When Henry Came Home (49 page)

             
"Me?" Joey fumbled for words. "I—I'm not sure. I got schoolin', but only for a couple years more. Brian—my brother—he's already workin' with Pa all the time. I got this job, here with Henr—Mr. Peterson, and I like that."

             
"But he won't be around forever."

             
Joey looked at him, sharply, then away.

             
"Sorry, boy, I know you admire him, and if you'll believe me after that, I love that man more than I would a brother. But it's the truth, you see that and so does he. You're around him some—how long's he been like that, so weak he can hardly stand?"

             
Joey swallowed and unclenched his jaw, fighting a strange anger that flared inside. "M-maybe—three months."

             
"And he's not getting better, is he?"

             
Joey swiped fiercely at one eye. "No," he bit out, snapping the reins to go faster.

             
Edward was suddenly soft, realizing the depth of his attachment. "I'm sorry, boy—I am. And I'm havin' you take me in to town today so maybe I can help him, trust me." He waited, judging. "But—to what I was saying first—what do you plan to do?"

             
Joey shook his head. "I don't know."

             
"Ever thought about college?"

             
He nodded, blinking. "The money's too much, though," he said.

             
"What if you did have the money, though? What would you do?"

             
"I—s'pose I'd work on trains. Build them, I mean."

             
"Well—and engineer, then," Edward substituted, light. "So—you would go, then, if you had the money?"

             
Joey wondered if the man were altogether there. "Of course, sir," he said, obviously.

             
"What if I were to give you the money?" He held up his hand at Joey's gaping mouth. "No, listen. I'm very well off—rich, I suppose you would say. Engineering pays well. I haven't got any children, no family, and to tell the truth, boy, Henry is my one and only friend in this world. There's nothing I want to do with my money. What do you say?"

             
"Well—sir—I don't know if I quite believe you." He paused. "And—besides that—I couldn't go 'til—well, I don't know when. Henry needs my help."

             
"All right, boy, I understand. And I am in earnest. I will provide you with the money for a university if and when you want it."

             
Joey pulled up at a hitching post along the main street in town. "Well—uh—thank you, sir. I—I'm not for certain what to say."

             
Edward shook his head and climbed down. "Not a thing, for the moment." He looked around at nothing. "Could you direct me to—well, wait. I'll see the doctor first. Where's his office?"

             
"Uh—that way, sir." Joey pointed.

             
"Well, that doesn't help. To my right or my left?"

             
"Your right, sir, on this side of the street. The walk is just behind you."

             
Edward thumped the side of the buckboard. "Thank you, boy. That'll do fine. How about you meeting me here at—" he took out his pocket watch and squinted at the face. "How does four sound?"

             
"Fine, sir."

             
"All right." He turned, tossing a hand up in a quick wave. "Four, then."

             
It took him a little over fifteen minutes to locate the doctor's office, but, considering the distance and the place, Edward was satisfied with himself. He knocked on the door and was answered with a gruff "Come in!" which he obeyed, shutting the door behind himself. It was a little warmer in the office than outside, and he had a notion to take his coat off before he remembered the things in his pockets.

             
The office was a small, cluttered place, as far as he could tell, and, judging from the light coming through a doorway, there was probably a larger room for examinations and operations in the back.

             
Doc, bent over paperwork at his desk, grunted. "Sit down," he said.

             
Edward gave a wry half-smile. "Could you tell me where the chair is? I'm a little better than blind, but that's about all, and I don't want to knock over anything."

             
"Take a few steps forward—there."

             
Edward looked down, and the chair came in to focus. He stepped around to the proper side and sat down. "Thank you."

             
"But if you're lookin' for better glasses, man, I haven't got the getup." He looked up, finally. "Do I know you?"

             
"Might be that you do. I lived over in Hickory, growing up. I was a friend of John Peterson."

             
"Ah! The Malley boy!" he closed the ledger and sat back. "Stayed with the Jacobs' awhile, if I remember."

             
"Yes."

             
"Well then—what can I do for you?"

             
"I'm staying over at Henry's now—"

             
Doc got up, his motion quick and angry. "I've done ever'thing in my power to help those folks, man—don't go askin' for what I can't give!" He swiped the ledger off the desk, knocking over a few dark bottles, and stuffed it into a bookshelf off to the left.

             
Edward twisted in the chair, following Doc's form. "I'm not going to," he said.

             
Doc began to clean up, furiously, dropping bottles onto shelves and instruments into tin glasses. "I ain't God, and He knows I've done ever'thing short of sellin' my soul to help." He shot out a finger at a set of books, piled one on another. "See those?"

             
"Can't say I--"

             
"I've searched through every one—ever'thing from ice baths to howlin' at the moon Friday nights. Damn it, you don't ask a man like that to give up his pride for the sake of a few more breaths." He stopped, finally, puffing, and went back around to his seat behind the desk, but didn't sit down.

             
"Would—anything, in there, help, if he did?"

             
Doc's fist came down on the desk and everything on it jumped a quarter of an inch. "No!" he roared.

             
"All right. I'm not—please—I'm not questioning you. Hear me out." He waited, and after a moment Doc sat, still breathing heavily. To give him a little more time to cool, he took off his glasses and polished them on a pant leg, mostly by feel. "I only came to ask how long it's been since you've seen him," he said at last

             
Doc figured. "Nine—mm, ten weeks, maybe." He took out a handkerchief and wiped his brow, red and hairless.

             
"And was he as weak as—" Edward shifted and put out a hand, palm-up. His other hand slipped his glasses back on. "Yesterday he was walking from the parlor to the door and he just—collapsed. He doesn't say anything, of course, but I get the idea he can barely hold himself up anyway."

             
Doc put a hand to his chin and looked the other way. "Not quite that bad, man, but near it."

             
"Well then—I only wanted to make sure it wasn't—something else."

             
Doc sighed. "I'm sorry I can't say otherwise. His lungs—he gets sick easy, and he don't get any stronger 'cause his leg keeps him put. 'F it were one or t'other..." he shrugged.

             
"How long do you give him?"

             
The old man frowned and clenched his jaw, temper rising again. "Am I God, now?" he demanded, passionate. "Everyone—always asking me that. 'How long've I got, Doc?' How do I know? I'll tell you—when he first came back, when I saw him—I give'm two years. No more. Then he married the girl. Well, I says to myself, make it three. I don't know how long it's been—" he waved a hand. "I don't count years, but I know it's a piece more'n that. Last year I gave him six months. Now, I'll tell you the same. I give him six months. Are you happy?"

             
Edward stood. "Yes," he said, calm. "Thank you." He put out a hand, and after a moment Doc's stubby fingers gripped it. He backed up, turning towards the door and paused. "Where," he asked, "would I get a cane-back chair?"

             
Doc shrugged. "General store, maybe."

             
"Which way is that?"

             
"'Cross the street and to your left when you go out."

             
"Thank you."

             
"Malley."

             
"Yes?" he halted, the door open in his hand.

             
"Give him my regards. Please."

             
"I will."

              With a little thoughtful backtracking, Edward managed to find Joey in the appointed place a little after four. He carried with him a length of copper pipe, which he tossed in the back. "I've got something around back of the general store to load in, too," he said.

             
Joey shrugged. "All right." He brought the horses around and directed them through an opening between two buildings. The floor of the shop came out from a kind of open, barn-like area behind the store, so that where it ended was about level with the cart. Joey brought the back up to meet it, slowly.

             
Edward turned around, his electric green eyes searching blankly. "Agh," he muttered, a little frustrated. He waved a hand in the general direction. "There should be a chair—"

             
Joey swung his legs over the seat and into the back, climbing up onto the platform. "One with wheels?" he asked.

             
"That's it." Edward grinned as he heard the boy scramble to push it in and reached down for the reins to hold the horses. "Thought I was gonna have to put one together myself," he said. "Lucky for me your mayor had what I wanted already. –Got any rope? Tie it down some, if you can."

             
"Yes, sir." After a moment, Joey climbed back over and took the reins. "Anything else, sir?"

             
"That'll do it, Joey."

             
He started off. "Sir—" he said after a bit, "is that what you got—to help Mr. Peterson?"

             
Edward sighed. "Well, I was hoping to do more, boy, but it looks like this is about it." He paused. "I hope you won't hold it against me—what I said, earlier."

             
"No, sir—I guess I don't." He bit his lip, and figured he had some leeway to be rude. "Why, sir—I mean, how come--"

             
"Why am I trying to help him?"

             
"Yes, sir."

             
Edward considered. "Well, I guess—hm. I guess I came back here to settle with what your sister did for me—return the favor, somehow. Only—she's not here, so I guess I took it on myself to do her the favor of looking out a little for her man."

             
Joey glanced at him and then back at the horses out in front, smiling briefly. "That's prob'ly what she woulda asked for anyway, sir."

             
Edward laughed softly. "Probably," he said. "Probably."

              When they arrived at the Peterson place, Edward clapped Joey on the back. "Can you lift that all right yourself?" he asked.

             
"Sure—'s as light as a baby."

             
"All right, do me a favor then and put it up on the porch."

             
"Yes, sir."

             
"Thank you, boy." He let himself drop from the cart and bounded lightly up the steps to the house. Inside, he let his legs stumble to a halt, seeing Henry's silhouette against the front window. He walked across the room and stopped just beside him, but Henry didn't turn. Edward imagined him seeing Joey unloading the chair from the wagon, and heard as he brought it up and set it on the porch.

             
Henry turned away, putting a hand out on the back of an armchair to steady himself. "I'm sorry," he told Edward, who had turned after him, mouth open to protest. His breath wheezed a little. "I'm sorry," he said again, whispering. "—I won't."

             
Edward frowned, determined, and spread his hands in front of his body. "When it comes to this, pride doesn't--"