The Fiery Ring

by Gilbert, Morris

  “He can’t sit up, Sister Hannah. I’ll hold his head.”

  Chase felt Joy’s hand behind his head and ignored the pain. He tilted the bottle and took three quick swallows. He made a face and gasped. “What is that? It tastes terrible.”

  “Nothin’ but paregoric. I give it to babies with colic and men that have had their heads kicked in or anybody else. You’ll start gettin’ sleepy in a few minutes. If you don’t, you can take three more swallows.”

  “Isn’t that dangerous?” Joy asked.

  “We gotta make sure he don’t feel much when we sew up that head of his. Then we gotta move him around quite a bit. Get him outa that bed and put some covers on this here bed, and then we best see about them ribs—if’n they’s busted. It ain’t gonna be no pleasure a’tall. What’d you say your name was?”

  “Chase Hardin.”

  “Well, Brother Chase, we’ll just wait a bit until that paregoric takes ahold of you.” She turned to Joy. “He needs a bath. He’s plumb filthy. Get them pans outa the buggy, and we’ll heat up some water.”

  Joy left quickly and soon returned. She had to fetch another pail of water from the station, but the stove was an effective heater, and soon the water was warm enough for bathing.

  “You ain’t sleepy enough yet for me to do that stitchin’ on your eyebrow,” Sister Hannah said. “So I’m gonna tell you ’bout gettin’ saved first . . ..”

  ****

  “He’s just about unconscious, Sister Hannah,” Joy whispered.

  “Let’s get started on sewing up that head. It may hurt him a little, so you gotta hold his head still while I do the stitchin’.”

  Joy swallowed hard, but she followed Sister Hannah’s instructions, holding Chase’s head firmly. It was necessary, she found, for he did flinch when the needle hit his flesh. When the stitches were done, Sister Hannah said, “You done good, Joy. Now, let me check them ribs. This is gonna hurt him.”

  It was a painful business, and the medicine was only partially effective, but finally Sister Hannah said, “As far as I can tell, there ain’t none of ’em fractured. What I suspect is that they’re just cracked, not broke, which is good.”

  “I’m relieved to hear that.”

  “Yep, me too. Let’s get him down off that bed long enough to put some sheets on it, and then we’ll give him a bath. He can’t lay there on that filthy bed.”

  “How’re we going to move him?”

  “I’ll take his head, and you take his feet. We’ll just set him right down on the floor, and then we can fix the bed. I don’t think he’ll feel too much.”

  Following Sister Hannah’s instructions, Joy took Chase’s feet while the large woman slid her hands under his shoulders. “When I say three, we lift him. Just set him down easy. One—two—three.”

  Chase groaned as they lowered him to the floor, but Sister Hannah ignored him. “There, get them sheets.” The two women put the sheets on quickly, then added two blankets. When they were done, she said, “We gotta give him a bath.” She knelt on the floor and started unbuttoning Chase’s shirt and said, “Pull his britches off, girl.”

  “Me?”

  Sister Hannah paused and looked up. She saw that Joy’s face was red with embarrassment. “Get them britches off. It looks like he ain’t changed his clothes lately. Go on. It won’t shock you too bad.”

  Joy’s face was flaming, but she managed to get the wool trousers off. To Joy’s relief he was wearing long underwear. “Okay, let’s put him on the bed now, and then I’ll clean him up. You ready?”

  “All right.”

  At the count of three again, they picked Chase up and laid him down on the fresh sheet. Joy watched as Hannah washed him as if he were an inanimate object. She was appalled at seeing the deep purple-and-yellow bruises on his side. “His side looks awful, Sister Hannah.”

  “Ain’t no doubt but them ribs are cracked, but Dr. Jesus can mend them. Now,” she said, “that’s clean enough. Hand me that there towel.” Taking the towel, she dried Chase off. “Now we gotta get him bandaged—as tight as he can stand it.”

  The bandaging was difficult. Joy had to hold Chase up in a sitting position, and more than once he groaned as Sister Hannah wrapped him tightly. Finally she was finished, and she said, “All right, lay him back there.” Joy carefully lowered Chase to the bed. “Let’s cover him up now and keep him warm.”

  Sister Hannah covered him, then studied the man’s drawn face. “He got hurt real bad, and he’s gonna need lots of care, little sister. I’ll come back tomorrow and check on ’im. You’ll be all right tonight?”

  “Oh yes, and, Sister Hannah, I want to pay you for coming.”

  Sister Hannah shook her head firmly. “I don’t take money for helpin’ folks.”

  Joy had started to pull money from her pocket, but she hesitated. “Then I can only thank you.”

  “I’m going to leave some of this paregoric here. He ought to stay out most of the rest of the night. If he does wake up, give him a big tablespoon full of it. I’ll come tomorrow about noon maybe.”

  “Thank you, Sister Hannah.”

  After Sister Hannah had closed her bag and left, Joy closed the door. The fire was dying down, and she put two more chunks of coal on it. Mr. Powell had contributed some of his own for this purpose. She pulled up a box and sat down beside Chase. Sister Hannah had bandaged his forehead, and now Joy brushed back his black hair, noticing it had a curl in it.

  For a long time she sat there, and then for the first time since the struggle in the boxcar, her thoughts turned to her own troubles. Albert will have the police looking for me. He may even figure out I left on the freight train. If they start checking, those brakemen will tell him where I got off. The thought troubled her, but she was too exhausted to worry about it. There was another bunk down at the other end, and Sister Hannah had brought enough sheets and blankets to fix it. She made the bed quickly and then slipped off her shoes and climbed under the covers. Her last thought was of how Chase Hardin had tried to help her, and she murmured aloud, “I’ll stay until he’s able to take care of himself.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “It Ain’t Fittin’ . . .”

  As the freight slowed beside the small station, the engine released a burst of steam, and the brakes ground the train to a halt. The cars made a metallic clanging as the slack was taken out. Even before the train had fully stopped, Cam Freeman swung to the ground and headed purposefully toward the abandoned caboose that rested on the siding fifty yards from the station. He had often thought of the injured man and the girl, and now as he approached the caboose, he muttered, “Been three days—they might have moved on—but that fellow was in pretty bad shape.” Stepping up onto the rear platform, he knocked on the door, calling out, “Anybody home?”

  The door opened almost at once, and the girl stared at him apprehensively. Her eyes lit up as she recognized him, and he grinned at her. “Well, you’re still here, I see.”

  “Oh yes. I’m glad to see you again. Come on in.”

  Cam stepped inside the caboose and saw that it had been made fairly livable. The small coal stove threw off a cheery glow, and on top of it a blackened coffeepot was giving off a delicious aroma.

  Joy introduced Cam to Chase. “This is one of the men who helped get you off the train and into this caboose. You were out cold when they moved you.”

  “I don’t remember much about that day. Thank you for helping me.”

  “Would you like some coffee?” Joy asked.

  “No, I can’t stay,” Cam said. “I’ve got to be on my way. I just wanted to check and see how you’re doing.” He nodded at Chase, who was sitting up on the small cot, his back braced with blankets. “Well, I see you didn’t die.”

  Chase managed a grin. “No, but from what I hear I might have if you hadn’t helped us. I sure appreciate your help.”

  Cam moved closer and studied the face of the injured man. The black hair was brushed back, and he was fresh shaven, but his lean face was
tense.

  “He had some cracked ribs,” Joy said, “and we had to have his head sewn up, but he’s doing fine now.”

  “Glad to hear it. You were in pretty bad shape for a while.”

  Chase’s eyes went to Joy for a moment and he nodded. “Looks like I’m nothing but excess baggage.”

  Cam grinned broadly, shaking his head. “Don’t be sayin’ that. You’ll be okay now. How long before you can get around?”

  “Can’t say, but it won’t be too soon for me.”

  Cam heard the warning blast of the whistle and said, “Gotta be going. Just wanted to check on you. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “No,” Joy said, “you’ve done a lot. We both appreciate it.”

  Cam turned and, with a wave of his hand, stepped outside the door. Joy turned to Chase, saying, “He’s a nice man.”

  “Sure is. Not too many like him around.”

  “I’ve got to go to the store and get something to eat. You just lie there until I get back. Here, I’ll give you a cup of coffee. Don’t you get out of bed, now.”

  “I’m nothing but an overgrown baby,” Chase grumbled. He watched as she filled the mug and handed it to him. “I feel like a charity patient, Joy.”

  “All of us have to have help now and then. I’ll be back soon.”

  Leaving the caboose, Joy headed east, where the small town was located. There were no more than twenty houses in the town, and the only business on the main street was a general store with a gas pump outside. She had been to the store once and now felt the eyes of the few people who were on the street. She kept her head high, despite their suspicious glances. One man even made a crude remark to his friend, which she ignored.

  Turning into the store, she saw a clerk behind the counter measuring beans into bags. The small man had oily hair plastered against his head and an unkempt mustache. He was wearing a white shirt with a black string tie and had old-fashioned garters around his arms. “Hello there,” he said, putting down the scoop. “What can I do for you?”

  “I need a pound of coffee, a pound of bacon, some bread, and a can of peaches.” As Joy gave her order, the clerk moved around rapidly, piling the items on the counter. His eyes watched her furtively, and when she said, “That’s all,” he picked up a tablet and added up the total.

  “That’ll be sixty-three cents.”

  Joy reached into her pocket, pulled out a small roll of bills, and peeled off the top one. The clerk took the bill, and when he handed her the change, he managed to tickle her palm and then laughed at her as she pulled her hand back.

  “Don’t you want this change?”

  “Just the change,” Joy said, anger flaring in her eyes. “Just put it on the counter.”

  “Well, aren’t we hoity-toity! Who do you think you are—the queen of England?”

  “Put those things in a sack please.”

  The clerk tossed the items into a used paper bag. He shoved it toward her and sneered, “You’re the one living with that guy out in the caboose, aren’t you?” He saw the dismay sweep across the girl’s face and laughed. “Everybody knows about you, so don’t be acting like you’re all holy.”

  Joy’s face flushed as she snatched up the bag, whirled, and slammed the door behind her. A scrawny yellow dog that had been napping outside was startled by the explosion of sound. It jumped to its feet, looked around, and bared its teeth, but Joy paid it no heed. She stomped along the street furiously, ignoring the looks she got from two women, one of whom leaned over and whispered to the other as she passed.

  When she got back to the caboose, Joy said nothing, not even a greeting. Chase knew something was wrong. She put the few items she had bought onto a shelf that she had added to the caboose by simply nailing an apple crate to the wall. She turned and saw Chase watching her.

  “Is anything wrong?” he asked gently.

  “No, nothing,” Joy said shortly. “I wish I could make biscuits, but we don’t have an oven.” While she thought for a moment, Chase kept his eyes on her, aware both of her strangeness and of her pleasing appearance. Even dressed in the rough boys’ clothing, she still appeared quite feminine, and he appreciated the graceful lines of her throat where her shirt collar fell open. She was always guarded, but he understood that a girl out on her own would have to be. I’ll bet she’s had a hard time of it—maybe runnin’ from somethin’. She wouldn’t be out riding the rails alone for no good reason. He lay still watching her, noting the hint of willfulness and pride in the corners of her eyes and lips. Even in the brief time he had known her, he had learned that beneath her cool exterior, she was a girl of deep feelings. Now her lips softened into a slight smile. She made a little gesture with her shoulders and looked at him. “I think I’ll make stew today. It’ll be a change.”

  Chase nodded, and as she turned and began her work, he wondered what went on underneath that façade she had assumed. He said nothing—just kept staring—and once she glanced over and said, “I wish you had something to read.”

  “Well, I’ve got a New Testament. Would you hand it to me? It’s in that sack.”

  Joy studied him for a moment and then nodded. Turning, she walked across the narrow aisle, picked up the New Testament, and handed it to him. It was thick, and the black cover was worn. “Have you had it a long time?”

  “No, a fella gave it to me just a few days back.” He remembered Thad Gilbert’s kindness. It was one good memory in a long list of harsh ones, and he had stowed it in a section of his mind where he kept other good memories. When things got bad he would go there, take them out, and examine them one by one. It had been a habit of his for a long time, and for the last few years the good memories had been rare indeed. Opening the New Testament, he began to read. Soon the aroma of frying bacon filled the small room, and he glanced up to watch Joy. Her back was to him, and her head was turned to one side, allowing him to study her profile without being noticed. The clean sweep of her jaw gave her a youthful look, but he found it hard to guess her age. For one brief moment he wondered what would become of her and was troubled by the possibilities. Suddenly she turned and met his eyes, and he smiled. “Been trying to read Revelation.”

  Joy laughed. “My dad had a dog once named Revelation.”

  It was the first time she had mentioned her family, and Chase picked up on it. “Why in the world did he call him that?”

  “He said he called him that because he didn’t understand a thing about that book—and he could never understand anything about that dog either.”

  Chase smiled. “I’ve known a few animals like that myself. Do you like animals?”

  “Yes, we always had pets.” Joy’s face softened as she said, “Once I got to raise a wolf.”

  “Is that right! Where did you get it?”

  “A friend of my dad’s killed the mother, and then he found these little pups. He killed all of them but one, and my dad got it and brought it to me. It was so small. I had to feed it by hand.”

  “What did you feed it?”

  “Oh, at first I would just dip a cloth in some milk and let it suck the cloth.” The distant memory came back to her, and she said, “I called it Buck, like the dog in Call of the Wild.”

  “I would guess you didn’t get to keep it, though.”

  Surprise washed across Joy’s face. “How’d you know that?”

  “Because wild animals don’t make good pets after they’re grown. They’re cute enough when they’re kittens and pups, but they eventually grow up. Even coons are wild animals, as cute as they are when they’re babies.”

  “Why, that’s right!” Joy exclaimed. “I raised one of those too. He stayed around a long time, but finally he went back to the forest. I cried all day, I think.” She turned back to the stove, saying, “Oh no, I’m going to burn your dinner!”

  Chase went back to reading the New Testament but contented himself with reading the Gospel of John instead of the mysterious book of Revelation. When Joy told him dinner was ready, he looked up with s
urprise. “I got caught up in the stories in the book of John,” he said. “Are you a Christian, Joy?”

  Joy had been spooning out stew with one of the two spoons the station agent had given her. “I used to think I was,” she said tersely. “Now I don’t know.” She set the stew on an up-ended crate she had put beside his bunk. She returned with a piece of bread and said, “I wish we had some butter.”

  “This is fine. Why don’t you sit down and join me?”

  Joy got herself a bowl of the steaming stew and sat down on the box she used for a chair. She took a spoonful and tasted it cautiously. “It’s hot.”

  “But good. You’re a good cook, Joy.”

  “Anybody can make stew.”

  “Not me. I could never cook anything.”

  The two ate slowly, saying little, and just as they were finishing, Joy lifted her head. “Listen.”

  Chase had caught it too. “Buggy pulling up.”

  “I expect it’s Sister Hannah. She said she’d come by about noon.” She took Chase’s empty bowl and put it on the small shelf, then went to open the door. “Hello, Sister Hannah,” she said, smiling.

  Hannah was getting out of the buggy. She tied the mare up to a small sapling and then nodded as she stepped up onto the rear platform. “How’s the patient?”

  “Much better. Come on in and take a look at him.”

  Chase greeted her with a big smile. “Hello, Sister.”

  “Lemme see them stitches.” Hannah tilted Chase’s head with one hand on the top of his head and the other under his chin. Her eyes narrowed as she studied her handiwork. “Not a bad job of stitchin’ if I do say so myself. Have to take them stitches out maybe in a few days.” She started unbuttoning his shirt without asking permission.

  “You don’t allow a fellow much modesty, do you?”

  “When you’ve raised kids like I have and handled as many sick men, they ain’t much time for modesty.” She palpated his chest and sides, giving him instructions all the while. “Take a deep breath. Does that hurt? Can you turn thisaway?”

  Finally she straightened up and said, “Good thing them ribs wasn’t broke. You’d be in bed for months. The Lord is doin’ a good work of healin’.”