77. Wounds 

“Oh, come on!” Adam groaned as he saw Pico approaching with horse and barrow. “I really can walk by myself!”

“Sure you can,” Esma remarked rather unimpressed. “But you shouldn’t!”

“Adam, you’ll do as we say!” Lilyah squatted next to him and pulled his arm around her shoulder. “Come, I’ll help you up.”

“Oh, the irony…” Adam sighed and still had to concede that he could use the helping hands, particularly Esma’s strength to get him on his feet. Admitting to it, however, was asking a wee bit too much. Hissing through his teeth the moment he put weight on the hurt leg, he tried to fight down the searing pain and keep his face from showing it. Maybe the barrow wasn’t the worst idea, even though it definitely rubbed him the wrong way.

“It’s really not that bad!” he protested as he was carefully lowered onto the barrow. “It’s a clean shot through!”

“Which likely scraped the bone,” Esma retorted. “Ruby, run ahead and bring fresh water to the fire – from the spring, not the pools!”

“I know, Grandma!” The girl ran off.

Adam surrendered to his fate and the barrow ride until he was neatly placed on a bed hastily made of blankets and pillows near the fireplace. Fighting with bouts of dizziness and waves of pain, he still crossed his arms over his chest and clenched his teeth as if to demonstrate that he didn’t really need all the fuss.

Lilyah couldn’t help a small, pitiful smile and softly dabbed the sweat from his face. The shock of seeing him being hit and fall had been terrible. That this had to happen after he had just recovered his strength simply wasn’t fair. Of course he hated it. She silently prayed to Allah to spare him the fever.

“We have to clean the wound, child. Thanks, Ruby, be so kind and get me the green crate from the cabin!”

“Yes, Grandma!”

“I did let it bleed before I bandaged it.” Lilyah looked up to the old woman who was busy pouring the water into a pot and put it on the fire.

“Pico, get some more wood, we need the water to cook!” Esma ordered before she turned to Lilyah. “That was good, Child, but maybe not enough. Also, your bandage wasn’t clean – you’ve ripped it from the veil you wore all morning. You see, most people who get shot don’t die from the bullet – they die from the infections that come afterwards. The bullets are dirty, the pieces of cloth that get driven into the wound by the bullet are dirty, and the bandages are dirty as well. And then the whole mess gets sealed up and left to brew. Oh, thanks, Ruby!”

“Esma, you do have a way to make a man feel good!” Adam dryly remarked.

She laughed and began searching in her crate, attentively watched by Lilyah.

“What will you do, Esma?”

“First we’ll cook these bandages in the pot, then we’ll clean out the wound. In the meanwhile, you take a smaller pot and cook these herbs, a spoonful of each. This here is sage…”

“Sage…” Lilyah watched the little bags Esma put out. “Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme…”

“Not exactly – we’ll use sage, marigold, yarrow and goldenseal root.” Esma pointed out the respective bags. “Don’t take too much water – maybe two pints. Let the water boil and put the herbs in after it has simmered down.”

Adam had listened, a pained grin on his face. “Why do I get the feeling that you two ladies are just too happy enjoying the chance of another lesson?”

“Oh, Adam!” Lilyah bestowed him with a reproachful look, but she had to smile at his wink.

“We’re not enjoying the chance, we’re using it.” Esma gave him a sidelong glance. “And given your uncanny propensity of getting yourself roughed up, your wife is well advised to learn how to deal with such emergencies.”

“I don’t have any propensities of any such sort!” he retorted with emphasis. “Anyhow, I’m most happy to be of service. I just hope that one shot wound is sufficient for any learning purposes. If not, there is the gun!”

Esma laughed but her amusement faded when she got a bottle of clear alcohol out of her crate and showed it to him. “You know what that means?”

He took a deep breath and nodded his head. “You have a piece of wood to bite on?”

“Sure.”

Lilyah looked from one to another while her eyes got large with gloomy foreboding. Both Adam and Esma tried to make it easier on her but nothing really helped once Esma had started to disinfect the open wound – both sides of it, the entry wound and the exit wound. Lilyah held Adam as best as she could, and he fought with all his might to keep his involuntary reactions halfway under control. When it was over, she was shaking, bathed in sweat and with tears uncontrollably running down her face.

“Hey… Lil…” Adam fought to breathe through the pain, panting, his hand clutching hers. “I hope… you’ve paid attention. We only… do this once.”

“Oh…” She started laughing and crying the same time, dabbing off his sweat-covered face with trembling fingers until Esma softly shook her.

“The herbs, Child. This is not the time for idling, and you shouldn’t lose your nerves. Take this ceramic bowl and dip it into the boiling water to clean it, then take one of the cooked out bandages and percolate the brew through it into the bowl. Use the fork to get the bandage out of the hot water and take care not to burn yourself! And hurry up!”

Lilyah hastened to do as she was told, embarrassed that she had to be reprimanded to properly take care of Adam’s needs. Wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand, she worked as fast as she could while watching the first hot bandage being placed around the cleaned wounds in a single, very thin layer. Apparently it was so hot that it caused Adam to hiss.

Suddenly, her brow crinkled. “Esma, what are you doing? This is…” She broke off.

“Clay!” Esma pursed her lips. “But not any clay – this is healing clay. You’re Arab, child, you should know there are more uses to clay than just making pottery from it. Take two bandages from the pot and soak them in your herb brew. Hurry!”

“The Indians use it, too… they call it sacred earth.” Adam was able to breathe calmly again. The worst was over.

“But what is the white stuff?” Lilyah watched as Esma took a strange white substance from a little tin box and put it in the clay she plastered above the wounds.

“This is a secret remedy of the travelling people,” Esma explained, not without content. “We call it milkflower. It prevents infection.”

“It looks like… mould…”

“It is mould.” The old woman chuckled. “Not any mould, mind you. I will show you later how to get it. Are the bandages ready?”

“Oh, yes…” Lilyah hastened to present the bowl. “Shall I wring them out?”

“Only a little, they should be well wet.”

Lilyah watched attentively as the soaked bandages were placed around Adam’s leg.

“Watch closely, Child. The bandages will have to be renewed tomorrow and you will be the one to do it.” Esma fastened a final, dry bandage around the finished composition.

Lilyah had turned pale around the nose. “All of it?”

“Sure…” Esma was stumped as she saw the young woman’s face and laughed. “Only the bandage – not the disinfection of the wound. As your husband said, we only do that once.” She produced a small dark bottle from her crate and poured a good portion of its syrup-like contents in a cup. “You drink that, shabaro!”

Adam raised an eyebrow and suspiciously peered into the cup, thinking of the one-dollar-bottles. After one look at Esma’s rugged face he drank it and noticed with some relief that it wasn’t all that bad. Very bitter, but easier to tolerate than the blasted medicine bottles both his father and Lilyah had used to haunt him.

“Stay with him, Lilly. I’ll clean up here.”

Lilyah gratefully moved to Adam’s side and caringly covered a blanket over him before she lowered herself on her bent legs. “You’re better?” She softly brushed his disheveled hair from his forehead.

“Yah…” He lovingly touched her arm. She still wore her full dress including the head veil she had donned for the confrontation, as likely nothing could have brought her to go about in a light dress and with bare arms when there was a chance of any other men seeing her. Only her top veil was gone – it had served as his first bandage. If he would go on like this, she wouldn’t have much left. “Walking Deer would’ve been proud of you today.”

“Oh…” The ghost of a smile stole across her face, but it faded fast. She had watched out so attentively while Adam had been in his quarrel with his father, and yet she hadn’t seen the shooter in the bushes until after the shot was fired. “I only wish I had seen that man before he shot at you.”

Adam didn’t reply. He was darn glad she hadn’t. It would have been unthinkable had she spotted young Miller aiming at him and then shot him – who would have believed her? “I don’t know what’s gotten into Frank,” he finally said, still fighting waves of dizziness and the pounding pain in the leg. “I knew he didn’t like me very much but that isn’t a reason to kill.” His brow furrowed. Some things he couldn’t have explained before suddenly began to make sense. “Or to hate like that.”

“He was a bad man.” Lilyah gently dabbed off his face. “Chai didn’t like him. Do you remember how he tried to kick that man?” Her brow crinkled a little as she saw the smile in Adam’s eyes. “You can trust a horse’s instincts, Adam, they can see into the hearts of people. And speaking of horses – have you looked at his own horse? The pretty golden horse with the white tail and mane? Its sides were scarred from the spurs he wore, and its eyes were broken. That alone shows what a bad man he was.”

Adam smiled thoughtfully. “A horse’s instincts… Lil, there’s something I never told you. You remember when I was shot at on the day we returned from Old Grumpy’s place?”

“Yes…” She remembered. He had told her not to worry and nothing else. It seemed like it was a lifetime away.

“Mariah saved my life that day.” Adam caressed her hand. “I was in a real pickle and wouldn’t have made it out of there on my own. I had chased her off as the shooting started, but she didn’t run very far, she stayed close by – very close by. And she came back to me when I called her, in the midst of the fullblown shoot-out. A bullet grazed the saddle, she was scared half to death, but she came anyway. I could mount her and we made it out of there by a hair’s breadth.” The smile still played around his lips. “Lil, had I ridden any other horse that day, I wouldn’t be here anymore.”

Lilyah’s eyes had begun to shine. “I always knew she is a great, great horse! I always knew it.”

“It was all your training, Lil,” Adam said softly. “All the Arab horse discipline with the lie-down-routines, teaching her to stay close and trust me for protection even when guns are fired, and all the collection works and whatnot.”

“No…” Lilyah shook her head. “Adam, it’s not that simple. You can train almost any good horse, that’s right, but it takes a real great horse to keep its loyalty, its trust in you even in its greatest fear. She trusted you, Adam, and that’s why she came to you when you called her. She’s got such a big heart.”

“Yes.” His hazel eyes were very warm. “But it was still you who found her, and it was you who detected that heart in her.” He kissed her fingers and realized with some bewilderment that he suddenly had trouble keeping his eyes open. “Lil, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I just didn’t want you to worry that day.”

“It’s alright, I understand…” She kissed him and noticed that his eyes had glazed over. “Maybe you should sleep a little.”

“I’m not tired…”

Ten minutes later he was fast asleep. And out on the grassy fields a very delighted chestnut mare was showered with lovings, hugs and kisses.

* * *

“Lilly, what is the matter? What makes you sad?”

Lilyah looked up from the dough in her bowl. It was quite late in the night, she and Esma were the last ones sitting by the low burning fire, with two lanterns providing some yellowish light. The children were long asleep, as was Adam. Adam… He had been barely awake when she and Esma had maneuvered him into the cave and onto the bedstead, had barely noticed that they had removed his clothes and tucked him in. He had mumbled something about one-dollar-medicines and then slept on.

“I don’t know…” Lilyah slowly kneaded the dough for the morning bread. This time it had yeast in it, and Esma had explained that it would be best if it had the night to rest. “The man that came looking after Adam was shot… He was the sheriff.”

Esma gave her a glance and then continued her sewing. She was mending Adam’s pants for they had cut them up to expose the wound at his thigh. “Sheriff or not, he had the eyes of a friend. I believe he was genuinely concerned.”

“Yes…” Lilyah focussed on her dough.

A small smile played around Esma’s lips. “But you think it should have been someone else coming to look.”

“Yes.”

“Harsh words were spoken, Child. Words that were not easy to pass by.” Esma reached out and pulled closer the lantern that resided on the box next to her, to have better light for her handiwork.

“What did it matter?” A steep little line had grown above the root of Lilyah’s nose. “Adam was shot! He could have been dead, or dying!”

“Oh, he made it very clear he wasn’t – after he was shot,” Esma remarked. “And he didn’t leave much doubt that his father was neither needed, nor welcomed.”

Lilyah pressed her lips together. “He didn’t mean it…”

“He did, child, and you know it. He was that angry.” A small smile stole across Esma’s face. “And I think it was a good thing the old man finally took his son’s words for what they meant, rather than assuming once more they wouldn’t mean what they said.” She finished the last stitches and cut off the thread.

“Do you really think it was a good thing?” Lilyah mechanically handled the dough. “A father turning his back on his own son?”

“What is ever good in wars and battles?” the old woman mused. “But see it this way, Child. Had the old man still thought there was a little boy lying wounded behind the rocks, no force in the world would have kept him from riding on. But he at last accepted there was a grown-up man telling him off.”

Lilyah dropped her eyes, her hands lay still. Esma’s words made her almost sadder than she had already been.

Esma had a look in Lilyah’s bowl and proffered a folded cloth. “You can leave the dough alone now, child. Cover the bowl with this, then place it a little more than a foot from the fireplace.”

“So Adam has won after all…” Lilyah covered the bowl with the cloth and set it aside. “But for what a price…” She pressed her lips together and moved the bowl a bit around to make sure it was exactly the right distance from the fireplace, but it was merely an attempt to divert her thoughts. “Not even his brothers came looking…”

Esma cocked her head. “How could they’ve done that? Can you imagine how hurtful it would’ve been for the old man had he seen his sons rushing off to their brother while he was left out?”

“Maybe he should have thought of that before…” Lilyah finally left the bowl alone. “Esma, I just don’t want Adam to…” She broke off and sighed, sitting still for a long while before her eyes wandered to the samovar. “Do you think we should have another cup of tea? It’s late, though…”

“I’d love one.” Esma had fingered out her tobacco pouch and began stuffing the head of her long, bent pipe.

Lilyah checked on the samovar. Its water tank was still rather warm and half full, but the tea pot needed refilling and the charcoal had burnt out. Almost thankful for the distraction it provided, Lilyah took the tongs and a small shovel and picked little pieces of charcoal from the fireplace to fill them down the samovar’s chimney. It wouldn’t take long for the already warm water to boil. She cleaned out the tea pot and took the box with the tea leaves she was handed wordlessly, well aware of the black eyes watching her and yet thankful for the silence she was granted.

Sorting her thoughts, she slowly and deliberately filled the tea leaves into the small pot. “It’s just that I don’t want Adam to end up like…” She broke off again.

“Like?”

Lilyah didn’t look up. “Like me and my mother.”

Esma raised an eyebrow and exhaled a cloud of tobacco smoke. “The mother that used to lock herself up in her rooms when you and your father were fighting?”

“Yes.” She blew a mirthless chuckle and finally lifted her eyes, but her gaze lost itself in the low glowing fireplace. “Esma, we never talked. We never were close, never, not even when I was little. I can’t even remember her in my childhood – the only face I can see with me as a child is Marfa’s…”

“Your nanny,” Esma recalled.

“Yes…” For a moment Lilyah’s face softened, but the shade of a smile touching her lips faded. “My mother was never really a part of my life. She only lived in her rooms that were like a different world, that didn’t even seem to belong to the house, rooms in which I didn’t like to be. There she hoarded her European things, wore her European dresses and just sat around all day. She was a very unhappy woman…” Her dark eyes seemed to film over. “She had lost the man she loved, she was forced to marry another one she didn’t love, she had to live in a country she loathed and she had a daughter that wanted no part of her.”

The samovar began to hum softly and Lilyah took the tea pot to fill in a little of the now boiling water before she placed the pot on the samovar’s top to allow the brew to steep.

“But I didn’t know it back then…” Lilyah continued in a low tone. “I didn’t understand. I loved my life, I loved the beauty of the land, all the riches we had, the horses, the goats, the camels, and of course I had Chai and before him I had Rizzah and before her I had Jahdi. I had a nanny who watched over me like a mother hen and I had a father who was the best father a girl could have ever asked for.” She closed her eyes and smiled sadly before she opened them again, her smile losing itself. “My mother wasn’t part of that life, and she didn’t want to be. She disliked every bit of it and I just didn’t understand. As I said, Esma, we never really talked. We never even fought – you couldn’t fight with my mother. One loud word, the tiniest little dish thrown on the floor, and she would turn her back and walk away. We were like strangers who just happened to live in the same house.” She took a deep breath. “At the end of her life she began to talk a little, but by then I didn’t really listen anymore. I just didn’t understand. And now it’s too late.” She turned to the samovar and took the tea pot of its top, to fill a little of the thick brew in each of two cups before she added simmering water. Esma took the cup she was offered and waited patiently, sensing that the young woman had not finished.

Lilyah thoughtlessly brushed back a loose strand of hair. “And I just don’t want Adam to sit at a fireplace one day, thinking of chances that once had been there, but now are all gone.”

Esma slowly nodded her head, her deep, rough voice sounded very soft. “Understanding, child, takes time, and sometimes it takes more time than life has to spare in its rushing by. Sometimes it only comes with age, and then it needs experience to nurture it. You have to love someone to understand what it means to love, you have to lose someone to understand what it means to lose. And you can’t look back to the carefree child you were and expect it to have understood what you understand now.”

“I was a grown-up woman when my mother died.” Lilyah looked into her cup.

Esma blew a small chuckle. “You’re barely a grown up woman now – but that is something you will only understand when you’ve reached my age.” She took a sip of her tea. “Anyhow, I don’t think you have to worry about Adam. I don’t think his relationship with his father is anything like yours was with your mother. You and your mother sadly never learned to be close together, but I actually think Adam and his father have been very close.”

Lilyah wistfully looked into the fireplace. “It doesn’t really look like that anymore…”

“Oh, but it does!” Esma retorted. “That’s why their fighting is so intense, that’s why they simply cannot move apart but start to argue all over again, that’s why each one is so fiercely determined to make the other see what he means. It’s just that the father wants to retain what they had and the son wants to move to another level. It’s a power struggle, the young buck making the old buck see that he is not a kid anymore, but an equal. But I believe that when all is said and done, their closeness will bring them together again.”

“I hope so…” Lilyah said quietly. “I really do.”

Esma smiled. “Go to sleep, Child. It’s been a long day.”

“Yes.” Lilyah finished her cup and rose to her feet. She suddenly felt an irresistible desire to be with Adam, even when he was fast asleep. “Good night, Esma.”

“Good night, child.”

Lilyah silently made her way to the cave and turned the lantern she carried lower before she entered the chamber. It was a much cozier place now, after she and Esma had adorned the cut rock walls with colorful blankets and some of her own veils. The low cabinet from the cabin served as a nightstand next to the bed, the standup shelf resided on the opposite wall and was loaded with her and Adam’s clothes – the few they had brought with them. Both their saddlebags lay next to it. It wasn’t a palace, but for now it was home.

She lovingly looked at Adam’s silent figure, caressing his sleeping face with her eyes before she placed the lantern on the cabinet and slipped out of her clothes. Yet as cautiously as she moved when climbing into the bed, Adam still stirred.

“Lil…” Still half asleep, he placed his arm around her and pulled her closer to him under the blanket. “There you are…”

“Yes…” She wriggled a bit to shut out the lantern, carefully avoiding to touch his wounded leg.

Adam bedded his head on her breasts. “What was that confounded medicine she gave me?”

“I don’t know…”

He grumbled something unintelligible and fell asleep again.

Lilyah pulled the blanket up to his neck and smiled into the pitch-black darkness, her fingers softly stroking his curls.

* * *

Hoss uncomfortably fumbled with his tie that he wore with his fine suit. He hated the darn thing, but they had just been to Frank Miller’s funeral, and while Hoss wouldn’t have put his boots on for Frank Miller, he’d wear the fine suit for old Henry anytime. However, the funeral was over and the tie wasn’t needed anymore.

“Pa, I’ve been thinkin’. Why don’t we ask Adam and…”

“Don’t you have any chores to do?”

Hoss just managed to prevent a frustrated sigh. It was of no use. Whenever he and Joe mentioned Adam, their father snubbed them like this. Even when other people mentioned Adam, he changed the subject. Not that folks would do that much, they only whispered about arrows, Indians, dadgum laws and ungrateful sons and sheep behind the Cartwrights’ backs. Hoss had flattened Billy Buckley’s nose when his father wasn’t looking, and Joe had obviously taken a roll through the dust as well before the services, fine suit and all, Hoss hadn’t asked with whom yet. Neither the reverend nor their father had been very pleased with Joe dusting himself off during the funeral speech.

“We’re fresh out of cart grease.” Ben Cartwright had proceeded to the hearth. “We need to restock on oil and petroleum. We still have a ranch to run and we’re not going to forget it.”

Hoss swallowed the words he had on his tongue and watched his father standing there with his back to him, looking like his own ghost in his black suit. His Pa was hurting.

A sound from the door announced Little Joe.

“Joseph, I want you to ride down to the open range and help the men with the cattle there! They need to be spread out or they won’t get enough feed.” Ben didn’t turn or look at anyone. “Hoss, you take the big wagon and drive to Virginia City to get oil and petroleum. And don’t forget the grease!”

Joe opened his mouth, but closed it again. He’d already had his share of rebuttals for the day.

“Yes, Sir…” Hoss mumbled.

“We’re just going to change,” Joe added.

Their father didn’t look as his sons went up the staircase, and he didn’t look when they came down again. It seemed like he hadn’t even moved.

And he was still standing there in his black suit, staring into the cold hearth, when they came back many hours later, long after nightfall.

* * *