Chapter 18

    

     The next two days were repeats of Tuesday, only Heath began rising before dawn so he wouldn’t encounter any of his family members at the breakfast table. How much he was eating, or even if he was eating at all, Victoria wasn’t certain.  All she knew as that when he returned home each night after nine o’clock he looked exhausted, depressed, and sick.  Nick tried to talk to him Thursday evening, but that simply turned into a shouting match that Jarrod had to finally put an end to.  As Jarrod led Nick from Heath’s room and down the stairs the dark headed cowboy raked a frustrated hand through his hair.

 

     “What the hell am I going to do with him?”

     “Well, judging by the hollering the ladies and I could hear all the way in the study I’d say forbidding him to work isn’t the answer.”

     “It might not be the answer, but anyone with two eyes can see he’s got no business leaving his bed.  He can’t possibly be eating, Jarrod, or at least not much because the weight is melting off of him as we speak.”

 

     “So I’ve seen.  Mother and Audra have noticed it, too.”

 

     “I’m more than half tempted to tie him to that bed tonight.  Then we’ll see how far he gets in the morning.”

     “I think Mother’s half tempted, too, but you know as well I do that’s not the answer.”

 

     “Then what is the answer?”

 

     Jarrod shook his head.  “I wish I knew, Nick.  I wish I knew.”

      

_________________________________________

    

     Heath Barkley rode into Stockton at noon on Friday.  The quarantine was lifted on Wednesday as Jake Sheridan said it would be.  Jarrod had returned to work on that day, though not before pausing at the graveyard first to pay his respects to the many who had lost their lives during the epidemic.

 

     Heath knew the noon hour would find Stockton’s streets deserted for the most part.  Many of the businesses closed down for an hour so the proprietors could go home for lunch.  Like Jarrod had Wednesday, Heath stopped when he came to Stockton’s cemetery.  He climbed off Charger, looping the horse’s reins around a post of the black iron fence. He removed his hat and hung it over his saddle horn.

 

     There was no one present when the blond man slowly walked to the vast area of ground that held fresh graves.  The old trees towering above Heath seemed to be offering their own version of mourning as their leaves rustled softly in the summer breeze.  A tear escaped Heath’s right eye as he counted the mounds of dirt.  His heart wouldn’t allow him to continue when he reached eighty.

 

     Heath heard someone walking up behind him.  He glanced at the man but didn’t recognize him.  He felt the stranger stop beside him.

 

     “You’re Heath Barkley, aren’t you?”

     Heath nodded his head.

 

     “I’m Halden Whitcomb.”

 

     Again, Heath nodded.

 

     The man pointed to the graves in front of them.  “And these here are my children.  Neil, Grace, and Emma.  It’s because of you they’re dead.  Because your rich papa wasn’t satisfied with one woman so he had to go lookin’ for another until he found your whore of a mama.  You’re a product of sin and God punishes your kind!  I just don’t understand why He had to punish my children, too!”  Mr. Whitcomb dropped to his knees as sobs overtook him.  “Why?  Just tell me why God punished my babies because of someone like you.”

 

     Heath stared down at the grieving man and felt like he was watching him through a long, dark tunnel.  The sun was burning too hot on his head, and he was suddenly so weak he didn’t think his knees would hold him up.

 

     The cowboy bolted for Charger.  He grabbed onto the saddle just as his legs gave away.  He stood there a long time, breathing hard and smelling warm leather.  When he finally felt strong enough Heath slithered onto Charger.  He refused to look back at the graveyard, but he knew Halden Whitcomb was still there.  Heath could hear the man’s cries for his dead children as he headed down Main Street.

 

_________________________________________

 

 

     Jarrod returned to his office shortly before one p.m. after having dined with some associates at the Cattlemen’s Hotel.  His secretary entered five minutes later.

 

     “I’m back, Mr. Barkley!”  The woman called from the outer office.

 

     “Karen, when you get settled will you please come in here.  I need to dictate two letters.”

 

     “Yes, sir.”

 

     Within seconds Karen entered the room with notebook and pencil in hand.  As she sat down she said, “I saw Heath a little while ago.”

 

     “Heath?”

 

     “Yes. He’s very thin, Mr. Barkley.  So thin and so pale.  If you want my opinion he has no business being out of bed yet.”

 

     Jarrod smiled.  “Believe me, Karen, my mother’s opinion concurs with yours.  However; Heath’s opinion seems to differ.  Where did you see him?”

 

     “He was standing in the graveyard.”

 

     “In the graveyard?”

     “Yes.  I was going to stop and say hello, but then with all the deaths that have occurred in the past two weeks I thought maybe he was paying his respects to a friend so I decided not to disturb him.”

 

     Jarrod headed for the door and grabbed his hat off the rack. 

 

“Karen, forget that dictation for now.  I left the mail on your desk.  Please go through it and answer any necessary correspondence for me.  If I’m not back by three close up the office and call it a day.”

 

     Before the woman had a chance to ask her boss any further questions he was gone.

 

_________________________________________

  

 

    

Jarrod searched most of Stockton for Heath until he finally spotted Charger outside of Big John’s.  The saloon was a favorite hangout of Nick and Heath’s.  If they came to town for any reason it wasn’t unusual for them to stop off here for a cold beer.

 

     The lawyer pushed against the swinging half-doors.  He spotted a couple cowboys from the Circle V ranch at one table, and a lone man he didn’t know at another.  The saloon’s proprietor, John Wesley Briggs, lived up to his nickname.  At six foot six and three hundred and ninety pounds he had the girth of a grizzly bear.  His rust colored beard and thick red hair only enhanced that comparison.

 

     Jarrod picked up the beer John poured him.  He kept his voice low when he said,  “I’m looking for Heath.  Have you seen him?”

     John pointed to a room at the back of the saloon.  “He bought two bottles of whiskey about an hour ago and has been in there ever since.  It’s not like Heath to drink so much.  I was gonna come get you in a little while if I couldn’t convince him to head on home.”

     Jarrod paid for his beer and added a handsome tip.  “Thanks, John.  I appreciate your concern.”

 

     The room Big John pointed to was normally used for private poker games on Friday and Saturday nights. It was the size of Heath’s bedroom at home, and decorated with nothing more than a round table and a smattering of chairs. 

 

     Jarrod entered the room and closed the door behind him.  He paused a moment and studied the man seated at the table.  Heath’s hat had been tossed on a nearby chair.  Without its wide brim shading his forehead one could easily see the evidence of Jim Garver’s fists.  An empty whiskey bottle had been pushed off to one side, and Heath was pouring a shot from the second bottle that was quickly on its way to being empty.

 

     That’s a hell of a lot of liquor to consume in an hour’s time, Brother Heath.  I dare say you won’t be feeling too good come tomorrow morning.

 

     Jarrod pulled out the chair to the right of his sibling and seated himself.

 

     “Mind if I sit down?”

     Heath looked up for the first time.  A silly grin spread across his bruised face. “Jarrod, ya’ know somethin’. Sometimez, without even tryin’, you’re one helluva funny guy.”

 

     “Oh I am, huh?”

     “Yeah.  Like juz now.  You asked...you asked if you could sit down, but you waz already sittin’.”  Heath shook his head and laughed.  “Like I said, funny. Funny, funny, funny.”

 

     Jarrod sat back in his chair and took a long sip of beer.

 

“So, Brother Heath, what brings you to Stockton today?”

     “Had to visit me some friends.”

 

     The slight drawl Heath normally possessed that he’d picked up from his Southern born mother, was now coming through as strong as if he’d been raised in the heart of Dixie.

 

     “Friends?”

 

     “Yep.  Came to pay my repect...repent...repast...my respect...respect, thaz a hard word to say when you’re drunk, ya’ know that?”

 

     “No.  I didn’t know that.”

     “Well, take it from ole’ Heath, it is.  Anyway...” Heath stared at the lawyer. “What’d you ask me?”

     “I asked what brings you to Stockton today.”

 

     “Oh, yeah.  Well see, Brother Jarrod...I hope you don’t mind me connin’ your phrase.”

     “Coining.”

 

     “Huh?”

     “I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘coining’, as opposed to conning.”

 

     “Oh.  I guezz you could be right.  After all, you’re the lawyer and good with them fancy words and such.  Anyway, I came to Stockton to pay my respects to my friends.”

 

     “I see.”

 

     “No, you don’t.”  Heath’s speech was slurred but slow, making the words easy for Jarrod to understand.  “I can tell by the look on yer face you ain’t got a fiddly doggone notion as to what it is I’m talkin’ about.  You know what yer problem is, Jarrod?”

     “No, but I suppose you’re going to tell me.”

 

     “Sure am.  Yer problem is you’re too polite.  ‘Cause if you waz more like Nick, who ain’t polite at all more often than not, you wouldn’t be pretendin’ to know what I’m sayin’.”

 

     Jarrod watched as Heath poured himself another drink and downed it in one swallow.  He’d never seen the blond man drunk in all the years Heath had lived with them.  Heath could hold his liquor and knew his limits.  He’d told Jarrod one time that any fun he’d once gotten out of drinking in excess ended when he was twenty and working at an Oregon lumber camp.  An inebriated logger lost both an arm and a leg in an accident caused by his own drunken hand.  From that point on Heath told Jarrod he’d had a healthy respect for alcohol and never drank to the point it impaired his thoughts or judgment.

 

     Until today evidently.

 

     “Okay, Heath.  Then why don’t I quit pretending to be polite, and just come right out and ask you what you mean when you say you came to town to pay your respects to your friends?”

 

     “Okay.  Ask me.”

     “I just did.”

     “Oh.”  Heath thought a long minute, took another drink, then thought again. “What waz the question?”

     Jarrod took a deep internal breath.  “Why did you come--”

     Heath started laughing a drunken, silly laugh that was unfamiliar to his brother.

 

“I was juz joshin’ ya’, Jarrod.  See, I can be a funny guy, too.  Now, the answer to your question is...I came to pay my respects to the people I killed.”

    

“Heath--”

    

“I guezz a person can’t really call ‘em my friends.  I suppose I don’t even know a lotta of ‘em.  But Mr. Whitcomb...he waz there and he told me I killed his children.  Neil...and Grace...and Emily...no, thaz wrong.   Emma.  Her name was Emma. So I reckon now if I know their names that makes ‘em my friends.   But they can’t be my friends for long ‘cause Mr. Whitcomb was mad that I took his babies from ‘em.  Course that came as no surprise to him ‘cause I’m a product of sin, ya’ know.  Thaz what he said.  He announced it to the whole entire graveyard, he did, though I don’t ‘spect anyone heard ‘em cause all those in attendance was already layin’ down and restin’ in peace, as the sayin’ goes.  But hell, whaz that guy take me for, some kinda’ fool?  I already know I’m a product of sin.  Been told that damn near all my life.”

 

     Heath poured himself another glass of whiskey.  Jarrod pushed the bottle aside, hoping if his brother had to reach very far for it he’d leave it be.

 

     “Heath, please. You’ve had enough.  Let me take you to my office and we’ll talk.”

 

     “Talk.”  Heath sat back in his chair and shook an unsteady finger at is brother.  “Talk, talk, talk.  Thaz all you Barkleys do.  Howdy boy, I...”  Heath laughed again. “Did you hear that, Jarrod?  I said howdy boy when I meant to say boy howdy.”

     “I heard it.”

 

     “I kinda like it, though.  How ‘bout you?  Kinda gives a new twist to an old ex...ex...ex...”

 

     “Expression.”

 

     “Yep.  Expression.  Thaz another hard word to say when a body’s half looped.  Anyway, I don’t wanna talk.  You people do enough talkin’ to last me a lifetime.  When I first came to stay with ya’ all, I wondered on some days if any of ya’ ever shut up.”

     “Yes, I suppose you did.”  Jarrod smiled as he thought of how quiet Heath had been back then.  Not that one would consider him a talkative man now...or at least not when he was sober, but he’d sure come a long way in learning to contribute to a conversation during the three and half years he’d been with them. 

 

     “Especially Nick,” Heath went on to say.  “Blah, blah, blah.  I wonder if he knows that more often than not when he gits goin’ real long-winded like, and is wavin’ his fists in the air like a crazy man, all I hear is blah, blah, blah.  Whatever he’s really sayin’ I juz tune right out.”

 

     “I don’t blame you.  Sometimes I do the same thing myself.”

 

     Heath groped for the liquor bottle.  Without pouring another drop in his glass he took a long swig.  “But now unerstand this, I don’t mean to sound ungraceful.”

 

     “Grateful.”

 

     “Thaz what I said. Ungraceful.  ‘Cause I ain’t ungraceful, ya’ know.”

 

     “I know that, Heath.  We all know that.”

 

     “I’m pissed as hell, though.  Pissed at all of you for keepin’ secrets from me.  I wanna tell your mother that, but when I do I won’t use the word pissed in front of her.”

 

     “Thank you.  I’m sure Mother will appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

 

     Heath slouched in his chair, cradling the liquor bottled against his chest and staring at the smooth surface of the table.  “She’s a good woman, yer mother.  I waz like a wild stallion when I came to your place.  Unbroken and untamed. Didn’t think any woman had it in her to gentle me.  But yer mama did.  Your mama...well now she surely did.”

 

     Jarrod found it ironic that Heath would use that particular analogy.  His mother had said almost the same exact words to Jarrod one time when she told him, “Heath was like a skittish stallion that simply needed a little gentling. A little gentling and a lot of love.  Underneath all that anger I saw a first place winner, Jarrod.  A first place winner just like all Tom Barkley’s children.”

 

     The lawyer patted Heath’s elbow until Heath made eye contact with him.

 

     “And Mother thought you were a prize, Brother Heath.  She saw the person you could be from the very first day you walked onto the ranch.  Now, speaking of our mother, what do you say we head home?”

 

     “She’s not my mother.”

 

     “Pardon?”

     “Nick.  He made that clear the other night.  She’s not my mother.”

 

     “Heath, Nick never said anything like that to you.  At least not that I’m aware of.”

 

     “Yez he did.  He said...he said...let me think a minute ‘cause I mighta’ tuned him out.  No...no wait.  I didn’t tune him out ‘cause what he said was too important.  He said I wasn’t to talk to his mother that way. His mother.  Not our mother. His mother.  Your mother.  I don’t have a mother, you know.  Nor a father either.  I’m an orphan.”

 

     Jarrod could see this was going to rapidly turn into a pity party he had no intention of participating in. 

 

“Heath, you’re being ridiculous.  You’re not an orphan.  You have three brothers and one sister, which completely eradicates the definition of orphan in my opinion. You have a family, Heath. A family that cares about you very much.”

As quick as Heath’s morose mood came it left him.  “Eeeeeeeradicates.  Howdy boy, I sure do like it when you use them big words.”

 

     “And another thing,” Jarrod stated while ignoring his brother and barely pausing to take a breath, “what Nick said to you he would have said to any of us who were speaking to Mother in the tone you were using.  He was simply letting you know you needed to back off a bit and give yourself time to cool down before you said something you’d come to regret.”

 

     “No, no, no,” Heath shook his head.  “He said his mother.  I know what he meant, Jarrod.  And what the hell, I don’t blame him none.  I can pretend Victoria Barkley is my mother, I can tell people Victoria Barkley is my mother, but let’s face it. It just ain’t so no matter how much I might want it to be.”

 

     “And do you plan to tell Victoria Barkley that?”

 

     Heath looked at his brother with a dull, drunken haze to his eyes.  “Huh?”

 

     “Do you plan to tell our mother what you just said?”

     “No.  Ain’t got no reason to.”

 

     “Well, I wish you would because I think she’d set you straight on a number of issues where that’s concerned.”

 

     “She’d juz lie to me.  Juz like she did when I waz sick.  She’d juz say what she thinks I wanna hear.  But no matter.  I’m tough.  I can take it.  I been hurt so much in my life by people, and by their words, and by their lies, that there ain’t hardly room left to hurt me anymore.”

 

     “Heath--”

 

     The blond man plunked the whiskey bottle on the table, grabbed his hat, and staggered to his feet.  “Come on, Jarrod.  You’re drunk.  Lez git you home.”

 

     Jarrod watched dumbfounded as his brother somehow managed to walk a straight line through the saloon, swing himself up on Charger with his usual grace, and head for the ranch. 

_________________________________________

 

 

     Long after supper had been eaten that evening four grim faced Barkleys sat around the dining room table. Jarrod waited until Jessybell had cleared the dishes away before bringing up the subject of Heath, and the encounter the lawyer had with him in Big John’s that day.  Jarrod had spent years memorizing testimonies as told to him by clients, therefore he had no trouble recounting almost word for word the conversation he’d had with his brother.  When he was finished Nick pounded a fist on the table.

 

     “I didn’t mean anything by it when I told Heath not to talk to ‘my’ mother that way!  For the love of mike, from the day Mother told us she asked Heath to call her mother I pretty much forgot he hadn’t grown up right here with us!”

 

     “Nick, at any other time in his life Heath knows that,” Jarrod said.  “It’s just that right now...well after talking to him today, or hearing him talk rather, I’ve come to the conclusion he’s carrying more pain and guilt inside than any of us can imagine.  That alone can cause a man to misconstrue nearly every innocent comment that’s made to him.”

 

     Nick and Audra continued to pepper their brother with questions about what Heath had said in Big John’s, then began offering suggestions they thought might aid in Heath’s emotional recovery.  Only Victoria remained silent.  When Jarrod finally turned his attention to his mother she appeared distant and far away, as though she was lost in deep and troubling thought.

 

     “Mother?”

     The woman took her steepled fingers away from her mouth.  “Yes, Jarrod?”

     “You must have some thoughts on all this.  Nick, Audra, and I have just batted around every idea we can come up with to help Heath, what about you?”

 

     The woman took in her three offspring.  Their faces were so full of hope, as though she was going to dispel some sort of vast maternal wisdom that would make everything all right by tomorrow morning.

 

     “I wish I had an easy answer, but I don’t.  From what Jarrod tells us I have a son who spent part of his day standing in a graveyard unjustly blaming himself for those who have been taken from us by an act of God.  I have a son who was once again told he’s no good and is the product of sin; something that’s been said to him far too many times in his life.  I have a son who called himself an orphan, which indicates to me that right now he feels very alone and bereft.  I have a son who’s ‘pissed as hell’ at me but doesn’t think he has the right to tell me that.”

 

     The siblings exchanged smiles at their mother’s attempt at humor.  Victoria Barkley was every ounce a lady, but she was full of vinegar, too, and a few vulgar words as spoken by a drunken cowboy barely earned a raised eyebrow from her on most occasions.

 

     “I have a son who’s been hurt so many times by lies and deceit that he doesn’t realize, for the sake of his health, we had no choice but to deceive him where this issue was concerned, and he may never come to realize that.  But most of all I have a son who is pushing his family away at a time when he needs them more than he ever has.  But how I get that son to turn to me, or to any one of you, before he allows unjust guilt and blame to destroy him from the inside out, I don’t know.  I just don’t know.”

 

     Audra squeezed her mother’s hand when she saw Victoria swipe at a lone tear.  Nick finally broke the silence they’d fallen into.

 

     “If you want my opinion we have to talk to him.  All of us. Tonight.  Like Jarrod, I’ve never known Heath to drink to the point that he’s drunk.  Not once in all the time he’s lived here have I seen him turn to liquor when something’s bothering him.  Not once have I seen him drink more than he should regardless of whether he’s happy, sad, angry, upset...whatever.  We can’t let him start using the bottle as a way to hide from his pain.  I’ve seen too many good men ruin their lives with that method.  I won’t let my brother start down that path.”

 

     “Nick’s right,” Jarrod agreed.  “We have to make Heath understand that it’s okay to hurt, okay to be angry, and okay to feel pain when he thinks about those who lost their lives to this epidemic.  But at the same time we have to make him understand that we’re the people he needs to lean on to get him through this.  We all know he’s a hard nut to crack.  Each one of us has come to respect that he’s a soft-spoken man who keeps many of his thoughts and feelings to himself.  We’re certainly not going to be able to change that about him, and I doubt any of us really want to.  It’s those qualities that make Heath the person he is.  But if a simple fishing trip with me and Nick will help him heal a little bit then he needs to know we want him to tell us that.  If spending a week at the lodge with Mother will help him get past some of the pain and grief, then again, he needs to know he can tell us that.  If going riding every evening with Audra will somehow help him come to terms with all this, then we need to know that.  If he wants to go to San Francisco for a couple weeks and stay at my apartment just for the opportunity to get away from here, then once again, we need to know that.”       

 

     Victoria gave a thoughtful nod.  “It might work, Jarrod.  If nothing else it’s a place to start.  He enjoys doing all those things you suggested.  And by far the last thing he should be doing right now is working, so if a fishing trip is in order, or a week at the lodge, or time in San Francisco, then I say let’s give it a try.”

     “It can’t hurt,” Audra agreed.  “One thing I’ve learned about Heath is that he’s more likely to open up and reveal his thoughts and feelings if he’s with just one person, as opposed to being in a group.”

     Victoria and her sons nodded at the truth to Audra’s words.  Before anyone had a chance to speak again the family heard the front door open.  Victoria recognized the sound of a gun belt being laid on the table in the foyer, and could picture Heath’s hat joining it.  Jarrod looked from one family member to another.  When no one voiced any objections he stood and walked through the parlor.  When he came to the foyer Heath was just turning for the stairway.

 

     “Heath!  Glad to see you’re home.”  The lawyer’s tone was cheery and inviting.  “Come on in the dining room and eat.  Your supper awaits you.”

 

     The absence of anyone in the study or parlor indicated to Heath that more than his supper awaited him in the dining room. 

 

     Counselor, I’m sick, I’m tired, and I’ve got the mother of all hangovers.  Can’t you people just leave a man be?

 

     “Ain’t hungry.”

 

     Jarrod walked over and put an arm around Heath’s shoulders.

 

     “Well ‘ain’t hungry’ isn’t acceptable.  Not in this house. Not for a man who’s been sick and is insisting on putting in a full day of work before the doctor even wants him out of bed.”

 

     If Heath was healthy and at his full strength there was no way Jarrod was a match for him in terms of a physical confrontation.  But the blond man was far from either one of those things, and he had no doubt if he tried to flee up the stairs Jarrod would simply chase him down and bring him back.

 

     In order to avoid making the day any longer than it already had been, Heath gave in to his brother.  As Jarrod led him to the dining room Heath was already calculating how little he could get by with eating to please Victoria, and how quickly he could consume it before claiming fatigue was forcing him to call it a night.

 

     As the two men entered from the parlor Audra came from the kitchen bearing Heath’s plate and a glass of milk.  Roast chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and corn were heaped high.   Audra sat the food and drink in front of her brother while placing a napkin and silverware off to the side.

 

     “Can I get you anything else, Heath?  A slice of bread or a cup of coffee?”

 

     “No.  This is fine.”

 

     Heath’s stomach flip flopped as the smell of warm chicken wafted to his nostrils.  God, did he have a headache.  He’d only made matters worse after he’d sobered up that afternoon by forcing himself to work twice as hard repairing fences in penance for his noon time foolishness.               

     The blond cowboy resisted the urge to massage his forehead. He hunkered over his plate with hunched shoulders and took a stab at his chicken.  Victoria immediately recognized the body language.  This was Heath’s way of saying he was angry and had no intention of taking part in the conversation that was about to ensue. Jarrod and Nick exchanged glances.  They recognized the meaning behind those hunched shoulders as well.

 

     Jarrod started the discussion, but that didn’t surprise Heath.  Jarrod the wise one.  Jarrod the peacemaker. Jarrod the confidant.  Jarrod the father figure and male head of the family. 

 

     Jarrod’s tone was quiet and full of gentle understanding.  So many times since Heath had come to live with his father’s family he had appreciated that tone and the sincerity behind it.  But tonight he just wanted Jarrod to shut up. 

 

     Where Jarrod left off Nick began.  Now the voice that spoke had more volume, but still the words were kind and sympathetic.  Or at least kind and sympathetic until Nick started to lose his temper over the fact that Heath was staring at his food and not acknowledging the conversation in any way.

 

     Jarrod shushed Nick as Heath knew he would.  Audra tried next.  His little sister oozed enthusiasm as she offered to go on a long ride with him, or pack a picnic lunch, or maybe they could spend a day swimming in the Diamond River.

 

     Jarrod suggested a couple weeks in San Francisco.

 

     Nick proclaimed a fishing trip was what the Barkley brothers needed.

 

     Or how about time at the lodge with Mother, was Jarrod’s next idea.

 

     Or with all of us - the whole family, Nick was quick to add.

 

     Their words seemed to assault Heath from all directions.  It was times like this that he longed for the little house in Strawberry.  Compared to this house it wasn’t much more than a shack, and God knows he was dirt poor back then, but he had his mother.  The woman who understood him about as good as any woman ever had.  She respected his silences.  She didn’t try to make him talk when he would rather keep to himself.  She didn’t think sitting at the supper table meant having to engage in useless chatter the way these people often did.  Sometimes Heath enjoyed the banter and teasing that went on when he sat down for a meal with his siblings and stepmother, but when he just wanted to be alone with his thoughts he resented his family for trying to force him to participate in their conversations. He’d learned over the years, that they seemed to take it personally if he had nothing to contribute.  So, out of respect for all they’d done for him, he generally said something at every meal whether he wanted to or not.  Nonetheless, that didn’t mean that at times he didn’t resent what he perceived to be their lack of respect for him.  As though he had no right to private thoughts and feelings he had no desire to share.

 

     It was Victoria who finally put an end to the conversation.  She’d remained a silent observer through it all and had no doubt Heath was blocking out everything being said to him.  Blah, blah, blah, as he’d told Jarrod that day in the saloon. Heath might not have been aware of it, but there was, in fact, one other woman who understood him as well as Leah Thomson had.

 

     The family matriarch held up her hand.  One by one her children heeded her signal and grew silent.  She settled her gaze on Heath. He’d swallowed exactly three bites of chicken and half his milk.  Now he was doing nothing but pushing his food around on his plate while he stared at the tablecloth.

 

     “Jarrod...Nick...Audra. There’s no point in saying anything else to your brother.  He’s decided he’s not going to listen so we might as well call this conversation finished.  Isn’t that right, Heath?”

 

     Heath finally lifted his head.  He looked at Victoria as he stood. 

 

     “Yeah, that’s right.  I’m goin’ to bed.”

 

     Heath headed for the kitchen and the back stairs.  Nick stood to follow.

 

     “Now you just wait one cotton pickin’ minute there, Heath!  I wanna talk to--”

 

     “Nick, leave him be,”  Victoria said.

 

     “But--”

     “It won’t do you any good. From the moment Jarrod brought him in here he wanted no part of any of us.  You could see it in his face. You could see it in the way he sat.”

 

     Nick heaved a sigh of frustration before easing himself back to his chair.  “So what do we try next?”

 

     “I wish I had an answer for you, son.  One thing I do know is that we have to come up with something and come up with it quick.”

 

     “What do you mean, Mother?” Audra asked.

 

     “His eyes.”  Victoria looked from her daughter to her sons.  “When I looked into his eyes as he stood to leave the table all I saw was pain, and sorrow, and fear.”

 

     “Fear?”  Nick questioned.

 

     “Yes, fear.”

 

     “But what is he afraid of?”

     Victoria had to swallow hard to talk past the sudden lump in her throat.

 

     “I think he’s afraid to go on living, Nick.  I think...I think he wants to die.”

 

     What made Victoria’s statement all that more prophetic, was that none of her children could dispute it.

    

_________________________________________

 

 

     It was ten minutes after four on Saturday morning as Heath walked down the front stairs.  He had full saddle bags thrown over his right shoulder and was carrying his bedroll and boots.  When he got to the foyer he bent and pulled the boots on.

 

     The first faint rays of dawn were starting to break upon the outside world.  There was just enough light coming in through the windows to see by, though the house was still heavily bathed in nighttime shadows.  Heath propped a folded piece of paper against the vase that sat on the round table, then turned for the door.  He hadn’t taken more than two steps when a voice spoke from the parlor.

 

     “Going somewhere?”

 

     The man took a deep breath and turned.  Victoria, dressed in her pink satin robe, stepped into the foyer.

 

     “I asked you a question, Heath.”

 

     “Yeah, I’m goin’ somewhere.”

 

     “Where?”

 

     “I...I don’t know. I’m just gonna be gone for a few days.”  The man pointed to the table.  “I left you a note.”

 

     “I see that.”  Victoria walked over and retrieved the paper.  She unfolded it and read out loud, “I’ll be gone for a few days.  Heath.”

 

     The woman looked up at her son.  “Much like you, your notes never waste any words.  Though usually they start with ‘Dear Mother’ and end with ‘Love, Heath’.”      

     Heath shrugged.

 

“I didn’t have time to write all that.  I wanna get movin’.”

 

     “You want to get moving, or you don’t want to get caught by your family sneaking out of the house?”

 

     Heath’s temper flared, but he remembered to keep his voice low.  The last thing he needed was Nick flying down the stairs. 

 

     “I’m not sneaking.  I just wanted to get an early start.”

 

     “And why didn’t you tell us this last night when we were all sitting together at the table?  Why didn’t you tell us then, that you were going away for a few days?”

     “Didn’t feel like talkin’.”

 

     “I got that impression.”  Victoria paced the floor in front of her son.  “Heath, when you were sick I made some decisions concerning what was best for your health that you’re quite angry with me about.  Isn’t that true?”

 

     “Ain’t angry with no one.”

 

     “Oh, I think you are.”  Victoria stopped and turned to look her son in the eye.  “As a matter of fact I know you are, otherwise you wouldn’t have told Jarrod you’re ‘pissed as hell’ at me.”

 

     If Heath was shocked over Victoria’s choice of words he didn’t show it.  His eyes narrowed in fury.

 

     “Jarrod should keep his big mouth shut.”