Pieces of Sky (29 page)

As Rikker rode through the gate, the door into the house opened. Elena stood in the doorway. When Brady saw the tears on her cheeks, the air left his chest.

“Is she all right?” Hank asked.

Elena nodded then held out a bundle of cloth Brady hadn’t noticed before. “I need a box.”

Brady stared at it, unable to move. He knew what was in Elena’s hands and understood what she wanted. He just couldn’t make his body respond. Then Hank started past him, and that sent him into action. “I’ll do it.”

Brady was shocked at how small it was. It barely spanned his open hand and probably weighed less than a three-week-old kitten. How could life account for so little? Instinctively he knew that this tiny scrap of flesh had never drawn breath, had, in fact, died long before Jessica’s fall. But at one time it had held a beating heart, and because of that, it would be mourned.

“Does she know?”

Elena shook her head. “Consuelo gave her a potion to stop the birth cramps. I pray it lasts until the doctor comes.”

“The other one?”

“Consuelo thinks it still lives.”

He started down the steps, then stopped and turned back. “Could you tell . . . ?”

“A daughter.” Fresh tears started down Elena’s cheeks. “
Por Dios
.” She swayed.

But before Brady could react, Jack stepped forward to slip an arm around her shoulders. “Sit down before you fall down,” he said gruffly. Gently he steered her toward the two rockers, scolding as he went. Brady was relieved to see Elena lean into him, accepting his support.

“I’ll get a box.” Hank clumped past him down the steps.

As it happened, the rectangular wooden box that horseshoe nails came in was a fair fit. They even found an unwarped plank for a marker. Rather than take it to Buck to be carved, Brady decided to do it himself. He wouldn’t do as neat a job as Buck, but the plank was only temporary. The next time he went to Val Rosa, he would order a fine stone marker. Maybe something with angels carved on it. Jessica would like that.

An hour later, he trudged up the hill with the tiny casket in one hand, the marker in the other. Hank followed with the shovel and an armful of roses. By the time they reached the top, the sun had slipped behind the ridge and the air had started to cool. Brady pushed open the gate and walked to where Sam lay. Setting the box on the ground beside his brother’s headstone, he took the shovel from Hank and began to dig.

He thought of Sam, and how hard it had been to leave him all alone in this forlorn place, without anyone he knew or loved resting close by. Then less than three months later, he was digging graves for his mother and baby sister, and Sam was no longer alone. Brady had put them to rest next to each other, so they would all be together. He wasn’t sure it mattered, but he did it anyway, because that was the only comfort he could find in that terrible and bloody summer. He hoped when Jessica saw that her daughter rested next to Sam, it would bring her some comfort, too.

Hank wandered the rows, then came to stand at Brady’s side. “Place is overgrown. Ought to send someone to clean it up.”

Brady set the box in the hole he’d dug, then straightened and looked around.

The place did have an abandoned feel, like nobody cared and those resting here were long forgotten. It shamed him that he had let it go so bad. “I’ll tend to it.”

Dusk glided in on whippoorwill wings. By the time they walked silently back down the hill, the last light had faded to a distant glow, and all that remained of the day were wispy pink clouds sliding down the bruised sky like a slow wash of tears.

Fifteen

JESSICA FLOATED ON A ROILING BLACK SEA. SHE KNEW SHE was not alone. Shadowy figures moved around her, murmuring in soft worried tones while she drifted. She didn’t want to waken. She sensed that beyond the blackness something terrible waited, something she didn’t want to know.

Better to float in velvety blackness. Better not to know, not to feel.

Perhaps she was drugged. Perhaps she was dying. She didn’t know.

After a time, awareness intruded. With it came pain, rolling over her in waves that built with every heartbeat, until finally on the crest of an unending surge of crushing pain, she was thrown back into the light. With a gasp, she opened her eyes.

Elena and Consuelo hovered at her head. Dr. O’Grady stood between her bent knees. Another cramp caught her unawares, gripping her abdomen so tightly, it bowed her back. A cry tore through her throat.

Hands held her down, told her to breathe, to relax, not to push. And at last she understood.

It’s too soon, too soon,
her mind cried as she rose off the sweat-soaked bed with an anguished scream.

 

 

BRADY WAS AT THE WOODPILE BY THE LOAFING SHED WHEN he heard Jessica scream—a terrible fearsome sound that sent such a shock through him he almost dropped the splitting maul on his foot. His first impulse was to rush in there and demand they stop doing whatever they were doing to her. His second was to puke.

He did neither. And by the time his nerves settled, he had convinced himself her screaming was a good thing, because it proved she was still alive.

He’d spent a hellacious night. Apparently Doc didn’t understand the urgency in the situation, because he didn’t get his whiskey-soaked carcass there until almost dawn. Then all he did was peek in at Jessica, and announce they couldn’t do anything but wait.

Wait?
Hadn’t they been doing that for the last twelve hours?

But when Brady explained that, and asked Doc what he intended to do to speed this thing along, he and Elena and Consuelo all ganged up on him, told him to quit yelling, and banished him from his own house.
Christ.
So for the last five hours he’d been splitting rails he didn’t need, waiting on a baby that wasn’t his, and worrying about a woman who could barely tolerate his touch. How pitiful was that?

She’ll be fine
, he told himself as he moved to where he could watch the door into the house while he split rails. This baby would be okay. Twins often came in separate sacs, so it was possible for one to be born dead and the other not. At least it worked that way with horses. And often—sometimes—the surviving foal lived. For a while anyway.

As he worked, he thought about how difficult that last birth had been on his mother, and how she’d never seemed to get her strength back. He remembered watching helplessly as she grew weaker every day, until finally, she closed her eyes and never woke up. He didn’t want to go through that ever again.

But he wouldn’t have to, he told himself. Jessica was stronger. She had spirit and a formidable temper. She wouldn’t give up that easy.

Morning passed. Then afternoon. Other than that one awful scream hours earlier, he’d heard nothing nor had there been any word from the house. He couldn’t decide if that was a good sign or not. And it disturbed him that he was so worked up about it.

It wasn’t his baby and it wasn’t his woman. But no matter how many times he told himself that, it didn’t seem to ease the worry in his mind.

By late afternoon his shoulders were a mass of cramping muscles and he’d run out of logs to split. As he paused to wipe sweat out of his eyes, he realized he hadn’t eaten all day. He thought about going to the cookhouse, then decided he didn’t have any appetite anyway, so he went to the barn instead.

His brothers sat on crates near the door, oiling their tack. Busy-work. Their expectant expressions when he walked in told Brady they were as anxious for news as he was. He pulled up another crate to sit on, tipped over an empty barrel for his saddle, then reached for the oil can. It was a relief not to have to worry alone.

The smell of neat’s-foot oil mingled with the scents of leather and horses and sweating men. Bullshot added his own pungent aroma when he wandered in and flopped in the straw. When Brady saw the feather in the corner of his mouth, he poked him with his toe. “You better not be chasing chickens again.”

The hound blinked up at him with sad, soft eyes, then rose and went to flop beside Hank.

“You hurt his feelings,” Hank said, reaching down to scratch behind one droopy ear.

“That’s not all that’ll be hurt if Consuelo finds him after her chickens.”

Hank couldn’t argue the truth of that. They oiled in silence for a while, then Brady said to Jack, “Thanks for seeing to Elena earlier.”

Jack shrugged without looking up. “I did it for her, not you.” When Brady made no response, he added, “She does too much. I told her she shouldn’t work her hip so hard.”

“Maybe she’ll listen to you. She damn sure doesn’t mind me.”

Jack snorted. “Hell, nobody minds you. Not even that damned dog.”

“They would if they had good sense. Pass that bridle.”

“You wouldn’t know good sense if it crawled up your butt, Big Brother.” Jack sailed the bridle at Brady’s head.

Brady ducked, then picked up a cinch strap and sailed it back. “If it’s been up my butt, I wouldn’t want to know it, Sis.”

“I’m going to Fort Union,” Hank said.

Brady froze, an old boot dangling in his hand. He met Jack’s look of surprise, then they both turned to Hank. “What?”

Hank set his rag aside. After snapping the lid on the tin of oil, he wiped his palms down his thighs and looked up. His face was as set as Brady had ever seen. “When this thing with Sancho is over, I’m going to Fort Union.” His expression made it clear he wasn’t asking, he was telling.

“You joining the Army?” Jack asked.

Brady let the boot drop. “He’s courting.” He couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face. “Our Hank is smitten.”

“Smitten? By who?”

When Hank didn’t respond, Brady answered for him. “Melanie Kinderly. She thinks our Hank is a hero come to life.” He grinned at Jack. “Imagine how grand she’ll think he is once we clean him up. She’ll be climbing him like a cat up a pole.”

“I’ll be damned.” Jack leaned over, slapped his oversized brother on the back with enough force to make a small frown appear on Hank’s brow. “You sly bastard.”

Brady’s smile faded as a new thought came. “You’re bringing her back here, aren’t you?”

Hank shrugged. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“On what she wants.”

Jack snickered. “Got you by the short hairs already, does she?”

“Not everybody thinks with their cock, Jack.”

“Then why think at all?”

“Why wouldn’t she want to live here with us?” Brady cut in.

Jack made a derisive sound. “Take a wild guess, Big Brother.”

That got Brady’s ire up. “I’d expect you to cut and run, Jack. But you, Hank? Hell, I always thought—”

Jack lurched to his feet. “What’s that supposed to mean—cut and run—I’m here, aren’t I?”

“For how long, Jack? Until the next wind blows through?”

“Jesus, I can’t do anything right by you! I’m damned if I stay, and damned if I don’t.”

Now Hank and Brady were up, too, and words might have expanded into a family brawl if Doc hadn’t come into the barn.

“Jasus, Mary, and Joseph!”

Brady whirled, his brothers forgotten. He tried to read answers in Doc’s expression, but saw only weariness and irritation. He heard his brothers move up behind him and was grateful to have them near in case Doc brought bad news. “Well?”

“Sure, and I’ve been calling so long I near coughed up a lung. What the divel is all this shouting about, I’m wanting to know?”

“How is she?” Hank cut in.

“Is it over?” Jack asked.

“Is she alive?” Brady demanded.

Doc scratched an itchy spot on his balding pate. “That would be fine, no, and yes. Now where’s the jug?”

Brady was astounded. “You’re not drinking until this is over.”

A hint of desperation flashed in Doc’s rheumy old eyes. “Faith, and it’s going to be a another long dry night, boyo, because your Miss Laudy Daw, being English and of a grasping nature, seems disinclined to give up that babe anytime soon. Now for the love of Sweet Baby Jasus, where’s the jug?”

Brady was about to relent, thinking he could use a wee dram himself, when Elena limped out onto the porch, waving her arms and yelling for Doc.

 

 

PAIN CRUSHED HER IN A GIANT FIST, SQUEEZING THE AIR FROM her lungs. It built with each cramp, drew her muscles so tight she felt taut as a bowstring and her body became a writhing bundle of screaming nerve ends. She wished she would faint, die, anything to end this terrible pressure. Then just before she splintered apart, she felt a searing pain, a hot rush between her legs, and suddenly she felt herself catapulted into numbing darkness and blessed relief.

Later—how long?—she heard the faint cry of a babe. Something moved against her side, something small and warm that fit perfectly in the crook of her arm.

She opened her eyes.

The room was almost dark. Dawn or dusk? Lamplight cast dim shadows along the walls, but there was enough light for her to see the red fuzz on the tiny head by her breast.