Tuesday

From where Adam was tied to an odd rock formation that bore a striking resemblance to a horse saddle, with a particularly pointed edge that represented the saddle horn and poked very unpleasantly into his right side, he had a clear view of the two outlaws who pushed a struggling Juliet back and forth between them. He tried to shout and make them stop, but instead of words his mouth only emitted a hoarse croak that didn’t seem to impress the men in the slightest. Now one of them held Juliet by her upper arm and tried to nestle his face where her neck and shoulder met, while Juliet tried to wriggle free from him, all the while looking at Adam and reaching out for him with both hands. Her eyes were wide and pleading and she whispered nearly inaudibly, “Why don’t you help me?”

He strained against his bonds, trying to yank his arms free, but somehow this only caused the stony saddle horn to dig into his side even more painfully. He cried out in frustration and launched himself against the ropes that kept him in place with all the strength he could muster. And just as if the sheer will to get free was enough, miraculously the bonds fell away and he stumbled forward, reaching for his gun, ready to strike. But when he trained his gun on the man holding Juliet, the scene changed, and Juliet, with a nurse’s hat and a huge white apron approached him carrying a bowl with water and a stack of towels.

“Adam, you’re hurt. Let me help you,” she said softly.

He looked down his body, and he saw a bloodstain on his shirt, and when he gazed up again, Juliet had been replaced by an enormous black bird. The bird—was it a crow?—spread its wings, huge wings that threw a shadow on Adam; and the shadow grew and became darker and darker as the bird came closer, until there wasn’t any light left, and Adam stood in complete blackness. He wondered briefly if this was death after all, when suddenly flames were leaping out of the ground, engulfing both him and the crow, and the bird suddenly gave a shrill cry and, furiously flapping its wings, rose from the ground and pecked at Adam’s side with his big, sharp beak. Adam’s world exploded in agony; he tried to fight the beak, shove the bird off him, get out of the flames, escape from the dark, the heat, the pain, the fear, the unknown.

In the end it was the pain that brought him home. Adam woke up with an excruciating stabbing in his right side. He was bathed in sweat, completely entangled in his bed sheets, thrashing around, trying to get rid of the trapping cloth, and he was hot, so hot. Finally he somehow got his body free from the crumpled blanket, and just lay still, exhausted despite having been asleep only minutes ago, trying to relax, breathing heavily and feeling the pain slowly fading away. The air in his room was stale—and hot!—and he felt as if he was suffocating. Fresh air, need fresh air, became the only imperative in his mind.

When the pain had subsided to a tolerable level, Adam cautiously pushed himself up on his elbows, then into a sitting position. He rode on the waves of dizziness for longer than he cared for, but when his room stopped spinning around, and the walls didn’t look as if they were made out of wobbly jelly anymore, he slid to the edge of his bed, turned and got his legs out. Hot sweat was itching at his skin, and he would have given anything to be able to slip out of it like a snake, leave the sweat and smell behind and feel clean and fresh once again. His eyes fell on the window. Fresh air. He pushed off of the bed and, holding tight to the bedpost, got himself to an upright position. Upright, yes, but he wouldn’t call it standing. No, not really. He clung to the post for dear life, more sweat prickling at him. He was so hot. But he was cold also. And hot. So hot. He couldn’t breath properly, the air was too thick. Thick and hot and thick and—fresh air, need fresh air.

Adam pushed himself away from the stabilising bedpost. For a glorious few seconds he stood on his own power, triumphantly looking at the window that wouldn’t be closed for much longer now. But then the room took a vigorous leap and started to revolt again. Adam felt bile rising in his throat, and the attempt to hold himself upright seemed too much for his weak legs. He quickly turned to get back to his bed, but immediately realised that he had made a bad, bad mistake. The abrupt movement jarred something in his wound and a blinding pain soared through his side. He went down to the floor uncontrolled, banging his right side at the edge of the bed, which caused the pain to rise into unconceivable heights. He pressed a hand at his side in a futile attempt to work against the agony, and, noticing a suspicious warm wetness there, this time he couldn’t hold back the bile, and he puked the poor contents of his nearly empty stomach all over the floor. He would have loved to push himself up and get out of this mess and back into his soft, clean bed, but all he could do was lie there, clutching his side and trying to will away the newly rising nausea and the darkness that threatened to engulf him and take him back to that horrid world of fire and death birds.

Faintly he heard thundering footfalls on the stairs, on the landing, in his room, and voices, well known voices.

“What in tarnation—” That was Pa. Thank god, Pa.

The next minutes became a blurry swirl of shouted orders “Joe, go and get the doctor!” “Hoss, towels!”, hurried footsteps, tender hands that stroked his back and his face and smoothed his hair back, soft words “It’s all right, son, I got you,” of wet towels and strong arms that held him, removed his nightshirt and gave him a new one, of a broad chest to lean on and a voice full of brotherly love that said, “You got yerself in a real mess here, Adam.” And then there were hands under his arms and a force that lifted him up, and he opened his eyes to see his father’s concerned face for a split second before the room collapsed into itself and darkness crept on him from all sides, and then—nothing.

***

Dr. Martin came down the stairs shaking his head and joined Ben at the coffee table at the great fire place. He gratefully accepted a cup of coffee, and a piece of cake, obviously a left over from the fabulous food basket Miss Heatherstone had provided the day before, and, with a content sigh, leaned back in his chair.

“Ben, your boy has worked himself up quite prettily,” he said. “I thought I made it very clear that he wasn’t to get up for at least ten days? And how long did he stay in bed? Less than two days! Didn’t you say something about taking care of him?”

“Paul, we didn’t let him up on purpose. He was sound asleep when Hoss left the room,” Ben replied in a strange mixture of irritation and defensiveness. “And he certainly seemed too weak to get up.”

“Yes, well, he was too weak to get up, but, of course, he had to try anyway. From what I understood, he had a nightmare and woke up feeling hot and in need of fresh air.” The doctor shook his head again. “All he wanted to do, he says, was to get up and open the window. Ben, didn’t Hoss suggest tying Adam to his bed? Perhaps you should take it into consideration.”

“Paul!”

“I mean it, Ben, he has to stay put. I don’t want to come out here and redo my stitches every second day. If he continues to retard his recovery like this, he will be confined to his room until next Christmas.”

“Well, as I said, we didn’t know he’d even be able to try. I’ll make sure he won’t try again.” The way Ben delivered his last statement it was clear that the topic was closed. “How bad is it, Paul?”

“Could be worse, actually. He opened the stitches, ruining all my good work. I closed the wound again, but this time there will be a scar. He worked himself into quite some fever, but maybe that was even there before he went up. That would be an explanation for the warmth he felt. There is a little infection—” The doctor held his hands up when Ben gasped, and made a calming gesture. “But here the whole incident turns out to be a blessing in disguise: since the wound was already open I could clean it thoroughly, and the infection should subside in no time. All Adam needs now is rest. And I mean complete rest. No exploration to the window, no fatherly scolding for unreasonable behaviour, no commotions, no excitements. Just peace and quiet.”

Ben looked like he wanted to argue, but he swallowed his words and confined himself to glaring at his friend.

“Ben, don’t look at me like that,” the doctor chuckled. “Everything will be all right. Just give it time, and make sure your boy rests.”

Ben sent over another dark scowl. “I already said I’ll take care of that. You don’t have to lecture me, Paul.” He knew he was throwing a tantrum, but he couldn’t help it. He had been terrified by the sight that had greeted him when he’d entered Adam’s room after they had heard that telltale thumping up there. Now he learned that his son was going to be all right he just had to work his anxiety out of his system, and he did it in a way that, as usual, would leave him embarrassed and full of regret once he’d realised what he had done—by lashing out at others. “You had better take care that Miss Heatherstone won’t be ‘passing by’ in the next few days, because as sure as death and taxes she will manage to rile up Adam in no time.”

Dr. Martin knew Ben long enough to not take offense. He merely chuckled and said, “Well, as far as I heard, she spent her last visit here sleeping in the rocker. That sounds like a quite relaxing meeting to me.”

“She was tired. But now she’s rested they will start their bickering again. You heard them the other day, Paul. This can’t be good for Adam.”

“Well, you might be right about that, Ben.” Dr. Martin rested his elbows on his knee and rubbed his chin. “I’m going to see her at the Enterprise this afternoon and tell her that Adam can’t have visitors the next two days. All right?” He gazed at Ben and then frowned. “She won’t be too happy about that, though. She seems quite fond of your eldest, Ben. And somehow I have the feeling Adam won’t like that too much, either.” The doctor leaned back again and smiled broadly at Ben. “But that will be for you to explain to him.”

Ben crossed his arms. “I’m sure he will understand,” he grumbled. “And don’t look so gleeful!”