Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the TV program Big Valley are the creations of Four Star/Republic Pictures and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended by the authors. The ideas expressed in this story are copywrited by the author.
The Final Surrender ~ Nutterone
Heath hadn’t even been a Barkley for a year. He often found himself wondering how he had come so far, so quickly with this new family. He enjoyed it. As a matter of fact, he loved each and every one, even Nick. His relationship with Nick had been tempestuous in the beginning. Over the months, they had forged a bond and each day it seemed to grow stronger and closer. The relationship with Jarrod was harder. Heath and Nick worked daily together on the ranch. Jarrod worked in town and was frequently in San Francisco. Establishing a relationship, although high on both men’s priorities, proved to be more difficult then ever imagined or desired.
To this end, Jarrod and Heath committed to weekly lunches in town. Heath would bring the wagon to town for supplies and while it was loaded, dine with Jarrod at any number of restaurants in town. Jarrod happened to be celebrating a victory in a rather troublesome case. His spirits were high when he saw Heath enter. From first glance, Heath seemed fine. Upon closer inspection, Jarrod noted a certain slowness of gait and an absence of enthusiasm. It wasn’t enough to draw attention to in conversation, but he knew it was there.
“Brother Heath!” Jarrod stood and greeted Heath warmly.
Heath smiled and nodded. “Jarrod. I see your good spirits continue.”
“Ah, there is nothing sweeter then a just victory. Have you ever considered law school, Heath?”
Heath laughed. “No. I’ll leave that to you.”
“But Heath! You have the right mind for it.”
“I do?”
“Of Course. You’re intelligent, cunning and have an uncanny ability to bluff.” Jarrod grinned like a Cheshire cat.
Heath couldn’t respond. He just chuckled for a few minutes. Finally, he responded. “I think I’ll keep using my skills to parlay Nick’s money at the card tables.”
Jarrod considered Heath’s reply. He began to nod his head in agreement. “Also a sound idea.”
The conversation was brisk and enjoyable but Jarrod continued to detect the faintest hint of hesitation from Heath. By the time they were finishing their coffee, Jarrod knew he had to ask. “So, how are you?”
“Huh? We’ve been sitting here for…” Heath checked his pocket watch. “almost an hour and you ask me now?”
“I was hoping you’d tell me what was up.”
“What makes you think something is wrong?”
Jarrod said nothing, but stared directly at Heath with a raised eyebrow.
“I gotta leave town for a spell.”
Jarrod hadn’t expected that. “Sounds serious. Can I help?”
“No. Nothing serious. I should probably leave tonight, though.”
“Tonight? It certainly sounds more serious then you make it seem.”
“Na. Nothing to worry about.” Heath had no idea why he didn’t want to share this with the family. He knew they would understand. He knew they would help, even come with him. Deep down, he knew that’s why he couldn’t say anything. This was something he needed to do by himself. It was his life, not theirs. He just didn’t want to share this. Heath knew he needed to deflect attention. “So, why did you suspect something was wrong?”
“Wrong? I never said something was wrong.”
“Yes…” Heath stopped, realizing he had been caught in one of Jarrod’s lawyer traps. He smiled. “So, how did you know?”
Jarrod smiled and leaned in. “Just because I don’t work with you every day, doesn’t mean I haven’t learned a thing or two. Nick isn’t the only one who can read you!”
Heath laughed. “I give up!”
Jarrod joined him, “Don’t you forget it!”
Heath rode home and went through a mental checklist of what needed to be done and packed. He debated whether to leave tonight or early in the morning. Running over the list of tasks he was to do in the coming days, he decided he had better accomplish something before he left town. It might go a long way to soothing Nick’s soon to be annoyed nerves. He rode into the yard and immediately set to work on his list of chores.
Jarrod had plans with a lady friend and was not expected for dinner. Audra was visiting friends in Denver. Heath shared his plans to leave in the morning and the remaining family demanded more details, as only they could.
“I’ll be gone a few days. It ain’t a big thing.” Heath concentrated on his mashed potatoes, never meeting their gaze.
“Where are you going?” Victoria pressed him for details, not comfortable with his lack of disclosure.
“Just gotta check on a few things in Strawberry.”
“STRAWBERRY?” Nick hadn’t gone with his Mother the last time but he knew that Strawberry wasn’t good for his youngest brother. Martha Simmon’s lover, known only as Phelps, had tried to kill two people he loved.
“Nick, it’s nothing.”
“Fine. Then I’m going with ya.”
“We got plenty of work to do. It won’t get touched with us both gone. I don’t need ya. I just need to settle a few things.”
“Surely you don’t need to go to settle things, Heath?” Victoria liked the idea of Heath’s journey no better then Nick.
Heath didn’t want this battle. He just wanted the freedom to go. It was one of the things he sometimes missed about his prior life. He recognized it was part of belonging to a family. “This doesn’t pertain to you all. I’ll be gone a few days, nothing more.”
Sensing Heath’s ire, Victoria consented. “Very well, Darling.”
“Mother!”
The glare combined with tilt of his mother’s head warned Nick not to argue further. “I’ll save some work for ya.”
Heath couldn’t help but laugh. “Deal.” Heath pushed back his chair. “I have packing to do.”
Before he could leave, Victoria called to him. “Heath?”
“Yes?” He stopped to face her.
“Always remember.” She paused for emphasis. “You are a member of this family. Everything pertains to the entire family. That doesn’t mean you aren’t entitled to handle them as you see fit. We will always be here, no matter what.”
For a moment, the years fell away and Heath was a child again, sitting at his mother’s knee. “Always remember, my love, I will always be here, no matter what.” She had kissed the top of his head. He shook off the memory. “I understand.”
In his room, he opened the small bible. Next to the news clipping of his father’s death, were a few faded old pictures. The last was a picture of three of the most influential women in his life, his mother, his “aunt” Rachel and dear old Hannah. They all had sacrificed so much to raise him. All three scorned in their own way. Strawberry had claimed another victim.
Jarrod was on his way to pick up Ann Withers. She was the new schoolteacher. He had been instantly drawn to her and there was definitely a spring in his step as he walked to her boarding house. Walking past Arnie’s saloon, he stopped abruptly when Clayton Messer stumbled out from the swinging doors.
“Sssooorrryy Mistah Barkley.”
Jarrod caught the man’s arms to steady him. He couldn’t stop the wrinkle of his nose at the strong smell of stale alcohol.
“No problem, Clayton. Happy to help.”
Clayton tried to sober himself. He drew in a long breath. “I ssuuppose you’ll be headin’ to Strawberry with Heaz.” His head bobbed a bit.
“Um…” Jarrod didn’t realize Heath was heading to Strawberry and it didn’t sit well with him. Clayton had just begun working at the telegraph office. Jarrod debated plying him for information about the telegram Heath must have received. He knew it was wrong to even consider it. Jarrod didn’t have to ply.
“Seems that Hannah woman was a might important to him.”
Jarrod raised an eyebrow “Yes, she is.”
“Was, anyway.” The drunken man lost interest in the conversation and without saying good-bye, staggered off.
Jarrod stood thinking a moment longer. He didn’t like the idea of Heath going to Strawberry alone. If Hannah had passed, the family should go to pay their respects. It bothered him that Heath was unwilling to share this with the family.
Heath set off before dawn. Despite his sadness, he wanted to get this over with. His Uncle Matt and Aunt Martha were gone. He had received a wire months ago. Matt disappeared somewhere into the minefields up north. Martha Simmons had left town alone shortly after Phelps’ death. She had hoped to leave town with him but Heath had shot him dead. She moved on to a new town, working in a saloon. When a man rejected her advances, she fell over a banister in a drunken rage. She was dead. Heath had no tears for her. He suspected his uncle wouldn’t have been the man he was without her influence. He wasn’t calling his uncle a saint but he was a man without a backbone.
Jarrod awoke early, too. He watched his brother ride out from his window. It didn’t feel right to him but he didn’t know what to do either. Jarrod slipped into his dressing robe and stole down to the washroom. Silas made sure there was warm water every morning for shaving. If you were first, it was downright hot. Jarrod preferred the hot water but seldom beat Heath or Nick to it. He was in luck that morning.
The washroom filled with gentle steam. Jarrod shaved and was bent over the basin rinsing his face. As he brought his head up he wiped the steam from the mirror with his hand. He jumped back, his heart racing. He blinked his eyes, hoping to clear the image. In the mirror was a woman’s face staring back at him. The rivulets of water remaining on the glass distorted her features. Her mouth moved, as if calling to him. As he gained his wits, he realized it wasn’t his name her lips formed. It was Heath’s.
Jarrod bent over the basin again, splashing water on his face again. Straightening, he was relieved to see the image had disappeared from the glass. He took several deep, cleansing breaths. He couldn’t help but feel he was losing his mind. He thought about telling someone but he was sure they would think he was losing his mind or at the very least, working too hard.
He didn’t know what to do. The image was clearly saying Heath’s name. He had never been one to believe in the supernatural but he had no explanation for this. A feeling of cold dread coursed through his body. Always a man of logic and reason, it made no sense to him to drop everything and pursue his brother but he couldn’t shake the feeling he was needed. He went back to his room, pushed aside the suit he had laid out to wear for the day and opted for ranch attire. He was going after his youngest brother.
Heath rode through town. He was in no hurry to get to Hannah’s. The sheriff who checked the town and wired him already took care of burial. Hannah was laid to rest next to his mama and Aunt Rachel. It was fitting. He once thought about moving his mama to Stockton to rest in peace but something told him she belonged here, a tribute to her triumph and perseverance. He wanted anyone who wandered through the deserted town to wonder at this mystery woman and her friends. She had never surrendered. She had finally found peace in the empty town.
Strawberry had gone from being barren to deserted. No one lived there anymore. The one saloon had closed shortly after the Simmons left town. Heath stopped in front of the hotel. He didn’t bother to tie Charger to the rail. He wouldn’t be long. He stepped onto the rickety porch. The wood groaned with age and disuse. Out of habit, he stepped over the first plank. It groaned loudly at any weight, alerting those inside to the presence of people. He had learned that lesson well as a child. He never alerted the occupants of his arrival any earlier than necessary. A shiver slithered down his spine as the sound of a leather belt slapping skin rang through his ears.
He pushed gently on the door. He was in no hurry. The decayed door fell from its hinges. Heath stepped over it and into the dimly lit room beyond. He saw the old settee in the lobby and the desk off to the right. Odd keys still hung on cobweb-encrusted nails. Light from the windows highlighted the dust in the air that his entrance had stirred up. He coughed lightly. He knew it was silly but he wanted the chance to look around. With his aunt and uncle gone, he held on to the childish hope that some small part of his mother, some trinket or token, still remained hidden here. She had spent long hours toiling like a slave for her brother. It wouldn’t surprise Heath if they had held back things of hers.
He climbed the stairs slowly, memories flooding his mind, dulling his reflexes. Upstairs he entered a guest room. Its contents had long since been damaged or smashed. A piece of paper caught his attention and he crossed the room to retrieve it. As soon as he had cleared the threshold, the door slammed shut behind him. He turned quickly for the source of the action but saw no reason. Assuming it was simply the drafts of an old building, he continued toward the paper. Bending over to pick the paper up, it suddenly blew across the floor toward the window. He straightened and moved to it again. Just as he attained full height, the blinds on the windows suddenly raised and the sudden onslaught of light blinded him. He felt a cold wind blow past him and a shrill scream rent the air. The hairs on his skin stood at attention.
He picked up the paper and turned for the door, not bothering to look at it. He took a few steps forward and he again heard a voice, this time with more defined words.
“Look at the paper.” The voice was slurred as a snake in a children’s book.
Heath looked down at the paper in disbelief. In shaky handwriting was written. “The Barkley Bastard will die.” Again the cold shudder passed through him. He knew his aunt had no love for him. He knew it was her hand that had written the note. What bothered him was the freshness of the ink. He stepped toward the door and instantly felt the boards give way. Before he could stop himself his legs crashed through the floorboards and barely managed to keep from falling completely through. As he took a moment to gain his bearings, he felt a tug on his legs, as if something was pulling him through. He knew it wasn’t good. The ceilings on the main floor were high. It would be a long painful, if not deadly, fall to the floor. He pushed up valiantly with his arms. He felt himself rising against the opposing pressure. All at once the downward pressure disappeared and a metallic slashing sound coincided with a sharp pain in his leg.
Heath pulled himself up and winced as he saw his leg. From just above his knee to his boot top was a large gash, bleeding profusely. He eyeballed the boards he had fallen through. They showed no signs of having caused the injury. He glanced around the room, looking for some old bedding. There was none. He knew his best chance was the large linen closet at the end of the hallway. He was slightly nervous to tread further on the floors but he needed to bind the wound and quickly. He could already feel the tinge of lightheadedness from blood loss.
He pulled himself upright, putting no weight on the injured leg. He used a broken piece of wood as a cane and continued cautiously to the door. He reached it without incident and turned the knob. It didn’t turn. He pulled harder with no success. He was trapped in the room and bleeding profusely.
“Aunt Martha may just get her wish.” He said aloud to anything that would hear him.
Charger waited patiently for the return of his master. He was uneasy and paced nervously. As the sun beat down on the empty street, Charger’s need for water drove him from his spot. He wandered down streets, checking various troughs. He finally wandered off the main streets. His nose lured by the scent of fresh water.
Charger was nowhere to be seen as Jarrod rode through the empty streets. He had never been to Strawberry but had heard Hannah’s cabin described often enough to know where to ride. Well, he knew at least what he was looking for and knew it was on the far side of town. As he slowly rode through town, he tried to imagine a young Heath growing up here. He tried to imagine his father strolling the once booming streets as well.
He arrived at a small cabin with green shutters and knew it had to be the place. He was surprised to see the area empty. He expected Heath’s horse at the very least. He entered the cabin and took some time to simply gaze around. The windows were closed and the air was stale. The curtains were drawn and only a little light filtered in. Although small and sparsely furnished, he could tell the contents had been meticulously cared for. It was no different than Heath, who took excellent care of his possessions. There were no frills. Everything within the room had purpose.
He didn’t bother trying to add more light. It was obvious Heath wasn’t present, nor had he been. This bothered the elder brother. He walked around the small rooms and lightly touched objects now and again. He was trying to get some kind of impression of the lives the people within had lived. Heath was also so tight lipped about his childhood. Jarrod knew if he could access this information he could strengthen the bond with the younger man.
Sighing loudly, Jarrod said to the air. “Little Brother, you should have been with us.” Although he understood what Leah’s reasons for her secret must have been, it didn’t mean he agreed with them.
A creek from the door caused Jarrod to turn. He watched from across the room as the door slowly closed and from behind the door, a figured stepped from the shadow. Jarrod recognized her immediately from the image in his mirror. His keen, logical mind couldn’t grasp what he was seeing and he blinked several times.
“Who are you?”
The woman stepped forward but said nothing. Jarrod stared at her. Even in the dim light, he knew she was lovely. She had long light brown hair that hung far below her shoulders. She was slim and neat in a simple white dress.
“I’m looking for Heath Barkley. Do you know him?”
The wrinkle of her brow told Jarrod she didn’t know who Heath was and then it occurred to him. “Heath Thomson?”
She smiled and nodded. Her whole face seemed to glow at the mention of the name.
“Is he nearby?”
She nodded again. The whole strange situation had Jarrod on edge. He had no patience for games. “Can you tell me where he is?”
She shook her head. Finally, she pointed to her throat and shook her head. It was only then that Jarrod realized she was unable to speak. “Can you take me to him?”
She stood still a moment, thinking and then before Jarrod’s eyes, vanished. Jarrod stared in shock at the place where the woman had recently stood. He took several deep breaths and walked toward the door. “I think I need a long vacation.” He was only a few steps from the door, when suddenly the woman reappeared. He stopped in his tracks. She reached out to him and took his face in her hands. Jarrod froze as images stormed into his mind. His knees shook and he fell to the floor. Still the woman cradled his face in her hands. She had to help him understand.
Heath wasn’t easily riled but this whole experience in the hotel was quickly raising his ire. He tried the door again finding it still stuck. Deciding the wood was old enough, he leaned hard against the door and pushed with all the strength he could muster. Still the door stayed firmly closed. He slammed his body against the door again and still had no success.
Sensing that he was trapped for the time being, he sat down on the floor and used his bandana as a make shift tourniquet. He sat still trying to determine his next step. He looked over to the window and an idea came to him. As a child, he had often gone room to room via the small ridge outside the windows. He had learned lots of tricks for avoiding his relations. He limped over to the window and fought the old casement until it moved upward. He stopped and enjoyed the influx of fresh air for just a moment. He was just about to haul his injured limp onto the sill to move through, when the window suddenly snapped shut. He yelled out in anger. “IS THAT THE BEST YA’ GOT AUNT MARTHA?” His anger was now at boiling point. “It sure don’t seem very fun to just lock me in a room and starve or bleed me to death. Are you enjoying that? Is that how ya’ want me to go?”
The door opened. Heath knew this was no trick. He’d won this one battle but not yet the war.
Heath had seen a good many unexplainable things in his short years. Hannah used to tell him stories of the spirit world. There were people condemned to walk the earth with out a body. She’d never tell him what they did to deserve such torment but he figured he wanted nothing to do with it himself. Deep in his soul, Heath knew his Aunt Martha was doomed to spend her afterlife in the shell of the hotel that had held her bitter, angry resentment and hostility for so many years. It was her version of hell and she was gonna make him pay for whatever imagined role he had played in her arrival there.
Using his makeshift cane again, Heath ambled through the door and down the hall to the closet. There, as he hoped, he found some old bed sheets. They weren’t clean but they would do in a pinch. He sat down on the dusty floor and cut strips of cloth and then wrapped his injured leg. He was relieved to see the blood clotting despite his movements. He stood up and looked down the hall to the front stairs. It seemed too open and defenseless. He didn’t want to try them again knowing the ghost of his Aunt was out to kill him. He opted instead for the back stairs, which led to the kitchen. He considered arming himself but knew it was useless to fire at empty space. He left his gun holstered.
The stairs to the kitchen were passed without incident. Heath even wondered if he had been imagining the whole experience. Perhaps it was just his mind in conjunction with the ride, the heat and the memories that were creating these delusions. He lost his breath as he entered the room. As with all the others, it as in terrible disrepair and yet in his memories it was alive and full of activity. He could picture his mother at the stove; sweat beading off her forehead. She would always stop whatever she was doing, at risk of Martha’s anger, to hug him when he entered. He doubted a great many things in his life but never his mother’s love.
He moved to the old rusted stove and ran his fingers along the edge. Yes, there was evidence of his mother here in the hotel but it wasn’t anything he could bring with him. He turned to the door, happy to put the place of evil far behind him. For just a moment, he wished Nick or Jarrod were here. As he reached the door, he again found it locked. Having no more patience, he used the butt of his gun to break the glass in the window on the door. As he moved to put his hand through the hole to release the latch from the outside, he hit solid glass. He blinked. The glass had replaced itself as if never broken.
“What’s your plan, Aunt Martha?”
Heath looked into the glass and was stunned to see his aunt’s reflection in the glass. In her hand she held a long knife dripping with blood. He knew it was his own blood. Her face was lined with anger and her eyes had turned pitch black. The image disappeared. Heath turned to check the space just as the knife flew in his direction.
Jarrod lay prone on the floor. He wasn’t unconscious but was unable to move. The beautiful woman’s hands absorbed all his strength. He should have been frightened but he wasn’t. Flashing images passed through his mind. There were no words, only faces and feelings.
He saw his father arrive. He saw the effects of the attack and pleasant walks in the woods with a woman not his wife. He felt the electricity of their first kiss. He saw the look on her face when he told her he was leaving. He felt her joy and sorrow as the baby first moved within her. He saw the loving faces of comforting friends and felt the scorn of unsympathetic mobs.
He looked through her eyes into the newborn babe in her arms. He felt her fear and love mixed into the tears that fell onto the baby’s face. He felt his heart constrict when the toddler wailed for food. He saw the empty larder. He felt the slings of rocks and ache of fists and yet all the while, he felt love. In his ear, he heard laughter and songs. He heard psalms and stories of old. He felt arms comforting him and boosting him up. He saw the blond haired, blue-eyed baby growing into a man, confronting all that came his way with the loving support of the same hands that now held his own face.
Jarrod had no idea how much time had passed. Somewhere during it all, he slipped from the world of consciousness. He awoke to find darkness beginning to descend on the land. He looked around the room for the woman. She was gone. He felt somehow empty. He knew without words that he had met Leah Thomson and she had shown him what he had been looking for. Jarrod had spent months bemoaning the upbringing he thought Heath had endured. Certainly there were hardships but Jarrod now saw that it hadn’t fundamentally been different. Heath had been loved and cherished and it made all the difference. Jarrod suspected that had Leah, Rachel and Hannah not loved the boy so much, he would have never been able to fit into the fold of his new family. In that instant, Jarrod let go the guilt he had long carried but buried deep down.
“Now, where are you, Little Brother?”
In that instant, Leah reappeared, fright in her eyes.
“Heath is in trouble?”
She nodded.
“Can you show me?”
She nodded again. She had no solid form, but her essence turned and led Jarrod down the street. He had to run to keep up with her. He knew something was horribly wrong with Heath.
Heath was able to duck but not completely. He felt the blade slice across his back. The burn of blood as it inched across his back was all too real for him. His frustration knew no bounds. How was he supposed to fight a ghost? He slid across the floor, inching his way to the door into the lobby. The windows were larger there. He might be able to hurl himself through one before Martha’s malevolent phantom could stop him. Ignoring the throbbing pain and growing weakness in his body, he slid forward. He was slithering around the worktable in the middle of the room when a knife landed solidly in the floor immediately in front of him. He rolled aside, wondering how he had managed to avoid it. He stared at it momentarily. The sight of his own blood, dripping from the blade to the floor, unnerved him. For an instant, he felt the coldness of his approaching death.
As soon as he began to move again, the knife vanished. “Great. Gonna try again, huh? Don’t suppose you’re ready to give up on the knife, yet? How about a gun? Want to use mine?” He removed his gun from its holster. He had hoped it would bolster his courage, but it didn’t. “Come on, Aunt Martha! Use my own gun! My brother gave it to me. That would be great irony when they find my body, wouldn’t it?” He knew anyone walking by would think he was quite mad. He was talking to the air.
A chill went down his spine, unrelated to his injuries. The chill told him his aunt’s tortured spirit was near. He braced himself for another attack. Instead, a cold, eerie hissing passed through his ears. “Don’t you see? You’re already dead. The good for nothing bastard has finally been punished. You and I will spend eternity here in this godforsaken hotel. It’s our hell.” Uncontrolled laughter spurred Heath across the floor. He couldn’t allow himself to believe the words in his head. The laughter changed its tone from evil to insane. Heath risked a glance around the room. The ethereal mist was swirling in the corner. In the glass, he could see his aunt caught up momentarily in her own world. She didn’t even know he was there.
He took his chance. He pulled himself off the floor and hobbled to the front of the hotel as fast as he could. In an instant, his aunt was in front of him. He continued his advance, hoping to roar right through her. He would have never believed it. As soon as he made contact with the ghostly being, he was thrown backward. He hit the floor hard and it stunned him. Martha again held her knife and moved in on the bewildered man. He slid farther back as if to avoid her. When he found himself pinned against the wall, he prepared to accept his fate. His arms fell to his side and his hands hit paper on the floor. Inspired, he reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a match. He wadded the old paper into balls and lit them on fire. As he tossed the burning papers around the room, Martha stopped her advance to consider his actions.
“What are you doing?” Despite her otherworldly powers, she seemed unable to handle the flames. They frightened her.
“I ain’t spending eternity here with you. I already spent time in hell with you. I ain’t goin’ back again.” With that, Heath called upon every ounce of strength within him and all but flew across the room toward the window. He could feel some strange effect propelling him forward.
He curled his head into the crook of his arm and prepared to impact the window at full force. Time slowed. He felt his upper body clear the initial glass and stretched out his arms to cushion his landing. Suddenly, he felt a negative pressure on his legs. As flames licked at the walls around the room, he was being pulled back.
As Jarrod ran onto the main street he called out to his brother. “HEATH!” Impossibly, Heath was half through a window and hanging midair. Jarrod caught Leah’s panicked expression and ran to his brother. Heath gave no indication that he knew Jarrod had arrived to help. Jarrod grabbed his brother’s upper torso and pulled with all his might. He was shocked at the force holding Heath in place. He redoubled his efforts.
“Hang on, Brother Heath! I’m not letting go! EVER!” Jarrod hoped whatever was holding his brother was listening. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Leah’s spirit move through the door. Jarrod prayed she could help.
The smoky darkness of the room was split as Leah’s ghost entered the burning hotel lobby. Martha immediately noticed her sister-in-law’s entrance. She did nothing at first, but as the light advanced on her, she lessened her grip on Heath’s legs and Jarrod was able to pull him through the window.
Despite her son’s freedom, Leah continued her advance. She couldn’t speak, but the shake of her head frightened Martha more then the thought of the hell she had been condemned to. A terror filled scream split the air.
The sudden release of pressure sent Heath flying into his brother and both men were knocked from the porch. Heath went limp in Jarrod’s arms. He pulled his brother away from the burning building. Jarrod looked around expectantly for the return of Leah but she was nowhere to be found. He feared she had committed some unforgivable act that had torn her from the peace she had finally found. Had she given up eternal peace for her son’s life? Had she crossed some line?
He looked back to the fully involved hotel and became mesmerized by the dancing flames. To the darkening sky, he said. “Don’t worry, Leah. We’ve got him and we won’t let him go. We’ll continue the love you gave him. I promise.”
Clearing his mind, Jarrod finally took a good look at his brother and saw his injuries. He removed his jacket and wrapped Heath in it. He was torn. He knew he couldn’t carry Heath all the way back to Hannah’s, but he didn’t want to leave him to fetch Jingo. As he cradled his brother in the street, he heard a whinny. He looked to his left and saw the beautiful woman he had grown to respect, leading Charger to them. She stopped just short of him and smiled.
“Thank you.”
She shook her head and nodded to him while placing her hand on her heart. Jarrod understood. He said nothing more, but nodded. He rearranged Heath in his arms in preparation of moving him and looked back up. She was gone. He glanced around and saw her relocated, staring at the burning hotel. He set Heath gently on the ground and moved to her side. The flames reflected in her eyes. They stood silently side-by-side. Jarrod finally broke the silence.
“Is it over for him? Will he find peace now?”
She said nothing, as usual, but smiled. He saw Heath in her face. He had always seen so much of Tom Barkley in Heath. From now on, he knew he would see only this beautiful woman who had sacrificed so much.
Leah turned to walk away. Jarrod called out to her. “Wait!” He looked back at the still unconscious Heath. “He’ll want to see you. Can’t you stay?”
She continued. It wasn’t enough for him. “Will you be alright?”
She continued walking, but from behind him a soft voice with a distinctive southern drawl responded. “She sure ‘nuf will. We be ‘der for her.” He turned and saw two more shimmering figures. He smiled and nodded to the women as they passed him. He knew it had to be Rachel and Hannah. “Don’t you be worrying none about, Miz Leah. She be fine.”
Rachel stopped and turned back to the street where Jarrod stood near Heath. She stopped just short of the men. “He’s yours now. You treat him well. We don’t want to have to come back, you hear?”
A huge smile formed on Jarrod’s face. “Yes, Ma’am! We will.” With that, the three women disappeared.
Epilogue
Jarrod had loaded Heath onto Charger’s back and brought him
back to Hannah’s. He cleaned and
bandaged the wounds. Heath had lost a
lot of blood and would most certainly develop a fever, but he didn’t fear for
his life. He propped Heath onto his
side to spare the cut on his back.
Late into the night, Jarrod dozed next to Heath’s cot and was stirred by soft moans.
“Welcome back!” Jarrod smiled and plied him with a cup of water.
Heath drank and then returned the smile. “What are you doing here?”
“I felt like a trip.”
“Good thing for me you were here.”
“Oh?”
“Sure. I might still be lying on the floor in that hotel.”
Jarrod was surprised. “Do you remember what happened?”
Heath looked at him oddly. “Of course. I was wanderin’ through the hotel, trying to put old ghosts to rest and I fell through the floor.”
Jarrod paled.
“You ok, Jarrod? You kinda look like you’ve seen a ghost.”