Opal (33 page)
‘‘Here.’’ She whipped off her bandana and folded it to press against the wound. ‘‘Head wounds always bleed a lot.’’
‘‘What happened?’’ Virginia crashed through the brush to stop dead still, her face blanching white when she saw the blood.
‘‘Not bad. I’ll be fine.’’ Jacob’s words were still slow.
‘‘Virginia, give me your bandana so I can tie this in place. We need to get him home. You hurt anywhere else, Mr. Chandler?’’
He winced when he shook his head. ‘‘I don’t think so. Arms and legs are working.’’
‘‘Can you stand?’’
‘‘In a minute.’’
‘‘Virginia, go get his horse. Tell the others to bring the steers down to the corral.’’
‘‘You want one of them to help here?’’
‘‘I think we’ll be all right.’’ Although Jacob still looked gray around his mouth, the color had begun to return to his face. Virginia ran back to her horse and galloped up the draw.
‘‘Sorry. Such a stupid thing.’’
‘‘Hey, we’ve all been brushed off one time or another. That’s just part of cattle ranching.’’ She checked the makeshift bandage, relieved to see that the gash had quit bleeding. ‘‘You’re going to need some stitching back here.’’
His groan told her his opinion of that.
‘‘But I don’t think anything is broken.’’ She’d read somewhere that the bones of the head felt mushy if broken. His didn’t. She sat back on her heels. How was she to get him on a horse?
‘‘Do you think you’ll be able to ride?’’
‘‘Yes, I think so, but not very fast.’’
‘‘Are you dizzy?’’
‘‘Some.’’
‘‘I could go back to the ranch and get a wagon.’’
‘‘No. I’ll make it.’’ His voice held a hint of his usual firmness now.
But staring into his eyes, she wasn’t sure he would. The pupils didn’t look exactly right. But he could answer questions all right and seemed able to think for himself.
Silence settled for a bit, just the sound of her horse stamping and the bit jingling.
‘‘Would you like a drink of water?’’
‘‘Please.’’ His eyes drifted closed.
She retrieved her canteen and led her horse closer, leaving it ground tied as all well-trained horses learned. She knelt beside him. ‘‘Here.’’
His hands shook when he took the canteen, but he held it to his mouth and drank by himself. ‘‘Thanks.’’
She could hear the horses and Virginia coming down the draw. The others would take the steers back south to a wider, easier way down so they didn’t scatter.
When Virginia stopped a few feet away, she dismounted and led his horse over. ‘‘You sure you can get up?’’
‘‘Yes.’’ Chandler pushed with his legs and used the tree trunk as an aid. Opal stood close, ready to catch him if need be. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
‘‘More dizzy?’’
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘We’re not in a hurry.’’ Opal studied the man, the horse, and the obstacles to getting him mounted. She refused to let herself think about the ride back to the house.
‘‘I could go for the wagon.’’ Virginia glanced from Opal to the man holding up the tree.
‘‘No.’’
Opal shrugged. ‘‘We’ll try it his way. Bring the horse right in front of him, then we’ll take either side to keep him from falling.’’
‘‘I won’t fall.’’
‘‘Let’s try this.’’ Opal moved to the man’s left and waited for the horse to stop a foot from Chandler’s chest.
‘‘You ready?’’
‘‘As I’ll ever be.’’ He took one step forward and leaned against the horse for a moment before gripping the saddle horn with his left. A grunt as he raised his right hand to the cantle said something else hurt, or perhaps just moving his head caused it.
‘‘When you put your foot in the stirrup and start to mount, I’m going to be right behind you.’’
Jacob’s nod was so brief as to be easily missed, but Opal was watching him more carefully than she would a coiled rattler.
‘‘On three?’’
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘Virginia, be ready. One, two, three.’’
Is this the best way to help
him? No, go get the wagon, a well-padded wagon. Do it, Mr. Chandler, you
can do it
. The thoughts buzzed around her head like a swarm of angry hornets.
He pushed his boot toe in the stirrup and with a mighty groan heaved himself upward and hung rigid for a moment—the longest moment Opal could remember.
Come on, swing your leg over,
she urged silently. Slowly Jacob eased his right leg over the horse’s rump and, with as little motion as possible, settled into the saddle.
‘‘Oh, good.’’ Virginia let out a long-held breath.
‘‘It’s going to be worse when we move out,’’ Opal warned him.
‘‘I know.’’
I could ride behind him. Hold him upright
. Opal chewed her lip. Would he allow that? ‘‘I’ll lead your horse.’’
‘‘Right.’’
‘‘We’ll go as easy as possible.’’ If a human face could indeed flash from white to green, his did. Eyes clenched against the pain, he clung to the horn with both hands.
Opal rounded the horse to make sure both of his feet were firm in the stirrups, and then taking the horse’s reins, she paused to ask, ‘‘You ready?’’
‘‘Um-hum.’’
‘‘It will be easier on you if you can let yourself be loose in the saddle.’’
‘‘Much looser, and I’ll fall off.’’
‘‘Let’s pray that doesn’t happen.’’ She mounted her horse and, motioning Virginia to ride on the other side, started out.
They made it to the mouth of the draw and stopped for a break. ‘‘The rest should be easier.’’
‘‘Just get it over.’’
‘‘Drink of water?’’
‘‘No.’’
‘‘Virginia, head home and tell your mother what’s happened.’’
The girl nodded and nudged her horse to a jog, then a gallop.
‘‘Easy.’’ Opal stopped her horse from taking off too. At least Jacob’s horse hadn’t started.
Thank you, God, for that
. She chose the smoothest track, keeping watch both ahead and on the man.
‘‘Stop.’’
She did, only to watch him slump forward on the horse’s neck to wretch and heave.
If only I knew some other way to help you
.
With a groan he lay still, a shudder rocking his shoulders.
‘‘Water now?’’
‘‘Please.’’
She dismounted and helped him straighten so he could take a sip from the canteen. He swished it around his mouth before spitting. ‘‘You could use it to wash your face too if that would help. We’re near enough to water.’’
‘‘I can’t.’’
‘‘You want me to?’’
‘‘No, let’s just get there.’’
When they topped the rise so they could see the ranch house, Opal felt like hollering her joy. They’d almost made it.
Jacob groaned and slumped to the side.
Opal was off her horse and at his side before he could ask for help. ‘‘Hang on. We’re almost there.’’
‘‘Just . . . rest . . . a . . . moment.’’ Each word came separately as if being drug up from a deep well.
‘‘Take as long as you need.’’
She released her hold on his arm, stepping back, almost checking her hand at the warmth she felt. That was crazy. She’d not felt something like that before.
She shook out her hand and mounted her horse in a fluid motion. ‘‘Ready?’’
‘‘Yes.’’
When they neared the house Mrs. Robertson called from the porch, ‘‘Bring him here.’’
Opal rode up to the house and dropped the reins. How she wished for Rand or some of the hands to help get him down.
If
only Mr. Robertson were here. And that’s all my fault
. She snuffed the thought like blowing out a lamp.
Concentrate on Chandler. You can
still make a difference here
. She dismounted and stopped at his left knee. ‘‘Getting down won’t be easy.’’
‘‘I could just fall off.’’
Opal couldn’t help but smile. She had to admit the man had a sense of humor, even in the midst of his pain. ‘‘Please don’t. But we’re here to break your fall if you do.’’
Jacob leaned over the horse’s neck again, resting against the mane. Slowly he kicked free of the opposite stirrup and eased his leg over the horse’s rump, lying as flat out as the saddle would allow.
Opal and Mrs. Robertson both braced his waist as he kicked his left foot free of the stirrup and slid down the side of the horse.
‘‘Lean on me.’’ Opal locked her arm around his waist from one side and grabbed his arm to drape over her shoulders.
‘‘The bed is ready, Ma.’’ Edith held open the screen door.
‘‘Okay, son, one foot at a time.’’ When he turned, Mrs. Robertson slid under his other arm so the two divided his weight. Although they made a six-legged creature, two legs stumbled, the weight they held causing the ungainly trio to sway and bounce off the doorways.
‘‘Bunkhouse.’’ The effort it took for Jacob to utter that single word was obvious.
‘‘Don’t be silly. I can’t be running back and forth to the bunkhouse to take care of you. You’ll be fine right here. All right, let him down easy.’’ They sat him on the edge of the bed, then lowered him onto the pillow. Opal knelt to unlace his boots and pull them off before they lifted his legs to lay him flat on the bed.
‘‘Thank you.’’
‘‘See you stay that way.’’ Opal closed her eyes at the memory of another injured man lying in bed. There too due to a head injury—because of her.
‘‘You two girls get on out of here now. I’ll get him cleaned up.’’
‘‘You want help with that gash on the back of his head?’’ Virginia asked her mother.
‘‘No. I’ll do fine. It isn’t the worst thing I’ve stitched up.’’
Edith wiped her eyes as she hovered near the doorway. ‘‘You think he’s going to live, Opal?’’
‘‘Live? Of course he’s going to live. People don’t die from a wound like that—he’s just going to have a headache big as Da-kotah for a while.’’ Opal paused. ‘‘Tell your ma I’ve gone back to help bring in the steers. We got twenty head or so we could trail in to the abattoir. I think Rand has some to take in too.’’
‘‘I will.’’ Edith glanced back to the bedroom. ‘‘He looks so bad.’’
‘‘Better than he did out on the trail.’’ Opal headed for the door. ‘‘We can be grateful it wasn’t any worse.’’
‘‘What happened?’’
‘‘Got swiped off by a tree branch. Happens to all of us one time or another.’’
‘‘You should have—’’ Opal whirled and glared at her friend. ‘‘I should have what?’’
‘‘You know he’s not a good rider, and—’’ ‘‘You get to be a good rider by riding. He wants to learn, and if he’s going to stay in this part of the country, he has to learn.
Give him credit for trying.’’
‘‘I just meant . . .’’
Opal straight-armed the screen door. ‘‘He’s a man, Edith. You can’t tell a man what to do.’’ Opal mounted and would have ridden out at a dead run had she not had more sense. She could hear Rand’s voice like he rode right behind her.
‘‘Never take your feelings
out on a horse’’.
What is the matter with that girl? So she thinks the sun rises and
sets on Mr. Jacob Chandler. Wringing her hands isn’t going to help any.
And I never saw her volunteer to get out and make sure this ranch keeps
running. Always says her ma needs her in the house. Right, but no cattle,
no house. Or at least no food and everything else it takes to keep a family.
By the time Opal met the herd coming in, she’d calmed down enough to answer the children’s questions about Mr. Chandler.
‘‘He’ll be fine in a while. Virginia is doing chores, so let’s just run these brutes in that new corral for the night.’’
‘‘How about we run them to the pasture, so they can graze?’’
Ada Mae pointed to the fenced acres.
‘‘They might decide to go right through that fence, but good thinking. We can take them out to graze tomorrow.’’
‘‘Tomorrow’s church,’’ Ada Mae reminded them.
‘‘Ah, you’re right. Let’s take a chance on the pasture, then.’’
Opal loped on ahead and pulled back the poles so they could drive the herd through. When the last one cleared the gate, following the leaders like any good herd animal, she shoved the poles back in place and rested her arms on the top one. ‘‘You all did a fine job today, handling an emergency and everything. I am really proud of you.’’
‘‘Is my father really going to be okay?’’ Joel asked.
‘‘He’ll do.’’
‘‘Thanks to you.’’
‘‘We do what we must out here. It’s just a good reminder that we always need to be on guard. Accidents happen so quick. At least this one has a happy ending.’’
‘‘Not yet.’’
Opal patted his shoulder. ‘‘Your pa is going to be just fine. Just give him a few days.’’
Not like Atticus
. The thought tore at her heart. She could help one man but not the other. What was fair about that?
Big help I am. Flat on my back and needy. You’d think my posterior
would be the part that’s wounded instead of my head
. He gently fingered the bandage Mrs. Robertson had just changed. How could such a simple thing as sitting up to be bandaged make his eyes cross and his stomach heave?
Be grateful
.
The voice floated through the Sunday morning silence. Everyone had already left for church, including Joel, who had halfheartedly volunteered to stay and care for his father.
Jacob had told him to go on, that he’d be fine.
The Harrisons had stopped by, leaving him Ghost for company. Mrs. Robertson assured him that he’d be all right in a few days. After all, the brain didn’t take kindly to being shaken up. And the more he persisted in trying to move around, the longer it would take.
It was not the kind of news Jacob wanted to hear. Keeping his eyes closed made life easier, so he did just that.
Right on the verge of sleep, he heard the voice again.
Be thankful
.
Thankful for a beating drum in his head in spite of the bitter willow bark tea that Mrs. Robertson made him drink? Thankful that he wasn’t hurt worse. Yes, he could do that one. Thankful for clean sheets, the sun shining in the window, birds singing, a gentle breeze fluttering the curtains, a place to live for him and Joel, delicious food . . .
For my Son, your Savior? My Word? Me?
That stopped him up short. ‘‘God, forgive me.’’ His groan brought Ghost to the bed to put her paws up on the edge so she could peer into his face.
