Cherish (38 page)

A sudden pounding echoed through the cabin. She jerked and nearly lost control of her bladder.
Pounding, pounding
. The stove seemed to tilt. The room started to rotate.
Gunfire
. Whistle, whistle. Pant, pant.
Screams
. Her
mother screaming, screaming.
Rebecca! Rebecca! Rebecca
!

She closed her eyes and clamped her hands over her ears.
No, no, no
. Her ma. Oh, dear God in heaven. Please, please, please! She couldn’t bear it.
Can’t do anything. They’ll kill me. Hide. Have to hide. Right here. In the bushes. Stop, Ma! Please, God, make it stop
! But it didn’t stop.

Nothing could block out the sound of her mother screaming her name…

Three days.
Sitting on a stool beside the bed, Race held
his wife’s hand, his thumb circling continuously over its back to trace the network of fragile bones. Pete stood beside him, his hat held at his waist, his leathery face drawn as he gazed down at the girl who stared so sightlessly back at him.

“I’m sorry, boss.”

Race could only nod. Speaking was beyond him. The doctor had just left, and with him, the man had taken the last of Race’s hope. His prognosis was merciless, frightening, and heartbreaking.
She may never snap out of it, Mr. Spencer. I hate having to tell you that, but the sad truth is, some people don’t have the constitutions to live in a harsh land like this. It ends up breaking them
.

Rebecca wasn’t just broken. She was shattered like fragile china, and according to the doctor, there was nothing Race could do to piece her back together. He wanted to throw back his head and scream. Shake his fist at God. Rip things apart. He’d kept his promise to her. He and his men had killed the ruffians before they managed to enter the cabin. But all the ruckus they’d raised while getting the job done had scared Rebecca so badly that she’d gone back into shock.

The doctor said that often happened with shock victims.
A similar incident can cause patients like this to have a relapse. And the second time is usually far worse than the first. I’m so very sorry, Mr. Spencer, but it isn’t a good
sign when a patient remains in a stupor for so long. With each passing day, it becomes less likely that she will recover
.

Not Rebecca. He would have happily died rather than lose her, especially like this.
Living death
. Her heart was beating. She was breathing. But her body had become nothing but a shell. She would drink for him. He had cooked up some soupy broth and he was forcing some down her every couple of hours. But how long was that going to keep her alive? A month or two, the doctor said. Race imagined watching her waste away, each passing day leeching more of the life from her body.

He hunched his shoulders and brought her hand to his lips. A sob shook his shoulders. Then another. He felt Pete’s hand on his back. Race knew he should feel embarrassed. Crying like a baby.
Christ
. He hadn’t cried, really cried, since his mother died. Maybe it was fitting that he should weep again now. For the second time in his life, he was losing his world.

He loved this girl so much. Cherished everything about her—her shyness, her funny ideas, her innocence, her sweetness. She’d been like a song in his life after years of silence, making him laugh again, making him dream again, giving him hope again. He wanted to give her babies. He wanted to see her hold one of his babies to her breast, to see her dainty little hand curl over its head, her slender fingers stroking its ebony hair as it nursed. He wanted to build a home on this knoll, with the old fir to stand sentinel over their children while they ran and played in the yard. He wanted to carve a cattle empire from this land that he could pass on to them. God help him, he wanted to hear Rebecca laugh, just one more time. See her smile, just one more time. Hold her in his arms and make love to her, just one more time.

“God, Pete, I can’t lose her like this. I can’t.”

“I know it’s hard, son. But all you can do is pray and leave it to God.”

Race remembered how he’d tried to teach Rebecca how wrong it was to count on God for every damned thing.
Stand on your own two feet. Pray to Him for the strength
to fight your own battles, not for Him to fight them for you
. Now, here he was, praying with every breath he took for God to save her because he couldn’t. There was no way to fight this fight. Nothing he could do. His only option was to put it into God’s hands and trust in Him to bring her back to him.

Hoarsely, Race said, “Her papa was right, after all. In the end, the only real hope any of us have is that God will save us.” He squeezed her hand, horribly conscious of how small it felt beneath his fingers. “Maybe this is my lesson. I was so damned convinced it was always up to me. You know? So cocky. Gonna take on the world. He’s showin’ me I can’t. By takin’ her, He’s gonna take me to my knees.”

Pete squeezed his shoulder. “That’s crazy thinkin’, Race Spencer.”

“Is it? I don’t think so.”

“It’s true that in the end, we only got one hope, and we all gotta know that as we live our lives. But it’s also true that we got two feet to stand on, and we got it in us to fight when we have to. In the end, when you can’t fight no more, you put it into God’s hands, but until then, you use the strength He gave you and the brains He gave you to defend yourself as best you can. He wouldn’t take her from you ’cause you done that or tried to teach her to do that. It’s crazy to think He might.”

Race closed his eyes, remembering how he’d felt three nights ago when he had found her huddling behind the wood stove, her body drenched with sweat, her hair singed, her knees pressed against the metal and blistered from the heat. To be that afraid…He’d never been that afraid in his life. He kept picturing her, huddled back there, so scared she stayed, despite the pain. The thought of it. Oh, God, it made him sick. He’d called her name, growing more and more frantic, never thinking to look behind the stove until Blue had led him to her.

“Maybe I should’ve just let her alone,” he thought aloud. “Maybe by messin’ with her beliefs, I just made it worse. I tried to make her over. It ain’t right to do that to somebody. You love ’em like they are, or you walk
away. You don’t go tryin’ to change who they are. I done that to her. About every damned thing. Maybe if I would’ve just let her be, she would’ve gotten better on her own and would still be all right. Instead I stripped all she was away and tried to make her like me.”

“You’re flat bent on takin’ the blame for this, I see,” Pete said grimly. “Guilt’s a terrible thing, son. It’ll tear you apart if you hang onto it.”

“Like it tore her apart? I’m in good company then.” Race kissed the backs of her fingers, his gaze on her expressionless face. He’d never known anyone more pure of heart. “I should’ve let her be. As soon as we got the herd here, I should’ve taken her to her folks down south. They’re her people, not me. They would’ve understood her and loved her like she was, instead of tryin’ to change everything about her. I told myself they wouldn’t keep her safe. But the truth is, there around Santa Fe, on a big farm, what real harm could’ve come to her? But I kept her with me. Pure-dee old selfishness, wantin’ her for myself. She would’ve been safe with them. Look at her now. By keepin’ her, I killed her.”

“She wanted to stay with you,” Pete reminded him.

“She didn’t know what was good for her. I should have been thinkin’ clear for both of us. All them folks love her. They’ve loved her all her life. They’re bound to understand her better than I do. I knew she was troubled. Why didn’t I take her to ’em, let them try to heal her?”

Pete sighed. “You don’t know that they could have.”

Race straightened and took a deep breath. “Maybe I should take her to them now.”

“What?”

Now that the idea had struck him, Race couldn’t set it aside. “Take her home. To her people, Pete.” He glanced up. “Ain’t it worth a try? Maybe if she sensed them around her, felt safe. Maybe she’d come right.”

“To Santa Fe? You can’t take her to Santa Fe in this shape.”

“Why not? I can hold her in front of me. Ride hard. Except for the two plug-uglies that hightailed it, they’re all dead. I don’t gotta worry about any trouble on that
front. There’s no threat anymore. Why can’t I take her home? Her own people might be able to help her. Do you deny there’s a chance of that?”

Pete rubbed his jaw. “I ain’t denyin’ nothin’. It might help her. Then again, it might not. But she’ll die afore you get her there. How you gonna feed her? Here you can keep broth cooked up. You can’t on the trail.”

“I could carry it in jugs. Cook some up each night. Take dried meat for the fixin’s. I could get her there. I have a good month yet before the first heavy snow comes. And it’s bound to storm up this way first. It’ll be warmer down south until deeper into winter. I can make it.”

Pete sighed and whacked his hat against his leg. “I think it’s a crazy risk to take. Better to just stick here, see how she comes along.”

“And watch her die.” In that moment, Race knew he couldn’t do that. “Damn it, Pete, I been a fighter all my life. It ain’t in me to flop over on my back. Not if there might be a way to save her. I’d rather lose her that way, fightin’ for her life with everything I got, than to just sit here and watch her fade away.”

Pete looked at Rebecca, long and hard. “I told you once that you gotta do what’s in your heart. If that’s what you feel is right, then all the talkin’ in the world ain’t gonna change your mind.”

“You think I shouldn’t do it.”

Pete shook his head. “I think it’s a mighty big risk. That’s all.”

A mighty big risk
. Those words haunted Race as he journeyed south. It seemed to him that each second that passed was measured by the continuous and rhythmic clop of Dusty’s hooves on the sun-baked earth of the grasslands south of Denver. The sun hung like a yellow orb in the blue sky, searing even in the cool, autumn weather. He wrapped Rebecca in quilts and held her cradled in his arms, her golden head resting on his shoulder, one hand curled lifelessly in her lap, her other arm dangling more times than not, as if she were dead.

God knew she was as still as death. He wanted to urge
Dusty into a trot, to drive the horse relentlessly forward to reach Santa Fe in time. Before his world died in his arms. Each day he broke camp before first light and rode, hour after endless hour. Then the sun would sink behind the mountains to the west and the moon would rise, bathing everything in silver, and still he rode, pushing the horse and himself beyond endurance.
Clippety-clop, please, God. Clippety-clop, please God
. That was his constant prayer, the only one he knew.
Please, God
.

Doubts tormented him. Should he turn back? What if he wasn’t getting enough water down her? What if the broth he made each night when he stopped to rest wasn’t nourishment enough to sustain her? Maybe she would have gotten well back at the cabin, and by heading south, he’d consigned her to certain death. What if he got her to her people in Santa Fe, and they couldn’t help her? What if nothing could help her? What if this was all just a bitterly cruel lesson, to teach him he couldn’t always fight his own battles, that sometimes the only thing he could do was get on his knees?

Sometimes he imagined he saw a spark of recognition in her beautiful blue eyes. His imagination? A desperate hope? He spent hours, riding along, his head bent, letting Dusty have rein, to stare into those endlessly deep, sightless blue eyes. He spoke to her. Softly, tearfully, cajolingly, angrily. Hour after hour, saying her name, pointing out things in front of them, remembering aloud the times they’d shared and telling her how dearly he cherished the memories.

I love you, Rebecca Ann. Come back to me. Please, come back to me. If it’ll make you happy, darlin’, I’ll hang up my guns. We’ll live on the farm with your church folks. Would you like that? I can be a farmer. I’d make a damned good farmer. Don’t you think? Just don’t die on me, honey. Please, don’t die on me. I’ll never leave the lamps burnin’ again and embarrass you. And I won’t never build up the fire, either. I’ll do it the brethren way. I swear, I will. Do you hear me, Rebecca Ann? I’ll learn how to read, and I’ll get to be like your papa, a Bible scholar. Smart as a tack, that’s what. I’ll learn highfalutin
words. I’ll get me horn-rimmed glasses and make love to you in a three-piece suit. I’ll do anything to make you happy. Just don’t go away from me like this, darlin’. Please, don’t leave me
.

Nothing. No answer. No flicker of life in her eyes. Sometimes he got so frantic, he wanted to shake her.

Goddamn it, wake up! I’m your husband, and I’m orderin’ you to stop this. Say somethin’ to me. You can’t just crawl away inside of yourself and hide! That’s what you’re doin’, damn it! Hidin’ from life. Wherever you are, darlin’, you gotta come out. Stand up to it. Fight back, for God’s sake. You won’t be alone. I’ll be there, right beside you. I swear it. But you gotta make a stand. You can’t just curl up and die. You’re leavin’ me. Leavin’ me all alone. I’d never do it to you. Please, don’t do it to me. You think I’m strong. You think I’m never afraid. Well, think again. I’m not strong, and I’m scared to death! I can’t live without you. Do you hear me? If you won’t fight for yourself, then, damn it, love me enough to fight for me
.

At night after cooking and bottling the broth he poured down her each day, Race heated water to bathe her and put her in a fresh gown. Then he washed the soiled gown and the flannel pads he had to keep under her all day, hanging the lot near the fire to dry overnight. He slept with Rebecca in his arms, his body so exhausted that he ached, his heart stripped of hope, his mind clamoring with fear.

Race Spencer had finally come up against an enemy he couldn’t defeat. Its name was Death.

Broth. Water. Rebecca floated in the grayness. It was like being inside a blanket that had been sewn shut, so soft and nice. She wasn’t afraid of anything in there. Nobody could get her. She needed no one. And nothing could hurt.
Rebecca
. Race kept calling her name from a long way off, kept talking to her. She couldn’t see him. Couldn’t feel him. Sometimes he sounded so sad. So afraid. She wanted to tell him to come inside the gray blanket with her. No sadness, no fear. The only time any
thing felt sort of real was when she choked on the water and broth he kept forcing into her mouth.

He talked to her. Sometimes she couldn’t make out the words. They were just a faraway sound that didn’t bother her. But every once in a while, they came closer and made a bit of sense.
Come out of there. Come back to me. Fight for me
. The words tugged at her, made her want to reach through and touch him.
I love you, Rebecca Ann. Do you hear me, darlin’? I worship the ground you walk on. I cherish the air you breathe. I love you with my whole heart and soul. Fight for me. If you can’t for yourself, do it for me
. When the words reached through to her, she could sometimes turn around and around inside the blanket until she found a little, tiny hole. If she moved close and peeked out, she could see him. Just his face. And only for a few seconds. Then the hole would start to shrink, growing smaller and smaller, until it was tinier than a pinprick.