Nathanial

by J. B. Richard

  “Ma asked me to check on Elizabeth. She’s napping.” Jesse gave him a nudge.

  Nate waited at the top of the stairs. Jesse was only in Elizabeth’s room a minute or two, then appeared in the hall. She must have still been asleep. Nate followed on his heels down the stairs. Each footfall of Jesse’s boot sounded like a weary sigh.

  Nate couldn’t take not knowing for one more second. “Is Pa gonna die? Is that why Doc kicked us all out and Ma ain’t herself?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.

  At the bottom, Jesse turned and hunkered down, facing Nate eye to eye. “None of us knows the hour the good Lord will call us home. I won’t guess if your pa’s gonna live or die. I just can’t say for sure. Wish I could promise ya everything will turn out the way we want, but …” Jesse’s voice trailed off, and he studied Nate as though deciding whether he should say more or not.

  Nate wasn’t a baby, but he was a little kid. He didn’t rightly understand lots of big people stuff. Though, he did want Jesse to try to explain this to him. That was Nate’s father lying upstairs.

  “Jesse, I’m scared.” He threw his arms around Jesse’s neck and buried his face in the collar of his shirt.

  A big hand rubbed Nate’s back. Then Jesse pulled him back and nodded. He’d made his decision to tell him something. Maybe not every detail, but he wasn’t leaving him in the dark to wonder what was happening to Pa.

  “I’m scared too.” Jesse faintly grinned. “Doc has to operate on your pa. That bullet wound is infected. He’s gonna try to drain the pus out.”

  “Then Pa will get better?” Nate innocently asked.

  “Maybe.” Very little confidence radiated out of those words. “Your pa is a strong man. I can’t help but believe that he’ll somehow beat this. Reckon that’s just wishful thinkin’.” Jesse straightened, and no more was said.

  They found the others sitting on the porch. Huckabee and the judge were discussing Doc’s quick course of action, and both seemed to predict a good outcome. Maybe they were saying that for Nate’s sake since he was still wiping at his eyes or just to make themselves feel better.

  Fletcher was quiet, keeping whatever he was thinking to himself, averting his eyes anytime Jesse looked in his direction. Nate wished that man would go away. Fletcher didn’t belong there. He wasn’t a friend or neighbor or even an acquaintance. He didn’t care one iota about Pa. Nate wanted to be sad without some stranger sneaking glances at him, which just made him feel more ill at ease.

  There was no escaping the crushing ache in Nate’s chest. He couldn’t stop fretting about Pa. He could, however, lose sight of Mr. Fletcher. He looked over at Jesse, who sat on the porch steps in gloomy silence, his head hanging between his hands, shoulders drooped, and every inch sapped of strength.

  “I’ll tend to the horses,” Nate offered to get away. Buck and the bay were still hitched to the wagon, and Jesse’s gelding stood with his reins dangling to the ground. Nate shuffled toward the animals, occasionally giving the dirt a hard kick when the urge to let out frustration hit him.

  “I know just how ya feel, kid.” Jesse had followed him.

  It took only a few minutes for the horses to be unhitched and pastured. Nate then went into the barn, slowly working at his chores until he was finished. A couple times, he had mindlessly forgotten what he was doing as he was doing it. All he could think about was Pa.

  Nate closed the barn door behind him. It wasn’t yet dark, but the sun had sunk lower since he had gone into the barn. Long shadows reached out from the trees and made the yard appear as though it were wearing black prison stripes. The orange hue of the sky somehow felt cold to Nate. It wasn’t giving off that warm, peaceful glow his family usually enjoyed after supper each evening while gathered on the porch, relaxing in one another’s company. The men who’d been sitting there earlier were gone, but their horses stood tied to the rail outside the picket fence. Fletcher hadn’t left the ranch.

  Inside, the marshal was bouncing Elizabeth in an effort to soothe her cries. Jesse was scurrying about the kitchen, hastily trying to heat up stew. The judge and Fletcher were sitting peacefully on the settee. They weren’t speaking, just sitting there burdened by their own thoughts, or so it seemed, considering the long faces. Judge Prescott was flipping through one of Pa’s law books, and Mr. Dandified was staring at the framed photographs that lined the mantel. Nate ignored it, walking past into the dining room where the marshal had his hands full with the screaming Elizabeth. Nate scooped up his little sister’s rag doll off the floor. It was her favorite toy. A godsend for the rest of the family when Ma wasn’t nearby.

  Nate danced the doll in his hand. “Ticklebug is comin’ to git ya.”

  Elizabeth giggled. The crying instantly stopped, and she reached for the dolly.

  Nate, being a big brother, had to do a little teasing. He had named the faceless cotton doll Ticklebug. It was a front for the merciless torment he so enjoyed overpowering his sister with. She loved it. He held Ticklebug in hand, hopping toward her. Elizabeth squealed, balling up in the marshal’s arms, her fat rolls already shaking. She knew what was coming because Nate had played this game with her about a million times.

  “Ticklebug,” he sang a few times while quickly skipping the dolly all over Elizabeth’s little belly. Using the rag doll, he poked in that sensitive spot right above the hip bone, the fatty gut part. Elizabeth’s laugh was so deep it must have roared right up from her toes. In return, Nate laughed.

  The marshal chuckled too. “Good job.” He winked at Nate.

  Jesse came in from the kitchen with a plate of stew in each hand. He plunked them on the table. “Here.” He reached to take Elizabeth. She was hungrily chewing on Ticklebug. As soon as Jesse picked up the spoon, Elizabeth opened her mouth wide. “Partner, have a seat. That other plate is for you.”

  Nate wasn’t hungry. His sister was too young to fully grasp all that was going on that evening. Their father might die, and the horrible man who had every intention of stealing Nate away from their family was in the next room. Fletcher was still stiffly sitting in the same spot, looking around as if inventorying the contents of their home. Nate really didn’t care what the jackass thought about anything. He was honestly only concerned about one thing—their father.

  “I ain’t hungry,” Nate said with some serious sass.

  Jesse scowled. “I wasn’t askin’. Now sit down and eat.”

  He was barely shoveling it in fast enough for Elizabeth. There was stew smeared on her face, and drips stained her dress where Ma always tucked a bib.

  “I’m gonna get coffee.” The marshal, looking about as beat as a man could get, went into the kitchen. “Jesse, you want some?”

  “Make it strong,” Jesse answered. He looked hard at Nate. “Git your ass in that chair and start eatin’.”

  Ma was usually the one who nagged him about his weak appetite, but since she was busy tending Pa, it appeared that not only had Jesse stepped into Pa’s boots as head of the family, but also Ma’s. Nate didn’t always listen to his mother and father either, so that meant Jesse could kiss his big toe. If he wasn’t hungry, which he wasn’t, then he was not going to eat. And no way, no how was Jesse going to make him.

  Nate could be bossy too. He smacked his hands to his hips and sternly stared at Jesse. “I don’t see you fillin’ your gut. Where’s your plate? If I gotta eat, why don’t you?”

  His argument was sensible the way he figured it. Jesse had a big appetite like Pa. It wasn’t unusual for him to have seconds, sometimes thirds. He was a pig there at home. His lack of appetite meant only one thing. Jesse was too worried about Pa to nibble a crumb. So why did he expect Nate to be hungry?

  “Ma will ask if you kids got fed.” Jesse pointed to the plate of food that sat waiting. “Git your behind in that chair.”

  It didn’t seem like Nate had a choice.

  Fletcher’s voice carried in from the parlor. He twisted at the curled end of his mustache while talking to the judge, who was
sitting erect and nodding his head slowly with each utterance flowing out of Fletcher’s mouth. Judge Prescott appeared to be hanging on to each word as though it were life-sustaining.

  “Why is he still here?” For a second, Nate forgot about food and arguing with Jesse. Not that he’d meant to change the subject, but he was at wit’s end with this whole blasted day. He was mentally drained, which made him grumpy, and he realized he was fiercely irritable because he didn’t usually get smart-mouthed with Jesse. At the moment, Nate felt like throwing both his plate of stew and Lem Fletcher right out the window. He wanted to hear Pa’s deep voice, not the sissified tone of the enemy.

  Jesse finished wiping Elizabeth’s mouth, then turned and stared at Fletcher as if seeing him for the first time. Nate reckoned with all the worry, taking care of kids, having prisoners to deal with at some point, and stranded women, plus with Pa half dead, Jesse undoubtedly recognized those increased responsibilities at home and his duties at work had just grown a hundredfold. On top of all that, the trial for Nate’s custody was looming over them like a dark thundercloud. Jesse most likely was feeling completely exhausted too, so much so that it had momentarily blinded him to Fletcher’s presence.

  “Here. Watch your sister.” Jesse thrust Elizabeth at Nate.

  She was a toddler and quite a squirming armful for him. Good Lord, she must have been twenty-five pounds, near half his weight. She wasn’t built tiny like him. He juggled her in his arms the best he could without dropping her.

  Jesse stood from the table. His manner was now stiff, and his face had contorted into something ugly. He took a step toward Fletcher in the next room.

  Marshal Huckabee, who had been sipping at his coffee close by, caught Jesse’s arm. “Hold up.” The marshal glanced at Fletcher. Then his gaze came to rest on Jesse’s hardened face. “Don’t make him mad.”

  “Just why the hell should I be worried about that?” Jesse jerked his arm out of the marshal’s grip, though he didn’t move toward Fletcher.

  Huckabee, like Pa, had lots of experience with dealing with people, good and bad. When Pa had taken Jesse under his wing as deputy, one of the things he had taught him was how to read people, to develop that sense of whether a person shaped up to be decent folk or a conniving slime ball full of lies and treachery. He was still learning.

  “He ain’t quiet ‘cause he has nothing to say,” Huckabee said under his breath. “He’s been watching, taking mental notes. He hasn’t been aggressive in any way, so I say we let him have a long look.”

  They knew what Fletcher wanted, the reason he was in Gray Rock, but they’d all been so preoccupied with Pa that no one had discovered exactly why Fletcher was there at the Crosson ranch at a time when things were at their worst. Why hadn’t Fletcher just stayed behind in town? Was he just curious? Did he think the fight for Nate would be easier if Pa were to die? Could be he had a hankering to see how Nate had been living, his home life, who he really was. The marshal’s reason for stopping Jesse from booting out that disliked man dawned on Nate. Seeing the strong bond in that home, how they worked together and fought, that made them family. If Fletcher recognized those ties, perhaps he’d be less likely to cut them. It was a long shot but the only one they had at the moment. Even if Fletcher didn’t change his mind, Nate had no intention of going anywhere with him and that wife of his.

  Jesse’s face softened, and his shoulders relaxed. He must have come to the same conclusion.

  “Boys.” Ma was at the bottom step and coming toward them. There was bright-red blood on her apron. Her eyes were crimson from all the crying she’d done, but there were no tears on her cheeks at that moment.

  Nate’s heart raced. Was Pa going to be okay?

  CHAPTER 22

  Nate practically threw his sister at Jesse, then ran headlong for Ma. Before she’d gotten halfway through the sitting room, Nate plowed into her, throwing his arms around her waist, hugging tight. “How’s Pa?” His voice quivered.

  Jesse and the marshal rushed in around Ma. Judge Prescott and Fletcher both had bolted to their feet. No one seemed to be breathing. Everyone waited to hear. Nate’s shaky fingers were crossed.

  Ma smoothed Nate’s hair. “Your Pa isn’t awake, but he has made it through the operation. Doc thinks he got all the infection.” There was a hint of relief in her voice. Her face, though, was still showing strain.

  With Elizabeth in one arm, Jesse threw his other around Nate and Ma, pulling them close. They stood huddled for a minute, taking in the comforting scent of one another, of family. A sense of togetherness came over Nate. It was a strong feeling that alone, not one of them had the stamina to overcome this dreaded obstacle, but as a unit, they could not be defeated. It planted in Nate a fertile seed of hope. Pa would live. He just had to.

  “Kate, I need more bandages,” Doc called downstairs.

  Ma pulled away and hustled to work. She retrieved linen from the standing cupboard, along with her scissors, and on her way back upstairs, she gave Nate a pointed look. “Eat your stew.”

  Nate’s jaw darn near hit the floor. How did she know? She had told him once a long time ago that she had eyes on the back of her head. He didn’t doubt that. Somehow she just always knew what he’d been up to.

  Jesse passed Elizabeth to Huckabee. She was just as unhappy about it as she had been the first time he’d been holding her. This time, instead of screaming, she was chewing madly on Ticklebug’s head.

  The marshal gave Nate a nudge toward the dining room where his supper was probably cold from sitting too long. Jesse followed Ma to the stairs. If he was going to see Pa, then Nate wanted to go too.

  He turned to run after them, but the marshal snagged his hand. “Your ma will tell ya when you can see your pa.”

  The marshal, the father of Nate’s best buddy, never put up with much sass from his son. Even if Nate were to have a fit, he doubted he’d win that argument. Defeated, he slunk into his chair. No steam rose off the stew on the plate in front of him. He miserably picked up his spoon and stirred his food.

  “Excuse me, Marshal Huckabee.”

  Nate’s head snapped to attention at the sound of the city dude’s voice so close, practically breathing down the back of his neck. His hair there tingled. Mr. Fletcher stood not an arm’s length away.

  He didn’t look at Nate. He spoke directly to the marshal. “Please offer my sincerest sympathies to Mrs. Crosson and do thank her for allowing me to be present today. I’m sure, given why my wife and I have traveled to Gray Rock, my presence was no comfort.” Fletcher expressed a weary grin. “Let her know, too, that given the state of Mr. Crosson’s health and her delicate condition …”

  Nate’s brow abruptly rose, as did the marshal’s. How did Fletcher know about Ma’s pregnancy?

  As if he’d read their minds, he said, “Judge Prescott kindly explained some details that I would otherwise have been unaware of.” Fletcher fiddled with the derby hat in his hands. “I have requested that Judge Prescott suspend the hearing for a week or two. Mrs. Crosson doesn’t need the added stress of that so soon.”

  The words “so soon” rang in Nate’s ears. He comprehended that the trial for his custody would come. It was just delayed for a short time to see if Pa lived or died.

  Judge Prescott walked into the room. Perhaps he had overheard the conversation. He sadly looked at Nate and began to roll his lips. Nate suspected he had something to say, but either he wasn’t sure how exactly to say it or he didn’t want to. Either way, he remained quietly chewing on his thoughts. It was probably bad news, and Nate already had his fill of awful crap for one day.

  Nate exploded, bolting upright out of his chair, knocking it over. His fists balled at his sides. His body shook. Everything that was going on inside that house, inside him, had boiled to the surface. He couldn’t take all the possibilities, the not knowing. Pa’s future, Nate’s future, it was all up in the air. Who knew how any of it would turn out? Tomorrow, if Pa died, things could be vastly different for them. That did
n’t mean Nate would just give up and go away with the Fetchers. He still had a mother, and Jesse loved him. What wasn’t the judge telling him? It had to be about the Fletchers.

  Nate glared at Mr. Fletcher. “Don’t bother waitin’. I don’t care what the judge says. I won’t ever go with you!” With both hands, he shoved Fletcher. The man fumbled back a step or two.

  Elizabeth started bawling, probably at Nate’s sudden screaming, and the marshal was jostling her around, trying to get her calm.

  A no-good thief was what that fella Fletcher was. There was no way in hell he was getting Nate.

  The judge stepped toward Nate. There was a sympathetic glassiness to his eyes as he stooped, arms outstretched toward him as if Nate would be comforted by him. Fletcher closed in too, dabbing at his glistening forehead with his silky handkerchief. It was obvious that he didn’t know what to do. Had he ever been around kids?

  “Don’t touch me!” Nate screamed louder than before.

  All of a sudden, Jesse was standing lock, stock, and barrel between Nate and those two. “What the hell’s goin’ on?”

  Nate mirrored Jesse’s defensive stance.

  Huckabee stepped into the mix, still holding Elizabeth, who was reaching for Jesse and Nate. Tears streaked her face, and her cries rose. Marshal Huckabee stood between Jesse and Prescott and Fletcher. They were all arguing at the top of their lungs. All the noise mangled together. Nate was positive that someone was going to get punched.

  “Git out! Every one of ya!” Ma wasn’t a big woman, but that day, she stood taller than any man in the room—and both Jesse and the marshal were over six feet. She was head and shoulders over the whole mean, arguing lot of them. The harsh words, the arrogance of some, the hateful tones—it all had abruptly stopped. They stared uncertainly at Ma. Her cheeks were as red as her hair, and there was a gleam of fire in her pale eyes. Nate had never seen her so mad.