn’t know what’s to come."

"What’s to come," Nick shot back, "is your getting well, and movin’ on. Understood?"

Regarding him, Heath nodded slowly. "Hope that’s true, brother," he said softly.

"Won’t hear otherwise."

Heath nodded again, and stuck his hand out to flag down an empty cabriolet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

17.

The week passed quickly. Victoria purchased everything on her own short list the first three days, although it took Audra considerably more time. There was little discussion of Heath’s situation aside from the need for his twice-daily treatments at Dr. Jeffries’ office. Although Victoria wasn’t sure Dr. Ralston’s words weren’t correct – certainly about the opium – she made no further comment about the oxygen treatments. Heath’s color was better after, and he seemed content, and that was enough for the moment.

On the afternoon of their sixth day in San Francisco, she was pleased when Heath accepted her suggestion of a walk, and found herself arm-in-arm with her youngest son, enjoying a nicely temperate day.

"Did you get everything you wanted?" she asked him, bending to avoid a low-hanging tree branch. "Shopping, I mean?"

"Wasn’t that much." He detoured them around a muddy section of the road. "Reckon when Nick showed up he lost his chance." He smiled, and she smiled back.

"We should see you fitted for a couple of suits tomorrow. They won’t be finished before we leave, but either Jarrod can pick them up later or we’ll have them sent back to the ranch."

"Already got that new suit."

"Properly fitted ones," she told him, squeezing his arm.

"All righty."

They walked on, and Victoria inhaled the sea air with relish. "Shall I offer a penny for your thoughts?" she asked quietly. "Or do you feel like talking about it?"

He looked at her, and then forward again. "Not real sure," he replied after a long pause. "Mother, I feel all right. If I didn’t cough, wouldn’t know I was sick at all. And feelin’ all right –" He broke off, shrugging. "Hard to say what I should do next."

"You look so much better," she told him. "And I think you might have gained a pound or two. How much of that do you think is due to getting so much rest and relaxation here in the city?"

"I see what you’re gettin’ at." A little smile lifted one corner of his mouth. "Don’t think I don’t."

Victoria laughed. "I know you do. But you haven’t answered me. Here you’ve had ample rest, good food -- And we can all see the difference. I’m almost afraid to go home. To see you shoulder a burden your body can’t support right now."

She heard him swallow, and then cough absently. His color, though, remained good. "Just can’t rightly see my way right now, Mother," he said in a low voice. "Don’t know what I should do."

"Do you feel better? Truly?"

"Reckon I feel about the best I been for some time now, yep."

She gave a slow nod. "And you’re bored, aren’t you?" she asked softly.

"Pretty much. I ain’t used to sittin’ around. Reckon it ain’t – isn’t in my nature. Always worked, since I was a kid. Work’s all I know. And I don’t mind it," he added swiftly, when she drew a breath. "I like keepin’ busy. I like what I do. Wouldn’t have it otherwise."

She covered his hand with her own, leaning against him slightly as they walked. "And now we’re asking you to give that up," she agreed. "But not entirely, Heath. Perhaps just temporarily."

He was silent so long, she feared another black mood descending. But when he finally spoke, he sounded calm enough. "That doc, the Ralston feller -- He thinks I better go to one of those sana-whatsits. Ain’t any in the US, though, not yet."

"How do you feel about that?"

His mouth grew pinched, and she had her answer. "Just don’t see how I can’t do the same thing here, and not have to go to the ends of the earth," he replied in a low voice.

"If you go, Heath, you wouldn’t go alone. I promise you that."

He glanced at her. "How do you figure?"

"Well, I don’t know." She shrugged, keeping her tone airy. "Audra should have a European tour, I think. And Jarrod’s always wanted to go back. Nick’s never been."

"Now Mother, I know them two don’t have time to go gallivantin’ around while –"

"Hush. And I’ll go, of course."

"You?"

She met his startled eyes and nodded. They’d come to the end of the decent road, and now stood in the stark shadow of a battered elm, with a good view of the city. "I haven’t traveled in some time," she said, turning to gaze out at the vista. "Not really. Audra would need a chaperone, and I won’t have you stranded in Germany or wherever it is you’d be going, without a member of your family." She glanced at him, seeing the feeble light of hope in his blue eyes. "It can be done, Heath," she told him gently. "All manner of things can be done. It simply takes planning."

He gave a slow, surprised nod. "I never – never figured on bein’ anyplace but around here, rest of my life," he said after a long moment. "Done some travelin’ myself, I guess. Was a time when I never stayed anyplace longer than a few months or so. Went where the work was, after the war. Never did think I’d go further than that, though."

"Audra would say it’s an adventure. And I think she’d be right, Heath. If you choose to view it that way."

"Maybe so."

"We should turn back. It’s getting cooler."

"Yep."

~~~~~~~~~~~

Supper was a quiet affair. Much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was tired, and it seemed the rest of the family might be as well. No one spoke much, or ate with much appetite, even though Heath thought the food was mighty good.

He didn’t linger for drinks in the sitting room after, either. His talk with Victoria stuck with him, and he had a lot to think about, so he excused himself, assuring them that yes, he felt all right, but yes, he was a bit tuckered out. Just going up to sit and maybe read a bit.

Nick, of course, soon shadowed him. Heath had just settled down with one of the novels from Jarrod’s downstairs library, when a voice said, "You talk with Mother?"

Heath glanced at him and nodded. "Did."

Nick came in and took a seat in the chair by the window. "And?" he prodded gruffly.

"Talked a bit about me goin’ away."

Nick said nothing to that, but his expression darkened until he looked away, out the window.

"Heard it yourself," Heath added carefully. "That doctor said wasn’t much else gonna help. Not really."

"I don’t like it."

"Didn’t figure you did."

"It’s too far. All the way over there in Europe. What’ll you do if you need us?"

Meeting his aggrieved gaze, Heath gave a helpless shrug. "Mother says she’ll come, too. And maybe Audra."

"And if something happens? What then?"

"I’ll get by, Nick. Always have."

Nick’s mouth turned down in an unhappy scowl. "That was before," he said sharply. "You weren’t a member of this family then. Now you are. And I’ll be damned if I’ll let you just – go away like this and not say my piece."

Heath allowed a tiny smile. "Sayin’ it right now, aren’t you?"

"Not even half." But Nick’s fervor eased a tiny bit. He shrugged limply. "Damn it, Heath, just isn’t right," he continued in a low voice. "What if they don’t do right by you? How’ll you help yourself if you’re sick in some country where they don’t even speak honest English? I tell you, the thought rankles. It rankles bad."

It was nothing Heath hadn’t been thinking himself, and to hear it stated so bluntly felt uncomfortable. "Yep," he murmured.

"Now why can’t you just – do the same things, only at home where we can see to you? Fresh air, we have, and food and good company. What do they have that we don’t?" Heath said nothing, and after a long moment Nick sighed. "Reckon I can guess," he added.

"What?"

Nick didn’t quite meet his eyes. "Because at home you won’t really rest. You’ll try, but then something’ll come up. And you’ll say, Aw, I’m fine, and we’ll want to believe you, and you’ll go do some work, and next thing you know you’ll take sick again." He shook his head. "Yeah, I see it."

"Mother said about the same. She says I won’t really rest up until I’m in a place where I don’t feel like I’m supposed to work."

"We’re your family, Heath, and that’s your home. You know you don’t have to work, not when you’re sick."

"No, I know that. But feelin’ it – that’s something else."

"Well, I won’t stand around and let you be shipped off like a damn parcel! No sir, not for a blasted second."

Heath gave a tense nod. "What you got in mind?" He sighed. "Because Nick, you know it’s got to be you, mindin’ the ranch. You leave, and you wouldn’t rest ‘till you came back and saw everything was all right. And –" He held up a hand when Nick reared back. "And I don’t reckon I’d feel right about it, either. Now is or is not that ranch as much mine as it is yours?"

"Course it is," Nick said stiffly. "You gotta ask that after all we been through?"

"Nope. Just remindin’ you. If I’m not around I’d like to know someone’s keepin’ an eye on things. Make me rest better, knowin’."

"Jarrod could do it. Mother can do it."

"Jarrod’s got a whole bunch of other irons in the fire. Not the same. And Mother -- Well, she sounds like she’s gonna come with me. So that won’t work, neither."

"You know, you’re starting to sound like Jarrod there, yourself," Nick said, snorting.

Heath shrugged. "If you mean I’m making sense, I don’t mind it. You know I’m right. Now you just gotta admit it."

Nick said nothing at first. And then, softly, he said, "I can see the right of it. I suppose. But I don’t like it. And I won’t like it. Might as well know that right now."

"Fair enough." Heath made himself nod. "Can’t say I’m overly fond of it myself. Just – not sure there’s any other way to go about it, Nick. I been thinkin’ a lot about it here lately. A whole lot."

"Me, too."

They sat in silence for a time. And then Nick stirred and stood. "Guess I oughta let you rest."

"Reckon so."

"Good night, Heath."

~~~~~~~~~~

"I think you should return next month. Especially if you see a recurrence of your symptoms, such as the breathlessness, or if you find yourself losing more weight."

Heath nodded. "I’ll keep that in mind, sir. Anything else?"

Jeffries gave him a beaming smile. "No, Mr. Barkley, you seem to be faring much better since you came to my office a week ago. Using your medications as needed?"

"Reckon so." He didn’t mention that he hadn’t touched them in days. Wasn’t going to, either, not unless – but he didn’t know what that situation might be. No. No medicine.

"Then I see no reason why you shouldn’t return home. But I should remind you: Rest is essential. No undue stress!"

"Yessir."

Jeffries held out his hand, and Heath shook it. "It’s been a real pleasure meeting you, Mr. Barkley," Jeffries said warmly. "Please take care of yourself, now."

"Will do."

Outside Jeffries’ office he nearly ran into Miss Blackwell. She was clearly in a hurry, rushing up the stairs, and the crisp wind outside had put roses of color in her pale cheeks. She gave a little laugh as they each caught their balance.

"Mr. Barkley! Did you see Dr. Jeffries?"

He touched his hat and nodded, and felt his own cheeks getting a little warm. "Yes’m. He says I can go home now."

Her expression fell a little, although she nodded, too. "Yes, you do seem to be doing ever so much better. I’m glad."

"Me, too."

She bit her lip awkwardly. "And what – do you plan next? Will you be going to take a sanatorium cure?"

"Not sure what I’m gonna do, if you want the truth." He paused. "I sure do thank you for your help this week."

"It’s what I do, Mr. Barkley," she said softly, but the roses in her cheeks got redder. "But you’re very welcome."

He gave an uncertain nod. "I -- Good luck with your schoolin’, too. Reckon you’re gonna make a fine doctor."

Her blue eyes twinkled. "Even if I am a woman?" she asked in a teasing voice.

"No, ma’am, that ain’t why." He shifted a little, and found a hesitant smile on his own lips. "Don’t see as how that makes much difference, from what I can see."

"I appreciate that." Her cool fingers touched his wrist lightly. "Take care of yourself, Mr. Barkley," she added urgently. "I will pray that the sanatorium cures you."

"Thank you, ma’am, I appreciate that."

"Sarah," she said softly. "Please call me Sarah."

He gave an awkward nod. "Sarah, then. I’m Heath."

"Heath." Their eyes met, and then she quickly disengaged her hand. "I’m glad I saw you before you left."

"Me, too. You suppose –" He broke off and swallowed.

"What?"

"Suppose if I were to write you from – wherever it is I end up -- Suppose that’d be all right?"

A smile broke over her features, as clear and radiant as the rising sun. "I suppose," she agreed, and gave another laugh. "I would like that very much. Heath."

He grinned. "Me, too. Sarah."

She ducked her head a little, but not enough that he couldn’t see her blush had deepened again. "I should go. I’m late."

"All right. You take care now."

"You, too."

"Well. Bye, then."

"Bye."

But he waited for her to mount the steps and disappear through the door, glancing over her shoulder at him, before he finally turned and waved at a passing cab.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

18.

She had an odd feeling the morning of their departure. A prickling, somewhere at the back of her neck, an inkling, perhaps. She wasn’t ever sure what it was, exactly, but before she went down to the breakfast table she knew something had changed.

Seeing Heath’s gray, tired face told her she was right.

"Good morning," Victoria said, offering a short smile to her family as she sat.

"Good morning, Mother." Jarrod put down his coffee cup. "Sleep well?"

"Quite well. How is everyone?"

Nick grunted, and she remembered he hadn’t been back from wherever it was he’d gone before she went to bed. Now he looked tired and grumpy. Audra was perfectly turned out already, but also quiet; probably unhappy to go back to the slower pace of the valley.

And Heath. Victoria smiled at him and was heartened to see his wan smile in return. "Are you feeling all right, dear?" she couldn’t help asking.

He shrugged, and visibly thought about his reply before saying, "Bit tired, I reckon."

Victoria nodded slowly. "Do you feel up to traveling today? Would you like to put it off a day or two?"

"Nope. Ready to get on home."

"So am I, dear."

But a few minutes of watching him pick at his food without appetite and Victoria found her own hunger vanished as well. Her other children weren’t immune to the feeling, either, she saw; Jarrod looked distinctly unhappy, rattling the morning paper with more vigor than was absolutely necessary and flicking frequent looks at his wan youngest brother. Nick mumbled something about a bath a few minutes into the meal, and disappeared up the stairs.

They all followed him soon after, since everyone had to pack but Jarrod, who would be staying in San Francisco another week or two for business. Victoria paused by Heath’s room, watching him trudge inside and sit on the edge of the unmade bed.

"Why don’t you lie down for a moment?" she asked him. "Our train doesn’t leave for several hours yet."

He considered it, and then nodded. "Just for a minute or two, though. Gotta pack."

But he was asleep almost immediately, and so she pulled the coverlet up over him and watched for a moment, and then began folding the shirts in his wardrobe.

She finished packing all his things except his ditty bag, since he’d no doubt want a shave before they departed, and then went to the room she was sharing with Audra to see to her own bags.

Finally there was nothing left to be done, and still two hours until their train left. She went back downstairs and found Jarrod, Nick, and Audra in the sitting room. Nick seemed recovered from his unknown adventures, but no one was smiling.

"Heath asleep?" Nick asked her.

She nodded. "I’ll wake him in half an hour or so. He seemed very tired this morning, and I suppose he was."

Jarrod shifted and uncrossed his legs. "I suppose we should talk about our plans."

"Are you sure you want to stay, Jarrod?" Audra asked. She was wearing one of her new dresses, garnet-colored wool with a matching ribbon in her hair. The color was flattering. "I wish you’d come back with us."

"I have court dates this week and next." Jarrod shook his head. "I can’t, I’m afraid. But I haven’t taken any new cases, so I should be able to return by the first of February." He looked at Victoria. "So it’s decided? Heath will go abroad for this treatment?"

Considering her words carefully, Victoria replied, "I think he’s worried, but sees the value in it. Potential value, I should say. We haven’t talked about specifics, though. When he would leave, and so on."

Jarrod nodded. "We’ll need to check schedules, and book his passage. Mother, are you accompanying him?"

Nick looked thunderous, but Victoria nodded. "I won’t send him away alone. It’s a very long journey as it is; he can’t undertake it by himself. He could sicken during the voyage." She drew a long breath. "I thought Audra could accompany us, as well."

"Me?" Audra gave her a wide-eyed look, and then clapped her hands in delight. "Going to Europe? Oh, Mother!"

Smiling, Victoria reached out and patted Audra’s knee. "It’s not all decided yet, dear. But if we can make some arrangements, then yes. I think it would be a grand opportunity."

"One of us needs to come with you," Nick said in a sharp voice. "Make sure everything’s all right."

"Why don’t we decide that later?" Victoria asked neutrally. "He wouldn’t leave until at least March."

Jarrod looked over at Nick. "You’ll be at your busiest. It can’t be you."

"You, then. Surely the crooks can get by without you for a few weeks."

Jarrod gave a tiny smile. "Perhaps."

Victoria stirred. "Jarrod, if you’d look into dates for us, I would appreciate that. It would give us a better framework for planning."

"Consider it done."

They said no more about it, although Victoria thought the mulish look in Nick’s eyes promised more conflict later. However, today she put it out of her mind, focusing on more immediate concerns.

~~~~~~~~~

"You don’t look any happier about this than I feel."

Jarrod glanced over his shoulder. Nick himself looked drawn and saddened, not surprisingly. With a curt nod Jarrod turned back to his tie, watching Nick in the mirror. "I’m a bit surprised," Jarrod said after a moment.

"At what?"

"Between us?"

"Of course."

"Heath and I spoke, the night he and the others arrived. He’d been so – moody, I suppose: bleak. When I asked him about it, he expressed some…concern about the sanatoria." He met Nick’s narrowed eyes squarely. "He was afraid we’d send him away."

"Send him?" Nick turned and paced away, boot heels clicking sharply on the floor. "Like that would ever happen!" He turned back, revealing a flushed face. "This is why I think this whole thing’s a rotten idea. Heath’s scared we’re trying to get rid of him. Those doctors –" Nick paused and snorted eloquently. "They can’t even agree among themselves what the hell is best to do! Jarrod, Mother’s out there planning some – European tour, and we don’t even know that Heath would make it through the journey!"

Jarrod had finished dressing during Nick’s tirade, and now smoothed his lapels absently, mind working. "I agree," he said when Nick didn’t continue.

"You do?" The surprise in Nick’s voice was palpable. "But -- But this was your idea! This Ralston fellow!"

"I know that," Jarrod replied with a nod. "And I think his methods bear consideration. But in Heath’s case –" He paused, and then shrugged. "I’m not sure it’s the best course."

Nick huffed a deep sigh. "Heath -- Think he liked that first doc. Can’t figure that out. None of those medicines did a lick of good."

"Heath likes the idea that a treatment might be found," Jarrod said gently. "And who could blame him? Jeffries promised results, and quickly. Heath wanted to believe it was true."

"And now?"

Jarrod raised his eyebrows. "Now? I have no idea, Nick. I think there are no easy answers. And I think Dr. Ralston’s ideas hold more promise than Jeffries’ opium atomizers."

Nick’s expression turned tragic. "We can’t send him away," he said, all scorn gone from his tone. "We can’t just – let him go like that, Jarrod. Not and let him think –"

"Then we have to do everything we can to make sure Heath knows – truly knows – this is not exile," Jarrod interrupted. "It may feel that way, and I’m sure it will at times. But the alternative is all too clear. Nick, Heath will die if nothing is done. I’m sorry to be so blunt, but that is a fact."

Nick stood very still, and after a long moment gave a reluctant nod. "You talk a lot, but you always did know how to cut to the chase, didn’t you?" There was no humor in his voice; he sounded throttled.

"Sometimes the bare facts speak for themselves." Jarrod stepped closer to him and reached out to clasp his shoulder. "It’s Heath’s decision, Nick," he said gently. "Once he knows we will support any choice he makes, once he knows this is not abandonment -- Then he’ll tell us how to proceed."

"What if he still doesn’t want to go?" Nick’s eyes were bleak.

"Then he won’t go."

"And he’ll die."

"It’s likely."

"Damn it," Nick whispered.

"I know." Jarrod sighed, and gave Nick’s shoulder another squeeze before releasing him. "Let me speak with him, Nick. He’s spoken honestly with me before. Maybe he’ll be candid again."

"You gonna talk sense to him? May be his decision, but –"

"I won’t say anything to him that I haven’t said to you, or Mother, already. I’m not trying to influence him. Just grasp his thoughts."

After a long moment Nick gave a slow nod.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Making his way down to Heath’s room, however, Jarrod wondered if he could listen to Heath without wanting to put in his own two cents. As little as he liked the idea of Heath traveling to all ends of the earth in search of his elusive cure, he liked the idea of him doing it after coercion even less.

He found Heath sitting in the chair by the window, dressed and ready to go, and Jarrod was struck by the similarities to their first talk, a week gone. Heath glanced over at Jarrod’s entrance, a wispy smile on his lips.

"Time to go?" he asked, moving to stand.

Jarrod shook his head. "Not quite yet." He walked over to stand next to him, gazing out the window. "Turned cold this morning, I see."

"Yep. Listen, Jarrod, wanted to thank you for lettin’ us all stay with you like this. Appreciate it."

Jarrod glanced at him. "You’re my family," he replied simply. "Where else would you stay?"

Heath nodded. "Reckon so."

"Heath." Jarrod leaned his shoulder against the window frame, sliding his hands in his pockets. "When you first arrived, we spoke – much like we are now. I feel as though you were able to be honest with me about your thoughts. And I’d very much like to know if you still feel that way."

Heath’s eyes were tired, but sharper than Jarrod expected. "Reckon you want to know what I’m gonna do," he observed with a short nod.

"I want you to know that it’s your decision. And," he added after a brief pause, "that we will support that decision, no matter what it is."

Faint color appeared in Heath’s wan cheeks. He looked away, staring once more out the window. "Appreciate that."

During the long silent moment that followed, Jarrod bit back the urge to nudge Heath into conversation. Heath gave the impression of thought, his brow furrowed and blue eyes looking but not seeing much. And finally he sighed. "I just ain’t sure, Jarrod," he said, leaning back in his chair. "And that’s a fact."

Jarrod sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. "There aren’t any clear answers," he agreed gently. "Reminds me of a case recently. My client, Sam Bernhardt. He’s –"

"The one you talked about when you come back from Frisco last month." Heath spared him a quick, sharp glance. "I remember."

"Just so." Jarrod swallowed. "It was a difficult case, to put it mildly. Sam Bernhardt was accused of murdering his wife. There were complications, though. For one, he had suspected for some time that she was involved with another man. There were those in the city who insisted that a man catching his wife with another man was justified in anything he did as a result. But if indeed a lover existed, no one ever found him. There were no witnesses to the actual crime. Bernhardt had an alibi, albeit a weak one. And the murder weapon was never found, either. The police suspected a Bowie knife had been used, but Mr. Bernhardt didn’t own one. He was a bank clerk; he had no obvious need for one."

Heath had been listening acutely; now he nodded. "So he was innocent?"

"I had to approach the case believing so, yes. He was my client, after all." Jarrod sighed. "It helped me to compartmentalize, if you will – to stack up the evidence in two categories: those that confirmed my client’s innocence, and those that seemed to refute same. It was the only way to see past the profusion of conflicting evidence." He paused to breathe deep. "Your situation is complicated, Heath," he continued levelly. "There is no way to change that. There are never any black-and-white guarantees, you see? We’re lucky when our course is clear; it so rarely is, in life."

"Ain’t that the truth." Heath gave a slow nod.

"All I’m suggesting is that you consider one thing."

"And that is?"

"Focus your thoughts beyond the here and now. See where you would like to be, a year from now. Envision your goal. Do you have one?"

Heath drew on his upper lip for a moment, face twisted with thought. "Can’t see much, except I’d truly like to be well again. That’s the only thing I can think of."

"Precisely. Now what remains is seeing – and doing – what it takes to reach that goal."

"You make it sound simple. It ain’t, Jarrod."

"I know that. But how else can you proceed?"

"Huh." Heath didn’t nod, but raised his eyebrows. "Your client, this Bernhardt feller – he was innocent?"

Jarrod sat back a little. "I believed so, yes. The jury found him so."

"What if he wasn’t?"

Facing Heath’s calm probing gaze, Jarrod paused, and then nodded curtly. "I try not to think about that," he said in a low voice.

"But you do. Don’t you?"

"Occasionally."

Heath’s gaze left him, returning to study the vista outside the window. "What if my decision ain’t the right one?" he asked softly.

"It will be."

"Wish I could be so sure."

"I’ve often wished the same myself."

"Reckon you have."

~~~~~~~~~~~

When Victoria tapped on Heath’s door, she found him fully dressed and waiting. "Heath, darling. We should leave soon. Jarrod has a cab waiting."

He nodded, and stood. His expression was as bleak as she had ever seen. "All righty."

"Are you all right?"

"Yep. Just been thinkin’."

She studied him, took in the resolute look in his blue eyes. "You’ve decided, haven’t you?" she asked softly.

"When I stacked it all up, why --" He shrugged. "Can’t see any other way."

"So you’ll be going."

He nodded. "You think I’m right?"

"More importantly: do you?"

"I ain’t stayin’ forever." His upper lip curled, unconsciously she thought. "Just long enough to get better."

"To get well, Heath. It’s what we all want for you."

"Reckon so."

"Come on, darling. We should go, or we’ll miss the train."

~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~

Part Two

 Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
Which we ascribe to Heaven.

(William Shakespeare, All ’s Well that Ends Well, Act i. Sc. 1)

19.

February 3, 187_

Dear Sarah,

Hope this letter finds you well. Things are al right here. Much has happened since I last saw you in San Fransisco. Looks like we’ll be leeving for Europe like we talked about, but not for a wile. Wether won’t let us go til April or so. You did not meet my brother Jarrod, but he’s ben taking care of particlars, and says I’m to go to someplace in Swizerland, though I cannot spell it rightly. Closest I figure we’ll be there by middle May or so.

I been thinking of you and hoping that your schooling is going well. How is Dr Jefferys? Do you reckon you’ll be a lung doctor to when you finish up?

Feels funny to be writing, and I am sorry, I am a bad speller. Our family is doing well. Seems everyone has some kind of say in what I’m going to do next, but I belive this to be the best cource. Brother Nick, who you met in S.F., does not like the idea, but he’ll come around. Mother is busy planning for the trip, sister Audra going as well.

I am feling well. Somtimes I wonder if it wil all go away on its own and theres no need for all this fuss. Time will tell, as my mama always said. I wonder, do you think I’m doing the right thing. Wish that I were a thinker like you or brother Jarrod, but I would be a lyer if I said I was.

Hope you wil not think this letter too forward. I relize we do not know each other too well, but I thank you again for yr help wile I was seeing Dr Jefferys. You have been in my thoughts since then.

Yrs,

Heath Thomson Barkley

~~~~~~~~~~~~

With a sigh Sarah regarded her reflection in the mirror. Narrowing her eyes didn’t change anything. She was still pale, pinched, and altogether the picture of the dried-up spinster her mother had already named her.

She picked up the brush and began resolutely taming her hair, avoiding looking in the glass again too often. This hairstyle wasn’t fashionable, but certainly functional. What else mattered?

The door to her room creaked open, and Lenore poked her blonde head inside. "We’re going to the park, Sarah!" she announced in her eternally excited tones. "Do say you’ll come along? This room is so stuffy!"

"Thank you," Sarah allowed neutrally, as she finished pinning her hair up. "I’m afraid I can’t. I need to study."

"Not more studying!" Lenore flounced inside, perching on the side of Sarah’s narrow bed. She was wearing blue today, a sweet cornflower shade that complemented her coloring and made Sarah feel dowdy in her dark gray wool. Or perhaps it would be better to say, "dowdier," she thought glumly. "Sarah," Lenore continued severely, "you will never marry if you keep your nose buried in books all day!"

"So my mother told me, and my sisters." Sarah forced a smile. "But if I don’t study, I’ll never graduate. And as much as I enjoy the classroom I don’t fancy staying there the rest of my life."

Lenore gave a lofty sniff. "Fine, then. But don’t say I didn’t warn you!"

"I’ll consider myself warned, Lenore. Have fun today."

"This doesn’t have anything to do with that letter you got yesterday, does it? Was it from your mother?"

This time her smile felt more natural, and far more secretive. "As a matter of fact, no. It wasn’t."

"Who, then? Oh, Sarah, was it from that man? The gentleman you met –"

"That’s private, Lenore," Sarah said as sternly as she could. "And none of your business. You don’t need to concern yourself with my correspondence."

Instead of pouting, Lenore beamed. "I knew it!" she crowed, jumping up and dashing over to clasp Sarah’s shoulders. "He’s sweet on you, isn’t he? And look at you blushing!"

Lenore’s exuberance made her feel tired. "It’s hardly that," Sarah said a little sharply. "Now, I really do need to study. Please?"

"Oh, all right. But don’t think I don’t know your secret!"

After Lenore made her exit, Sarah leaned back in her chair, sighing. And then, nibbling her lower lip, she reached into the sleeve of her dress and drew out the letter.

Mr. Barkley – Heath, she reminded herself with an odd quiver in her belly – was hardly the sort of man Rebecca Blackwell would have thought suitable for her daughter. Oh, it seemed he had money, and that was a requirement. But he was…different, somehow, from the type of patient that usually frequented Dr. Jeffries’ practice. His speech was certainly not refined, although he was very polite. His clothing was serviceable: clean and functional, without any regard for fashion. A rancher, she’d heard, but certainly not highly educated.

Well, she wasn’t exactly a fashion plate herself, was she? And Rebecca Thorpe Blackwell was at home in Philadelphia, thousands of miles away and in no position to dictate to her daughter who was proper and who wasn’t.

And he had written her, as he’d asked if he could. An awkward, poorly spelled letter, written in an almost inscrutably bad hand, but a letter nonetheless. She strongly suspected Heath hadn’t written many of those in his lifetime, and yet he’d gone to the trouble. And what did that mean?

She glanced over it one more time before refolding it and tucking it away again. Time enough for those sorts of thoughts later. Now she had the limbic systems to review, and an oral examination on cardiac function the day after tomorrow. No matter how charming Heath’s rustic manners – or how blue his eyes – they would not gain her the good marks she needed at the medical college.

But as she took out her texts, she found another small, inadvertent smile on her lips. And when she looked into the glass again, her pale cheeks were pink.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"If that will be all, Doctor? I should be going."

Dr. Jeffries glanced up from his notes, eyebrows raised. "Thunder, is it so late already?" He gave an officious look at his pocket watch. "Well, it is. All right then, Miss Blackwell. Off you go."

Sarah allowed a brief smile. "Thank you, sir. I’ll see you in the morning."

He gave an absent nod, already scanning the file open in front of him.

The weather had gotten colder again, and she pulled her wrap securely about her when she felt the bite of the wind. Glancing over her shoulder several times, she walked two full blocks before crossing over three to catch the streetcar. Both her boarding house and the medical college were south of here, and she didn’t want to risk being seen going north.

The tram wasn’t much warmer than the outdoors, but it had the benefit of protecting her from the wind. She took a seat near the middle of the car, nodding at the woman sitting across from her. Gazing out the window, she watched without interest at the passing wagons and cabriolets.

Curiosity killed the cat, Martha had always said, but curiosity was one of Sarah’s failings. And Aunt Elizabeth had always encouraged that. "Wanting to know things, to understand them, how they work – that is one of the only ways we know we’re different from animals," she’d said the last time Sarah had visited. Already nearly three years ago, but it felt as if she had been there yesterday. "Rejoice in your knowledge, Sarah!" Elizabeth had added, her broad smile in place. "And cherish that curious mind. You’ll need it to graduate!"

Elizabeth had no doubts Sarah would succeed in medicine, just as she had. And privately Sarah thought it wasn’t as hard as she’d feared. A family tendency, perhaps, but she also thought that her professors were not as hard on her as they were, their far more numerous male students. It irked her, but her work with Dr. Jeffries was adding significantly to her preparations. Even if she was by no means certain she wanted to limit her future practice to the exclusive treatment of pulmonary maladies.

Today, though -- She thought even Aunt Elizabeth might not condone what she was doing. But, Sarah told herself fiercely, knowledge was knowledge, and Dr. Ralston’s long furlough in San Francisco must soon be coming to an end. If there was ever a chance to investigate his radical theories further, it must be now.

The streetcar deposited her very near her goal. Outside, she adjusted her hat and drew a deep breath. Onward, silly girl. You’ve come this far; what’s another few yards?

The offices reminded her of Jeffries’: dark, filled with clinical odors. She made for the reception desk and smiled formally at the seated gentleman. "I have an appointment to see Dr. Ralston. Sarah Blackwell."

His gaze sized her up; clearly she was not what he expected. "Let me go check. One moment."

He vanished through a stout door. While she waited, she glanced at the two patients in the reception area. To her increasingly familiar eye, both were end-stage phthisis patients, in their middle years and both with active disease. Dr. Jeffries would have had her administering oxygen, describing his various medicaments. What would Ralston recommend? The sanitorium? Neither of the two looked as if they’d survive an Atlantic crossing.

And how was Heath now? Her first sight of him had been more positive than these. His illness was clear, but his lips not so blue, and his eyes brighter. Fortunate to have been diagnosed early, and to have the advantages of his family’s money on his side. But she had learned, yes. Learned that patients such as Heath rarely retained that early vigor. His letter had indicated he felt well now; how long would that remain the case? Six months, a year or more? And then he would fall ill again, and each time he relapsed his recovery would be longer, and less complete. There would come a day – perhaps not so long from now – when he did not recover at all.

Lips pressed tightly together, she considered that, and was shocked at the sharp stab of fear in her belly. They had only just met. A week and a letter did not a relationship constitute; there were no promises made. And yet the idea of Heath’s suffering, his eventual unpleasant death, was anathema. No, she couldn’t stand around and take no action at all while there were unexplored possibilities. Heath was going to Europe. And knowing that, she would understand what exactly it was that Ralston felt Heath would find.

And if she didn’t like the sound of it, well, she had Heath’s ear, did she not? He would listen to her. She was after all his doctor, or almost. Yes, he would pay attention.

Heartened, she smiled at the gray-faced woman in her garish purple dress, and then turned as the door opened once more.

"Right this way," the man told her, still looking a little dubious.

Dr. Ralston was as she remembered him, albeit slightly shorter than the stage had suggested. He shook her hand courteously, but his eyes were wary. "Miss Blackwell. A pleasure to meet you."

"And you, Doctor." She took the seat he indicated, and waited for him to settle behind the broad mahogany desk.

"May I ask the nature of your curiosity regarding my work?" His muttonchop whiskers twitched.

"I attended your lecture last November. And an – acquaintance of mine will be leaving soon for a sanitorium stay. Switzerland, I believe." She gestured with restless hands. "I suppose I wanted to ask you what he might expect once he arrives."

Ralston gave a sage nod. "Ah. A sweetheart, perhaps?"

She found his smile patronizing, and shook her head. "A patient. I’m a student at the medical college."

"I see. So he’s breaking the bonds of medical hokum and embracing the future. I’m delighted to hear it."

Sarah resisted the urge to give an impatient sigh. "Yes, I suppose you could say that. My concern, however, is for his realistic prognosis. How many tuberculosis patients would you say have truly benefited from Dr. Brehmer’s methods?"

"Why, all of them, Miss Blackwell," Ralston returned.

"Perhaps I should be more specific. Have any – besides Dr. Brehmer himself, of course – found an actual cure?"

He settled back in his chair. "As to that," he said with somewhat less equanimity, "of course I cannot say that 100% of patients find a true cure. Patients begin at different stages of disease progression, and although I will say that I do not believe there are any who do not benefit to a dramatic extent from the application of Dr. Brehmer’s theories, it is true that not every patient is fully released from the specter of future re-emergence."

She could hear beneath his plummy tones a sharp tone, but ignored it. "By ‘not every patient,’ how many do you mean, sir?"

"The exact number varies, of course," he stated huffily, but after a moment continued, "Perhaps thirty to forty percent. I do not advertise this as a guaranteed cure, Miss Blackwell. Only as a better solution than those offered by less forward-thinking physicians."

She rather thought he HAD offered it as a cure, at least by Heath’s way of thinking, but let it go. "At these sanitoria," she asked slowly, "what may patients expect by way of treatment? Specifically?"

A harrumph. "Again, with some leeway for individualized care -- Excellent, plenteous food; daily and frequent exposure to fresh air and sunshine; and of course, much-needed rest."

"No medications? At all?"

He shifted. His look had become thunderous. "As I have stated publicly far more than once, such medicaments as are currently touted to pulmonary patients are less than efficacious. Dr. Brehmer’s own recovery was effected using nothing but what I have outlined. Why would other patients not respond equally well?"

Sarah nodded grimly. "Indeed. But would you not say, Dr. Ralston, that every patient has his or her own peculiar and unique set of circumstances? To expect all to respond equally well to one man’s therapy is surely bordering upon risky, if not outright."

"Young lady, Dr. Brehmer has made the study of this disease his life’s work. Surely a snippet such as yourself would hardly be in a position to second-guess him?"

She could feel her cheeks flushing, but did her best to ignore it. Not the first time a man had responded witheringly to the fact of her gender; nor the last, she was certain. "My concern is for the continued health of my friend, and of those patients I will subsequently see in practice," she told him as calmly as she could. "As such, I feel it best to thoroughly investigate any new treatment protocol, no matter how ostensibly promising it may initially sound."

Ralston said nothing for a moment, clearing his throat, but to her eye he looked a bit mollified. "Of course, of course."

"If I might ask -- How long did Dr. Brehmer himself require, until he felt himself completely healthy and free of disease?"

"Approximately a year."

Her heart sank. A year. Why, before she saw Heath again she would be graduated, hopefully established in her new practice, wherever and whatever that might be. Would he even remember her by that time?

That line of thought was unproductive. Feeling impatient and a bit embarrassed, she forced a nod. "And if at the end of that year, a particular patient is not yet well?"

He gave a small, eloquent shrug. "More time would of course be needed."

"How much more?"

"Some patients have required sanitorium care for several years, it is true."

"I see," she murmured.

"One cannot shoehorn recovery into a narrow time frame, Miss Blackwell." Now he sounded rather as if he were pleading with her. Curious. "It requires what it requires. The alternatives, as you will no doubt agree, offer considerably less hope than that."

It was no less than the truth. Consumptives might linger for years, but what time they had was burdened by sickness, and Sarah had met far more than one patient in her brief time with Dr. Jeffries who wished for their travails to be over and done with. It was a mean, tiring existence. Compared to that, what was a year or two in a clean, restful environment? Even if one had to leave everything behind, put one’s life on hold for an indefinite period of time? In this situation, at least, might the end not justify the means?

"Thank you, Dr. Ralston," she said dully. "You’ve given me much to think about."

His equanimity now restored, he gave her a regal nod. "I wish your friend a speedy convalescence, and a safe journey back home."

It was a kinder farewell than she had expected. She nodded and shook his hand briefly before taking her leave. The foyer was now empty, and the smell of turpentine made her stomach feel queasy. Outside the building, she drew several deep gulps of sea-scented air before turning in the direction of the tram stop.

20.

February 13, 187_

Dear Heath,

Thank you for your letter. I am well, and happy to hear that you are the same. How is your mother, and family? I hope this wretched weather hasn’t reached your beautiful valley.

As for myself, I will sit for two examinations the first week of March, and if those go successfully I will spend a month interning at one of our local hospitals before graduating from the medical college. I sometimes have trouble believing that in only a pair of months I will be a physician myself. "Dr. Blackwell" – I will wonder where my aunt is when they call me that!

I took the liberty of pursuing the question of sanitorium treatment with Dr. Ralston personally, this last Thursday. If I may be so frank, I believe it to be your best course. Once again, I am not truly your physician, although at times I feel myself almost to be. The treatment seems reasonable, and although I perceive that it is both a time burden and a great distance to travel, the end result may well be worth it.

Heath, I know that this will sound too bold of me, but I hope that your journey will be short and successful, and that you will soon return to our beautiful state of California. And I hope that you will write me and keep me apprised of your doings.

Fondly,

Sarah

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a temperate January, February arrived with teeth bared, and bitter cold settled into the valley. Nick worried about the orchards, Victoria revised her early planting schedule, and groused about the frigid ride from Stockton to the house with wearying regularity.

Heath gazed out the window of his bedroom, squinting in the sunlight glancing off the frost, and tried not to think about the fact that he wouldn’t be here to see much of the spring. Always been his favorite season, seeing the green spread out again, trees shaking off their winter hibernation. Time for new calves and foals, and rounding up the stock from winter pastures and sorting things out. It was an old, familiar rhythm, and he felt odd for knowing he’d be missing it this year. Lots of work, but it was good work, pleasant work. Without the prospect of it, he felt lost.

He turned away, rubbing his eyes, and blearily regarded his unmade bed. One thing about this consumption business: it played hell with a man’s lifestyle. Hadn’t been a late sleeper ever, not in twenty-five years, and now staying abed mornings gave him headaches, made him generally feel groggy the rest of the day. Never mind that no one minded it. He did, and that was enough.

He did a halfhearted job of making the bed, not much caring about neatness. Today he felt just fine, and he planned to do something with it. Didn’t need Merar, or Mother, or Jarrod, hanging around moony-eyed and wondering if he oughta do this or that. Seize the day, Jarrod was always saying, and it was good advice.

Nick hollered something downstairs, and a moment later Silas hollered something back. Heath smiled, and reached up to button his shirt. Time to see if there was anything left from breakfast, and find out the day’s business.

Breakfast, he discovered, was long gone; the clock on the mantel informed him it was nearly eleven, embarrassingly long past time. Nick was nowhere to be seen, and the house felt empty. Heath wandered back into the kitchen, surprising Silas, in the midst of punching down bread dough.

"Mornin’, Silas," Heath said. "If it is still mornin’."

Silas grinned and nodded. "Sho nuff, Mr. Heath. How you doin’ this fine day?"

"Little cold to be all that fine, doncha think?"

"Don’t mind a bit of cold."

"That’s right, where you were raised this probably wouldn’t be cold at all, would it?"

"Not so’s you’d notice, nossir. Can I get you some coffee? Some breakfast?"

Now that he was here, he felt odd about disturbing Silas’s work, and not particularly hungry, either. "Just point me to the coffee, Silas," Heath said gently. "Reckon I can see to the pourin’ of it myself."

Silas nodded and pointed a floury finger at the pot.

The strong coffee cleared out the last of the cobwebs, and he grabbed his coat before heading outside. Once there, he saw what Silas meant. Might be cold enough to frost the doors of Hell, but the sun was bright, and the crisp air smelled clean and new. He inhaled deeply and gave a single impatient cough.

He found Nick with half a dozen of the hands, unloading a heavy wagon. Frowning, Heath walked over and crossed his arms.

Nick blinked when he turned and saw him. "Cold out here," he said gruffly, adjusting his gloves. "Sure you oughta be out?"

"What’s this?" Heath lifted his chin. "Oats?"

Nick nodded and walked to stand near him. "Cold winter, and pastures getting pretty thin. We talked about this, doing some winter feeding. Remember?"

He didn’t, but chose not to admit it. "Didn’t realize it was that bad."

"Trying to keep it from getting that way. Jimmy, when you boys are done, go get some grub. We’ll divvy it up later on."

Jimmy nodded, breath pluming in the frosty air.

"Too damn cold," Nick said shortly. "Let’s go inside."

"Not on my account."

"No, on mine."

"Reckon I’ll go check on Charger before I go." Heath gave Nick a thin smile and turned in the direction of the stable.

"Charger’s just fine," he heard Nick mutter, but ignored it.

The horse really was fine; snug in his stall, looking bored and fat and lazy. Heath sighed and looked Charger in the eye. "You ain’t complainin’, are you?"

Charger gave a bovine blink and kept on chewing his oats.

Heath’s wavery smile vanished entirely. Wasn’t right for a horse to stand around like this, getting fat and hardly ever used. Much more of it and he wouldn’t be any good to anyone at all. Wasn’t as if Heath was going to start working again anytime soon. He half-thought Nick would probably drag him off Charger before he could go a mile. And then he’d be leaving, and God alone knew how long it’d be before he came back. Months, maybe a year or more. Hell, Charger wouldn’t even recognize him by then.

"See?" Nick said. "What’d I tell you? Fit as a fiddle."

With a feeling of tired dread, Heath shook his head. "He’s wasted, waitin’ on me like this. And you know it."

"I know no such thing."

"Aw, come on, Nick." Heath leaned against the stall door and regarded him. "Charger’s a working horse, not some stud you keep to breed. If you can’t use him yourself, why don’t you find someone who can? He ain’t happy all cooped up like this."

Nick’s mouth was set in a thin line. "Doesn’t look unhappy to me."

"You know what I mean. It ain’t right." Heath swallowed. "Best sell him, then. Otherwise it’s just a waste." He didn’t wait to see Nick’s expression, but brushed past him.

"Sell him?" Nick’s astonished voice followed him out. "What in the name of all that’s holy are you talking about? SELL him?"

Heath shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat and wished he’d thought to bring gloves. Seemed colder now. "Bob Anderson’ll give you a good price. He said last spring –"

Nick’s fingers dug into his arm, halting him. "Now wait just a cotton-picking second there," Nick snapped. "Hold on."

Heath gave him a rebellious look. "What?"

"You don’t mean what you’re sayin’. I know you don’t." Nick snorted and shook his head. "You got a fever today? Feeling bad?"

"No," Heath shot back. "No, I don’t have no fever."

"Well, then, enough with this crazy talk. Selling Charger. Be like me selling Cocoa."

"No, it ain’t. You and Cocoa still work, Nick. Me and Charger -- Both sitting around doing not much of anything. I can’t, not right now, but he can. And you know I’m right. You just don’t wanna admit it."

He didn’t much like it when Nick got mad, or moody, but he downright hated it when he saw the look of barely hidden dread Nick wore now. "I don’t think you’re right, Heath," Nick said after a moment. "I think once all that Europe stuff is done, you’re gonna be right back here. And Charger’s gonna be waiting for you, right where he should be."

Maybe he ought to tell Nick one of these days soon, about how when he lied, his eyes got all shifty. And he fidgeted, and Nick never fidgeted, not unless he himself didn’t believe what he was spoutin’.

Heath sighed instead, and shook his head. Truth was the idea of selling Charger was like putting a child up for adoption; he felt it in his bones, the dreadful ache of loss. Couldn’t imagine life without his own horse, attuned to him, a partner in the best sense. But it was just as bad seeing Charger out here, bored and barn-sour, a smart, wily, courageous animal reduced to no more than a lapdog. Horses needed working, just like men, or just like men they took on bad characteristics. Laziness was the best of a lousy lot.

"Now let’s get on inside." Nick clapped his shoulder, a lot less vigorously than he would have a year ago, and his false smile was horrid to see. "Too damn cold out here by a mile."

Heath let himself be turned in the direction of the house, and walked silently at Nick’s side.

~~~~~~~~

"You realize, if Heath takes ill again, all this may be for naught."

Victoria glanced at him, and back to her listmaking. "That’s a very morbid thought, Jarrod," she said more calmly than she felt. "What brought it on?"

She heard him shift, the chair creaking beneath him. "What didn’t? Audra’s excitement, all these plans. I’m worried, Mother, and not just for Heath’s sake. All of us gone? What if Nick runs into trouble?"

It was uncomfortably close to her own private thoughts of late. She laid her pen down and looked at him again. "Nick is an intelligent, capable man, and if there are problems, he will deal with him as he sees fit. We aren’t traveling to the moon. And we won’t be gone forever."

Jarrod didn’t look much mollified. "I wish there were a place here in the States. At least on the same continent."

"If you would feel better not going, Jarrod, there’s no need. We’ll be fine."

"Absolutely not. None of you has even made an Atlantic crossing before. And Heath will need tending, and Audra a chaperone -- No. It has to be this way."

Studying his tense features, Victoria felt like sighing, but didn’t allow herself. "As I see it," she began carefully, "we have two primary concerns. Heath’s health, and the continued smooth running of the Barkley ranch and business concerns. We can see to both, darling. But it takes planning. Careful planning."

"I know," he said distantly. "I do."

"Have you decided what to do about your practices?"

"Sam Carr will be here next month, barring any complications." He shifted, steepled his fingers before him. "His wife and children will be following in the summer. My plan was to have him here before we leave, but it’s risky; he’ll be new to the area, unfamiliar with things. He says he’s prepared, and I want to believe him."

"But?"

"No, I do. I only wonder." He paused, and shrugged. "As for Frisco, that office will be closed for the duration. I’ve stopped taking new clients, of course, and nothing on the docket after March the eighth."

"Will it harm your practice irrevocably, taking this leave?"

"Of course not." He shrugged again. "These things happen."

It did seem a remarkably poor time for Jarrod to be leaving on an extended trip abroad. But how could it be helped? To delay the trip meant the added possibility of Heath’s illness making a reappearance, and if that happened, there would be no voyage at all for the Barkleys, not until he’d made as full a recovery as he still could. No, he was well now, as well as he might ever be, and it was only the threat of late-winter storms that kept them landlocked even as long as they were. The voyage would be long and Heath was fragile enough as it was. To delay would be costly, costly in the extreme.

She reached out to clasp one of Jarrod’s restlessly moving hands. "As soon as we’re settled in Zurich, you can come back, darling. Will that put your mind at ease, knowing we’ve arrived and have good lodgings, and Heath is being well cared-for?"

He clasped her hand loosely, and finally nodded. "Of course."

"Then tell me more about this Samuel Carr. He has a family?"

"Four children, all under the age of ten."

She smiled. "A handful. I don’t blame his wife for waiting until he’s settled before coming out."

"I suggested it."

"Good."

Jarrod kept nodding, but she didn’t have to look at his face to know his mind was far from his new partner. "Jarrod," Victoria said gently. "Stewing over it won’t help. All we can do is our best."

He sighed, and gave her hand a brief squeeze. "Speaking of my youngest brother," he said with false heartiness. "He gave me a drubbing last night at chess, and I believe a rematch is in order. Mother, is there anything you need while I’m up?"

"No, thank you."

"All right, then."

~~~~~~~~~

Heath refused his offer of a rematch. And seeing the thunderclouds in his brother’s blue eyes, Jarrod thought tiredly that no one in this family was easy about their upcoming trip. No one save Audra, perhaps, who had been walking on air since finding out she was due for a European trip, and would probably not come to rest until she had her first bout of seasickness.

"Anything on your mind?" Jarrod asked, seating himself.

Heath’s gaze left him, returning to stare out the bedroom window. "This and that."

"Such as?"

"You’re a nosy cuss, Jarrod, and that’s a fact."

"Guilty as charged," he admitted without smiling. "What is it, Heath?"

Heath tilted his head to one side and shrugged. "Worryin’, I reckon. I know we done made up our minds about matters, but think I felt better about it before we did. Not sure why."

"What are you worried about?"

That got him a withering look. "Same’s you, I expect," he said bluntly, turning away from his ceaseless stare out the window and returning to perch on the edge of his rumpled bed. "You gonna deny it?"

"What, that I have some concerns? No, I don’t deny it."

Heath nodded grimly. "It’s too far, Jarrod," he muttered in a low voice. "And it’s too long. Be one thing if it were in California, or Nevada or somewheres. But all the way over yonder?"

Jarrod pursed his lips. "Europe’s not so far away as it once was. The world’s shrinking every day, Heath; the railroad, steamships. At least we won’t be on a sailing ship. Think: an Atlantic passage in two weeks instead of three months? It isn’t as massive an undertaking as you might think."

"Big enough," Heath said curtly. "Ain’t short enough that it’s put your mind at ease, brother. Reckon I feel the same."

Caught out, Jarrod felt uncomfortable. "I never said it was a completely problem-free solution. We do the best we can. What else can we do?"

Heath gave a stiff nod. "Heard from Sar -- Miss Blackwell t’other day."

"Really? The medical student, correct?"

"Yep. She went to talk to that Ralston fellow. Asked a few more questions."

He lifted an eyebrow, impressed. "Bearded the lion in his den, did she? And did she tell you what she thought of his recommendations?"

"Said it was the best thing. That it’d be worth it, if I was well after."

"I agree. Don’t you?"

"Guess I do." But he didn’t sound at all certain. Jarrod waited for a return of the pinched, dread-filled expression he’d seen too often in San Francisco, but Heath merely looked pensive.

"Checkers, then," Jarrod said impulsively. "Or cards."

"Don’t much –"

"Come on, brother Heath, rouse yourself." Jarrod stood, smiling. "’Is there no play to ease the anguish of a torturing hour?’"

"’Nother one of your quotes?"

"The bard, of course. Or Thomas Carlyle. ‘Let me have my own way exactly in everything, and a sunnier and pleasanter creature does not exist.’"

Heath grimaced. "If I say yes will it mean you’ll shut up?"

Jarrod grinned. "Even so," he said softly.

Updated 2/14/05

janissa at sbc global dot net