The Redemption of Jake Scully (22 page)

He had to tell her about Barret first. She wouldn’t be safe there unless she knew.

But consciousness was fading; Lacey’s tears were still falling; the words were going unspoken.

And as the silent darkness closed in around him, Scully realized he had not even said he loved her.

Chapter Fourteen

T
he undertaker’s wagon rolled almost ceremoniously slowly down Weaver’s main street as it returned from the site of Charlie Pratt’s burned-out cabin. The sky had turned suddenly as gray as the town’s mood—as dark as Barret’s disposition.

He glanced down the street at the many townsfolk who stood watching in their doorways. The unexpectedly violent turn of events at Charlie’s cabin had elevated Lacey’s story to the point of folklore in Weaver. He supposed it was to be expected in a town with so little to amuse it. After all, a child of eight had survived an attack from unknowns that had left her grandfather dead and their cabin burned. She had trekked through the wilderness to arrive in town wounded and dragging a limping burro behind her. She had gone to the saloon where her grandfather had sent her to be raised by a local barkeep, had been sent away to finishing school and had returned ten years later beautiful and cultured, only to be attacked again by the same men who had killed her grandfather.

And in the face of all odds, she had survived a second time.

Incredible.

And infuriating!

The wagon drew to a halt in front of the undertaker’s parlor as Barret watched coldly. An unmarked hole in the ground was more well-deserved than the spot on Boot Hill that had already been marked for the burial. He had displayed the proper amount of shock at what had happened in order to satisfy the town, but he was yet incapable of feigning any other emotion.

The truth was, the way things now stood, he would be glad when the last shovelful of dirt covered the graves. As far as he was concerned—despite what anyone in Weaver might expect considering his former association with the deceased—the matter was cut and dried.

Goodbye, Blackie.

Goodbye, Larry.

And most definitely—good riddance.

It was time for him to take over.

He was hot, and the pain was deadening. Spiraling images filled Scully’s mind. He saw Blackie’s hand flash to his gun. He felt the bullets strike him as he returned fire.

Lacey’s face materialized before him and he caught his breath. He had to tell her Barret was behind it all. She didn’t know.

He called out, shouting Barret’s name, but the words emerged cruelly distorted.

“Lacey…”

He said her name, but the sound was indiscernible to his own ears.

He could not protect her.

Consciousness again began fading and Scully mumbled the name of the only One to whom he could turn.

He whispered, “Jesus…”

“I don’t know if he’ll make it.”

Lacey stood rigidly still outside Scully’s bedroom doorway as sunset trailed into twilight on the street beyond. A burst of laughter resounded from the saloon below, the levity in sharp contrast with the dire circumstances in Scully’s upstairs room.

Lacey stared at the elderly doctor’s sober countenance. She told herself she hadn’t heard him correctly. Scully had been gravely wounded in the gunfight that had brought about final justice for her grandfather’s death. She remembered the moment when Buddy walked unsteadily into the circle of the fire’s light. His head was still bleeding as he checked the two lifeless men lying a few feet away, then came to crouch at her side and whisper, “I’m sorry I let those two sneak up on me, ma’am. Jewel figured out where you were heading after you left the lessons for her and Rosie. She asked me to follow you and watch out for you, but I didn’t see those two others until it was too late.”

Buddy, sent by Jewel to watch over her. She knew if it hadn’t been for him and the travois he had fashioned from two blackened cabin beams and the blankets from her bedroll, Scully would not have survived the long, grueling journey back to Weaver.

Her fears had heightened as Scully’s fever rose, but she had truly believed the worst of it was over when he was carried through his bedroom doorway at last and Doc Mayberry walked into the room.

Yet Doc Mayberry’s expression was now grave as he said, “I’m sorry, Lacey. It just doesn’t look good. Scully lost a lot of blood, he’s having trouble breathing and his temperature is soaring.”

Hysteria nudged at Lacey’s mind as she replied, “Are you telling me he’s going to die?”

“My dear…” Doc Mayberry took her hands gently in his. “I know how much this man means to you. He’s the rock that has sustained you through difficult years, and he was willing to risk his life for you.”

Lacey replied, “I just need to know how I can help him now that he needs me.”

“You’re doing all you can, Lacey.”

“But it’s not enough! You said it’s not enough.”

“We’ve both done all we can for him. I’ll continue to care for him, of course, but the rest is out of my hands. All you can do for him is to make sure he gets the medicine I left for him every hour. Otherwise…” He shook his head, “I’m very sorry, dear.”

Silent as Doc Mayberry walked down the staircase toward the saloon floor, Lacey turned abruptly and walked back into Scully’s room.

Out of his hands.

The phrase Doc Mayberry had spoken reverberated in Lacey’s mind as she looked down into Scully’s tormented expression. His eyes were closed, but despite his weakness, he hadn’t been still for a moment. He continued to writhe in the throes of an inner tribulation she did not understand. He called out sharply in his delirium, his voice sometimes raised to a shout, but his words were unclear. She had strained to understand him in the hope of offering him reassurance that would allay his torment, but she had failed.

Lacey brushed away the tears that slipped down her cheeks, despising their weakness. She had no time for tears. Doc Mayberry had said it clearly. He had done all he could for Scully. The rest was out of his hands.

Lacey briefly closed her eyes. She knew in whose hands Scully’s life now rested. She had always known, and she had prayed. Now looking down at Scully’s pale, fevered countenance, Doc Mayberry’s dire words rang again in her mind.

Her heart full, Lacey kneeled beside Scully’s bed. She closed her eyes and clasped her hands tightly together as she whispered, “Dear Heavenly Father, I beg You to shed Your healing power down on Scully now. You are his only hope. You know him well. He made his own way in a difficult world, and in doing so, he strayed from Your word at times, but his heart is good and his spirit generous. He risked his safety for me, and he now teeters between life and death. I can’t understand why he would so easily trade off his own safety for mine, except that he can’t accept that his word, once given, should ever be rescinded.

“My dear Father, since returning to Weaver, I have come to comprehend the true significance of Samuel’s words when he said,
‘For the Lord seeth not as man seeth—for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.’
Those words have offered me understanding and consolation, and I pray that You will see in Scully not the man he has occasionally been, but the man of great potential that he is. My eyes and my heart see that man clearly. My faith is full and strong that his life will one day come to reflect Your Son’s teachings in a way that will be apparent to all. I believe that in Your goodness, You watch over us all, and that Scully was ‘the rod and staff that comforted me,’ because You deigned it to be so.

“Heavenly Father, I now kneel at Scully’s bedside in the hope of returning just a portion of all You have given me through Scully with Your blessings. I beg that You hear my prayer when I beseech Your aid for Scully, and ask that in Your benevolence You will look with favor on my plea and make Scully well and strong again. I ask this fervently, in the name of Your Son, the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.”

Lacey wiped the dampness from her cheeks as she drew herself slowly to her feet. Scully’s restless contortions continued, and the ache inside her deepened.

Barret paused as he picked up his suitcoat from the chair. He looked out his bedroom window, anxious anticipation fluttering inside him as twilight began fading into night. He slipped on his suitcoat and turned to his dresser. He picked up the derringer lying there and slipped it into his breast pocket with a hard smile. He had waited ten years for the moment fast approaching.

Barret adjusted his collar and stepped back to scrutinize his appearance. His performance when he visited Mary McInnes at her boarding house that afternoon had been touched with genius. He had been so clearly affected when he admitted regretting that he hadn’t been particularly friendly with Scully in the past. Properly contrite, he had then said he admired Scully for the sacrifice he had made for Lacey’s safety, that he was pained at the thought of his former attitude toward him, but even more distressed that the men he had innocently employed for so many years had murdered Charlie Pratt. He had said he wanted to make amends by offering both Scully and Lacey his support.

It amused him to recall how taken the old woman had been with his sincerity. She had actually asked him into her parlor for tea. During the course of the following half hour, he had learned all he needed to know about the events that had taken place at the campsite. Mary had told him that Lacey was grateful it was finally over and the men who had killed her grandfather had paid for their crime at last. She claimed that Scully had ridden out after Lacey simply because he had feared for her safety in the wilderness—an act that had proved prophetic in the eyes of the town.

Regarding Scully’s care, she said that Lacey hadn’t left Scully’s bedside since they had returned to town, but however conscientious her care, Scully was failing. She said she had delivered Lacey a tray each mealtime, only to take the previous tray back untouched; that she had begged Lacey to rest, but Lacey had ignored her pleas. She said she feared for Lacey’s health and had made the decision that she would go to the sickroom that evening when her work was done at the boarding house, and would insist that Lacey return to her room for a little while, if only to refresh herself. She had said she would not allow Lacey to refuse this time.

When looking at the old woman’s determined expression, he had been certain she would not…and the plan he now intended to carry through had been born.

Dear Lacey, sweet Lacey, so concerned about her guardian’s welfare—
and so determined to keep the secret of her grandfather’s strike to herself.

He had waited too long. He would get the information he wanted from her tonight, without delay.

The sound of Scully’s labored breathing filled the otherwise silent bedroom. Sitting on an upholstered chair beside the bed, Lacey watched the rise and fall of his chest, her gaze lingering on the bloodstained bandage wrapped across it. The stain was dry. The wound had stopped bleeding. She supposed that was a good sign, but she wanted so much more. She wanted to feel the fever leave his body and see his constant tossing become a restful sleep. She wanted to see him well and strong again. She prayed the Lord would answer her prayers and she—

Lacey stood up at the sound of a knock on the door. She managed a smile for Mary when she entered the room. Mary looked at Scully, then looked back at Lacey with a sad shake of her head.

Without spoken comment on Scully’s condition, Mary addressed Lacey, saying in a motherly tone, “You look exhausted, dear.” She added, “You’ll notice I didn’t bring you a tray this evening.”

“That’s fine, Mary. I’m really not hungry.”

“I know you aren’t, but that isn’t the reason I’ve come empty-handed. You haven’t left Scully’s side since he was put into that bed. You’ve refused everyone’s help, including Helen’s and mine, but I won’t let you refuse me any longer, dear. I know Scully. He wouldn’t want you to wear yourself out the way you have been.”

“I can’t leave him, Mary.”

“He’ll be angry when his fever breaks and he sees you looking totally spent.”

Lacey did not reply.

“I want you to go back to the boarding house—”

“No.”

“Just for a little while, dear. I’ve left a tray for you on the kitchen table, and I want you to make yourself eat, if only to keep up your strength.”

“No, Mary, I—”

“Listen to me, please, dear. Scully will be angry with me if I failed to look out for you while he was ill. I have great affection for the fellow, you know, and I certainly wouldn’t want that to happen.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll explain it all to him when he recovers.”

“You don’t look well,” Mary continued with determined bluntness. “You’re pale, and your appearance is disheveled. You don’t want Scully to see you that way when he wakes up.”

“He won’t care.”

“But he will—for your sake! Please, dear, go back to the boarding house. Take an hour for yourself so you may return refreshed and renewed. That’s what Scully would want.”

“No, I—”

“You owe it to him, Lacey, to be your best when he opens his eyes.”

Lacey looked into Mary’s sweet countenance. The dear woman was so obviously sincere.

Lacey paused in reply, uncertain. Maybe Mary was right. She hadn’t eaten or slept more than an hour or two in the last few days. Nor had she looked in the mirror. She couldn’t go on this way, and she knew it. She needed to look strong and fresh in order to set Scully at ease while he recovered.

Those thoughts in mind, Lacey forced herself to say, “You’re right, of course, Mary. I owe it to Scully to be the person he expects to see when he’s lucid again.” She swallowed against the tightening lump in her throat and continued, “I’ll go back to my room and refresh myself, but I’ll return in time to give Scully his medicine in an hour.” She paused, then added, “You will send someone for me if…in case Scully…”

“Dear, please go. It’s only an hour, after all.”

With a lingering look at Scully, Lacey left the room. She avoided the saloon floor and turned toward the newly repaired rear staircase where she might exit into the alley and elude comment about her red-rimmed eyes.

Lacey emerged from the alleyway and kept to the shadowed building overhangs on the street in order to evade concerned questions for which she had no answers. Within minutes she had slipped through the boarding house door and was headed for her room.