by Rita Hestand
She hated being so dependent, but she'd learned to swallow her pride long ago. She heard a grunt from inside, and guessed he made it to the bed.
She wondered about the man, where he came from, who had shot him, and most importantly, why.
She sighed heavily, and yet a certain amount of pride filled her. With her son's help, she made it four years as a cripple. But not without a lot of attitude changes, she admitted.
Life was what you made it. She missed Mark terribly and her own recovery was slow because of the depression she fell into at his death. That was four years ago. She'd have gone on feeling sorry for herself if Frankie hadn't been bitten by a rattler in the barn. She remembered that day so well. She heard him screaming, and panic set in. She saw the chair that she had refused to use since Mr. Harvey had delivered it to her. But the fact that Frankie needed her changed everything. She swung herself from the bed to the chair and rolled herself to the porch. Mr. Harvey had built her a ramp after he delivered the chair to her, encouraging her to use it. She'd been stubborn. But today, she couldn't afford that, Frankie was screaming. She rolled herself down the ramp and out into the yard, and there she saw Frankie on the ground, and a rattlesnake slithering away. Reaching down, she managed to drag his body up into her lap, and she examined the wound. It was on his ankle. Mr. Harvey was riding by and she saw him. She yelled for him and he came galloping up in her yard. "What's happened?" All she could think of was, "Rattlesnake!" Mr. Harvey grabbed the boy upon the horse and galloped with him to the doctor. For weeks she nursed Frankie back to health, afraid the only other persons she loved would die on her too. From then on, she was determined to become as efficient as possible, for Frankie's sake. That was when she first realized that being crippled didn't mean she had to give up on life. Frankie needed her, and she needed him just as badly.
Frankie came running back out for her now, and helped her up on the porch and into the house.
He never complained about doing for her, and she loved him all the more for it. She knew she was a burden even to him, but she had grown stronger in those four years and was able to manage now almost as good as anyone for one reason only, Frankie needed her. It was the driving love for her son that made her get up in the mornings. He needed her too, for he'd lost his father in that same accident, and his real mother when he was a baby.
"Thank you, honey. You're so helpful to me. I don't know what I'd do without you." She said, smiling up at him.
Frankie hugged her. "We gotta take care of each other."
"That's right, honey, we do."
"Who do you reckon that fella is, Ma?" Frankie changed the subject.
"Well, we'll have to wait and see I guess. Right now is no time to be asking questions. We've got to get that bullet out and quick."
Frankie nodded, "All right Ma."
Chapter Two
"Now, I want you to boil me some water, and bring the kettle in here, and pour it in the wash bowl. Be careful not to spill it as it will burn you." She instructed as she wheeled herself into the bedroom.
"What are you gonna do, ma'am?" Les asked as he saw her coming toward the bed. The pain he was enduring registered on his face and in his eyes. He seemed to barely be able to stay awake.
She almost laughed again. As if she were a threat to him. "I'm going to take the bullet out of your leg." She said as though he should have known. "It needs to come out, and I need to stop the bleeding, now. You're messing everything up."
"You know how to do it?" Les screwed up his face in question as he watched her put several towels under his leg. He winced every time she moved his leg.
"I'll manage." She assured him.
"Who shot him, mama?" Frankie asked as he brought the water in like she asked.
"I don't know, we'll talk about that later. In a few minutes I want you to heat my paring knife over the fire a minute or two, then bring it to me. That will sterilize the knife as I can't put it in boiling water right now. I'll tell you when. I'm going to get that bullet out of his leg now. Can you still hear and understand me?"
"Yeah," he barely whispered, his eyes sort of rolling back in his head.
She handed Frankie the knife and he went back to the kitchen.
"Okay, Ma." Frankie did everything she told him.
Anna rolled her chair up beside the man who was staring at her. Up until now, she hadn't paid much attention to him, but was startled now by his good looks. He had light blue eyes, the kind a person could look into heaven with, and long dark lashes that framed them. His hair was thick and long on his collar, and he had a shadow of a beard.
"I'm going to have to get the bullet out of your leg and it's going to smart some. Do you want some whiskey first?" She ask him, her tone indulgent.
"Can you do that? I mean, do you know how to take bullet out?" He looked skeptically at her.
She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her strength about her. Her anger at his questions dissipated when she saw his distrust and the extreme pain he was in. She couldn't blame the man. "My legs don't work, but the rest of me does. So, yes, I can do that. At least I aim to try. I've dug bullets out of my husband, I can dig this one out of you. Now, do you need some whiskey first?" She asked without a blink. "I'd advise you to take some."
"You think I'll need it?"
"I'd say so…" She smiled. "I don't know how deep it is lodged or how long I'll need to whittle. I'm no expert, but I can get it out."
He seemed startled.
"Want me to heat the knife now?" Frankie hollered from the kitchen.
"Yes dear." Anna called to him.
In a minute Frankie brought the knife, bandages, and then she told him to fetch the whiskey.
Frankie got on a chair and stood so he could reach the whiskey from a shelf in the kitchen, then brought it into the bedroom. He handed the man the bottle of whiskey and the man took a swig.
"You better take several swigs. This is gonna hurt, I am sure of that. I’m no doctor and I might have to whittle it out of you, but I'll get it out."
Les nodded and stared at her. "Sorry to be so much trouble to you ma'am."
Anna looked up at him with a hint of a smile. "I'm used to such…"
"You're pretty tough for a …."
"A cripple?" she added.
"No, I was going to say a woman." His eyes glittered into hers.
The gentle tease in his eyes shocked her. Obviously the man had a sense of humor.
She lowered her gaze. She cleared her throat, and managed to sound as though she were in total control. She'd learned that sounding in control was most of the battle. She'd never admit that the stranger got to her. "Now, after you've relaxed and maybe even passed out, I can start working on that leg." She told him. "Don't worry about wasting the whiskey, we don't drink it."
"Where is your husband ma'am, if you don't mind my asking." He kept staring without apology.
"You ask a lot of questions." She smiled.
"Sorry," he took another swig of whiskey.
"I hope you are a nice drunk…" She grinned.
The man's eyes lit with humor but he didn’t smile, "I try to be, ma'am."
"Let me know when you are ready."
He took several swigs and began to relax. "Go ahead ma'am." He nodded. "I'm beginning to feel no pain…"
"You sure?" She looked doubtful.
"I'll be fine…" He nodded, as his eyes went around the room and then he laid back in the bed as though suddenly dizzy.
She began working on his leg and Les passed out before she got the bullet out. She had to dig deep, and it was messy. There was a lot of blood. That frightened her a bit, but she kept whittling until she was able to get the bullet out. Frankie stood right by his Ma with the lantern so she could see what she was doing, it was barely morning and still a little dark. She had a towel down under his leg to catch the blood, so it wouldn't ruin her mattress.
She remembered the bullet she took out of her husband one year when he went hunting. She hadn
't been married to him long, and he was with a bunch of his friends. They'd been drinking and one of them accidently shot him, thinking him the deer. She remembered how her hands shook trying to get that bullet out. How scared she'd been and how upset Frankie was. She'd managed well though and Mark healed quickly.
Now, she put the bullet in the water bowl, then cleaned the wound and sewed it up with a needle from her sewing box that she kept by her bedside. She looked at it now and was quite satisfied with her job.
Frankie had almost fallen asleep on the floor. But the sound of the bullet hitting the bowl made him perk up once more.
"There, all done." She sighed.
"Will he live, Ma?"
"Oh yeah, he'll be fine soon. A day or two he'll be hoping around on that leg." She smiled at Frankie.
"Wonder who he is? And where he came from?"
"Said his name was Les Harper…I don't know anything else about him." She told him. Frankie climbed up in her lap and hugged her.
"Sure was a lot of blood, Ma."
"Yes, but it's a clean wound, and he's all sewed up, so he'll mend."
"Was you scared, Ma?"
"A little, yes. Kind of scared me there for a bit. I was afraid he'd bleed to death, since he'd already lost a lot of blood in the barn."
"Les Harper…I've heard the name, but can't remember where." Frankie bent his head in thought.
"Well, it doesn't matter, he'll be on his way in a few days time."
"Maybe he could stay and help us, Ma?" Frankie looked hopeful.
"Frankie don't get your hopes up over a stranger. He was hurt, that's why he stopped and slept in our barn. It stormed last night, anyone would get out of the rain. I sure can't fault him for that. Probably couldn't go no further with that leg. I doubt he'd have any interest in fighting land grabbers. No one wants to get mixed up in a fight over land. It's not his worry, anyway. It's ours. We have to figure out how to deal with it. Not him." Anna decided.
"Wouldn't hurt to ask him." Frankie suggested.
"No, we'll handle it." She was adamant and Frankie didn't argue any further.
"Ma…we can't handle it by ourselves and you know it. They are gonna take this land. They done said so. They'll throw us off the place and there ain't nothing we can do but go!" Frankie cried. "It'll be all right, Ma. We'll find another place. But I sure hate leavin' Pa out there. And all the work Mr. Harvey's done on the place for you."
She shook her head, "That's one of the reasons we can't leave here honey. We can't leave your Pa."
She glanced out the window with a fretful gesture.
"I know, Ma. I know. But we can't fight them either." His voice held defeat like a bad taste in his mouth.
"No, I guess you are right. We can't."
"We gonna lose the place, aren't we Ma?"
Tears clouded her vision, but she wouldn't let them fall. Anna stared at her son who was older and wiser than he looked. She hugged him to her. "We aren't losers Frankie. We can't lose this place. We just can't."
He nodded.
"I don't want to talk about it anymore Frankie. I'm a little tired, now. You want to make a pallet and sleep in here on the floor?" Anna's voice held frustration.
"Sure Ma, I'll go get a blanket and pillow. But where are you gonna sleep?"
"Right here in the chair. I'll be fine." She smiled and kissed him on the cheek.
She stared at the man in her bed after Frankie went to get his blanket.
The man was handsome, in a rugged sort of way. He had to be in his early thirties, with thick, fairly long dark hair, a scrubby start of a beard, and lean looking. He obviously didn't smoke as there was no hint of the smell of tobacco. Nor did he dip as his lips were clean and soft looking. He did use the gun though, and quite often from the looks of his big hands and the worn leather on his holster.
She knew by the way he had handled his gun he was used to using it too. For a brief fleeting moment she contemplated hiring him to protect her and her son, but that was ludicrous and she knew it. She couldn't pay him, so what was the use of asking? Besides, all that would amount to is killing and she didn't want that.
His hat was laying in the floor, and she moved the chair so she could pick it up. His gun was still on his hip.
She had Frankie remove the gun when he came back in the room and put it on the dresser. Frankie pulled the gun from his holster and carried it carefully to the dresser. The man groaned, but he didn't wake up. It was probably best. He'd be in some pain when he woke up.
She went into the kitchen. Her mind flitted back and forth between the man and what she was doing. There were a lot of questions in her mind. Who was he, really. Where did he come from? What was he doing here? And exactly what did he do for a living? All those questions danced in her head.
She stared at her kitchen for a moment, wondering if the stranger and found it odd or if he even noticed. In his condition he probably hadn't noticed.
Everything in her home had been remade to fit her chair level. So she could move about easily and take care of most things herself. She was comfortable here, but this was the only place for her and she knew it. Confined to a chair for the last four years, she resigned herself to a life of an invalid, but she did as much as she could to get around and take care of things. With her son's help she'd managed to plant a small garden outside and was able to keep house well, but Frankie had to learn how to handle the one and only horse and the few chickens they had. She felt guilty that Frankie had to do so much, but he never complained about it. In fact, as he got older he enjoyed it. He told her he felt like the man of the house. She was so proud of him, and knew his father would have been too.
She'd gotten by but it was a poor life for her son and she knew it. She had fallen in love with Frankie the minute she laid eyes on him. He was only eighteen months old then. But he was a very good baby, and she taught him all she knew. She became the mother he never knew. They were very close, and even more so when the accident occurred.
But as she thought back guilt plagued her at how helpless she had become right after the accident. It dented her pride to have to rely on anyone, much less her son. For a solid year she nearly withered away. Now she looked back she realized how foolish she'd been. Mark was gone and nothing would bring him back, she had to go on. Go on with Frankie. The one thing she could do for Mark was raise his son the way he would have wanted.
His father's death had been hard on Frankie because he was still young. At five years old he had become the man of the house. He took his responsibilities seriously too. And he clung to Anna now, for she and she alone was his parent.
She wanted better for Frankie. He had learned how to do so much, to help her. She was the only kin he had now and she would take care of him as long as possible.
That first night, she sat beside the stranger in her bed and even held his hand at one point when he called out a name. She couldn't make it out. His voice had been like a whisper. He didn't know if it might have been his wife, or his mother, or just someone he knew. His hand was big and warm and every now and then he squeezed it. Holding hands with a complete stranger, she should know better, but somehow, she drew strength from the man. And she couldn't explain that either. He'd suffered for nearly an hour while she meticulously dug in his leg for the bullet. He hadn't cried out once. She knew it had to hurt.
Chapter Three
The next morning, Frankie was up early and did his chores. He checked on Les several times, and his Ma. She'd slept in that chair and her neck looked crooked. He put his pillow behind her head, and she sighed.
Many times he had fixed his own breakfast, done his chores and walked to school.
He walked to school with his friend Todd, who lived on the next farm over from theirs. It was a good three or four miles to school, so he finished up and left grabbing a cold biscuit from the day before that she kept covered in the iron skillet on the stove. His Ma made the best biscuits in the world, so light and fluffy, he liked them with honey, but he didn't want
to drip it onto his clean shirt.
Anna woke up sometime later, very slowly, the sun peeking through her curtains roused her. She didn't often oversleep but she had stayed up rather late tending to Les Harper and cleaning up the messes that were made.
She'd gone out to the barn after she operated on him and her and Frankie cleaned up the blood from the barn floor.
It had taken Frankie a while to get it raked up and he hauled it way out behind the barn to burn later.
The man hadn't woke up yet. It didn't look like he'd even moved an inch all night
She made herself some coffee and checked on the man off and on through the day, but he slept mostly. He never opened his eyes but he was breathing well.
She went into the kitchen and saw that Frankie had made coffee. She smiled. What would she ever do without him? They had become so close since his father died. They relied on each other for everything.
She saw his empty cup on the counter. She allowed Frankie a cup every morning before he went to school, hoping it kept him awake as he tended to get sleepy in class.
Guilt swept her, Frankie worked hard for a little boy and she wished she could do more herself, but every time she needed to go outside, she found it hard to be of any use. She contented herself to household chores.
She poured herself a cup of coffee and glanced into her bedroom at the stranger. She wondered why he had stumbled into her barn? Where could he have come from? And who shot him? There were so many unanswered questions.
She put some bacon in the skillet and as soon as it was done, she scrambled some eggs. The man didn't wake up, not even to the aroma of the bacon.
It was probably best, he needed the rest.
Going about her chores her mind seemed to wander a lot. She put her problems out of her head for a while, concentrating on the stranger for a change. It was kind of nice to have someone else to worry about than herself and Frankie.
Off and on through the day she tried to give him a drink, but he didn't take much.
