“It’s appreciated.” Dr. Wayment turned to Helen. “I know you’re anxious to see him.”
“Yes, I am. Is it time? May I go in?”
“As long as you keep things mellow, I think you could go in.”
Helen was on her feet almost before he completed his sentence. “Thank you, Doctor. I promise not to rile him up too much.” She paused. “Well, I’ll try. I can’t actually promise.”
He laughed. “Understood.”
Helen turned toward the hallway and smoothed down the front of her dress, her heart suddenly racing. She’d been anxious to see Zeke, but now she didn’t know what she could possibly say to him. She’d been so beastly to him the day before, she hadn’t even recognized herself. It was time to set that right, if she could find the words.
“Zeke?” she said softly as she entered the room. He sat in a chair by the window and turned her way at the sound of her voice. His dark hair curled over the top of the bandage around his eyes, making him look like a tousle-headed little boy, and her heart went out to him.
“Mornin’, Miss Helen,” he replied. “Or is it afternoon? I’ve lost track of time.”
“It’s afternoon—late afternoon, actually. How are you feeling?”
He smiled faintly. “I’m all right for someone who’s been kicked in the head.”
She brought the other chair in the room closer to him and sat down. Then she pulled in a deep breath. She wasn’t used to admitting her faults out loud, but she knew she needed to do this. “Zeke, before we talk about anything else, I need to apologize. Yesterday was . . . well, it was a horrible day, and I made everything so much worse. I’m not usually so harsh, and I can’t even explain what got into me because I don’t know. I just know that I’m sorry, and I hope you can forgive me.” She ended with a little choking sob—her throat had tightened while she spoke, and she was afraid she was going to cry. That’s all she needed—to break down in tears in front of Zeke.
He held up a hand. “Helen, it’s all right,” he said gently. “I wasn’t as kind as I should have been either, and to be honest, I’ve already forgotten whatever happened. It’s just not important anymore.”
“What do you mean, you weren’t kind? You were twelve times more patient than I was.”
“Twelve times?” He chuckled. “Were you counting?”
“Not exactly—that was an estimate. But it certainly seemed like twelve times.”
“I tell you what. I’ll forgive you, you’ll forgive me, and we’ll move forward from here, all right? Dr. Wayment tells me that Sully and Jack are also tryin’ to take the blame—we’re the saddest bunch of people I’ve ever met. No good’s going to come out of all this, you know.”
“I agree. You’re alive, we’re safe, and that’s all that matters.”
Zeke reached out toward her, and she took his hand. She didn’t know if he meant to give her a businesslike handshake or to clasp it like a friend, but as she gripped his fingers, a tingle rushed up her arm, a tingle that was neither businesslike nor friendly. She imagined those fingers touching her cheek, threading through her hair, and she swallowed. What on earth? Now wasn’t the time for romantic thoughts, especially not when he was developing feelings for Miss Appleby. That was a sure way to complicate matters even further.
Dr. Wayment stepped into the room just then. “Zeke, I’d like to test your eyes now, if that’s all right. Once I’ve gauged how sensitive you are to light, I’ll know how we’ll move forward with your treatment.”
“That’s more than fine, Doc.”
“Would you like me to leave?” Helen began to rise, but Zeke hadn’t let go of her hand.
“She can stay, can’t she? I . . . I kind of like having her around.”
Dr. Wayment smiled. “Of course she can stay. This isn’t a complicated test, and it will only take a minute.” He came to Zeke’s side and began to unwrap the bandage. “I’m only taking off the gauze covering your eyes. Your head will need to stay bandaged for a good long time, so don’t be thinking that you’re entirely off the hook.”
“Understood,” Zeke replied.
The doctor removed most of the gauze, then stepped back to allow the light from the window to fall on Zeke’s face. “How’s that? Is the light bothering you?”
“Not a bit,” Zeke replied, and Helen grinned. Oh, this was good news.
The doctor took off yet another layer, and another. With each, Zeke said the light wasn’t troubling him at all. When every layer had been removed and Zeke’s face was fully exposed to the sun, Dr. Wayment asked again, “And now? Is the light bothering you?”
“No,” Zeke replied. Then he paused. “But that’s just it, Doc. I’m not seein’ any light. I’m not seein’ anythin’ at all.”
Helen’s gaze flew to the doctor’s face. He glanced at her, but returned his attention to his patient. “What do you mean, Zeke?”
“I mean, it’s just as black as it was before you took off the bandages.”
Helen pressed her fingers to her mouth. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if she cried out or said something hysterical. She might feel that way, but she didn’t have to show it.
Dr. Wayment looked carefully into Zeke’s eyes, then sat down on the edge of the bed. He didn’t speak for a moment, and Helen could tell that he was weighing his words carefully. “Zeke, with the type of head injury you experienced, it’s not uncommon for there to be some internal bleeding and swelling,” he said at last. “That swelling can put pressure on the optic nerve, which can lead to blindness.”
“Are we talkin’ permanently or temporarily?” Zeke asked. His voice was steady, which Helen admired. She couldn’t even breathe steadily, let alone speak that way.
“In many cases, it’s temporary. As the swelling naturally goes down, the pressure is reduced, and after a while, the sight returns. However, in other cases, it’s permanent.” The doctor’s tone was gentle, but serious. He’d tell Zeke what he needed to hear without sugarcoating it.
“Is there a way to treat it?” Zeke asked.
Dr. Wayment rubbed his face again. “The best thing to do is wait it out and avoid further head injuries. Might want to stay out of the way of frightened horses for a while, that sort of thing.” He paused. “There is one treatment which might help, but I would only do it in the most severe case, if your life was in danger and this was the only way to save it. I would drill a small hole into your skull to let out the pooled blood and relieve the pressure. But it’s horribly risky, and we don’t know if the pressure is even being caused by pooled blood—it could be swollen brain tissue, and drilling a hole wouldn’t work at all.”
Helen thought she might be sick. Making a hole in someone’s head? It was awful, barbaric . . . and then to think of doing that to Zeke . . . She swallowed several times, then felt a hand on her elbow.
“Go outside and sit on the porch. Now, Helen, before you faint,” the doctor said in her ear.
She fled from the room and out of the cabin, ashamed of being so squeamish. She sank into a porch chair, pulling in huge gasps of fresh air and trying to regain control. Just moments before, she’d been thinking about how blessed they were—everyone was fine, everyone was safe . . .
Fiona and Wynonna came out of the house and took the chairs nearest hers. “What’s the matter, Helen?” Fiona asked.
“Zeke’s blind. He’s blind, and the doctor doesn’t know if he’ll ever see again.” Helen filled them in as best as she could with the small amount of information she had. As she spoke, she felt the nausea rise again, and this time, she couldn’t control it. She stood up and ran around the corner of the house, throwing up into a patch of weeds until her stomach felt shredded. This couldn’t be happening—it just couldn’t. Zeke didn’t deserve this—no one did.
***
Zeke heard Helen run from the room and slam the door. “Is she all right?” he asked.
Dr. Wayment chuckled wryly. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. Medical talk doesn’t sit well with some folks.”
<
br /> “I’m not sure it sits too well with me either,” Zeke replied. He’d been struggling to sort through everything he’d just learned, but it was like swimming through marsh grass—thick and heavy, and he wasn’t making much progress. “So, let me get this straight just for my own understandin’. I have swellin’ in my brain, which makes it so I can’t see. It may or may not go away, and I may or may not see again.”
“That’s right. There are too many variables to consider right now—so many things we don’t know.”
“One thing I do know—I’m not interested in having a hole in my head. Seems to me that the ones I have are plenty enough.”
“Understood,” the doctor replied, sounding amused. “I wouldn’t do the procedure anyway—not at this point. I only take that route if it’s a matter of life and death.”
“I’ll be honest with you, Doc—the thought of being blind scares me spitless, but I’d rather be blind than dead from a hole in my skull. I’ll learn to adapt, whatever we need to do.”
“You’re a good man, Zeke, and a lot more patient than I’d be in your position.”
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll have my fair share of temper before we get this figured out. I’m just numb right now, I guess. I’m listenin’, but I’m not really hearin’.”
“Also completely natural.” The doctor placed his hand on Zeke’s shoulder. “I’m going to give you a few minutes alone to think things over, but then I’ll come back and we’ll talk about what we need to do next, all right?”
Zeke nodded. “Thanks, Doc. I think a few minutes alone is exactly what I need.”
He waited until he heard the door close, and then he exhaled long and slow. A knot had started to form in his stomach, and he pressed a hand to his abdomen. Working on a ranch, there were any number of things that could go wrong. Men broke bones all the time, or cut themselves on fence wire, or got trampled by cattle during a stampede. Knowing about those dangers was just part of the job. As a handyman and not one of the actual wranglers, Zeke was a step removed from some of those potential accidents, but he still faced risky situations on a fairly regular basis. Blindness, however, wasn’t something he’d ever considered.
He stood up and took a step forward, thinking that if he moved closer to the window, he might catch a better glimpse of the sun. He reached out and felt around, trying to get his bearings. He quickly realized how futile that was—he’d never been in this part of Mike’s cabin before, and he didn’t have a memory to rely on. Instead, he edged forward, his hand outstretched, until he touched a wall.
He trailed his fingers along the wall as he scuffed to the right, thinking that he’d have to run into the window sooner or later. But then he stopped. What if the window was actually to the left? And where was the chair where he’d been sitting? He hadn’t paid much attention when he stood up, and now he was lost.
He pulled in a deep breath. It was time to think reasonably. He’d taken about six steps to the right, so now he just needed to take six steps to the left. He did so, then reached behind him and started feeling around for the chair. It wasn’t there, but he knew he was alone in the room—no one had moved it. It had to be there somewhere.
“Come on,” he growled, wishing he could light a candle or grab a lantern and bring some light into the room. It was so black, so thick and dark and impenetrable, that he wanted to sink to his knees and clutch his head and wait for the sun to rise again. Except . . . it wasn’t going to rise again. It would stay dark forever.
“Zeke?” It was a soft voice, a questioning voice.
“I can’t see, Helen.”
She didn’t say a word—didn’t point out that he’d made an obvious statement. Instead, she took his hand and led him back to the chair, and she sat with him while his shoulders shook and his stomach churned. Then she helped him back over to the bed, somehow knowing that he needed to sleep long and hard. He felt her hand brush his hair off his forehead, then sensed her sit down near him. “I’ll be here until you fall asleep,” she said.
He couldn’t reply. Instead, he closed his eyes tight, not that it made any difference, and allowed himself to get sucked in by the blackness. He couldn’t fight it anymore.
Chapter Six
Helen was heartsick as she walked across the yard toward the main house. Cora was sitting with Zeke now, an easy task as he was sound asleep, but they didn’t want him to be alone when he woke up. Helen could barely drag herself up the porch steps and over the threshold, she was so exhausted. It wasn’t just her body—it was her soul. Every particle of her was worn out.
Wade had helped Margaret out to the parlor, and she was situated on the sofa with her legs up and a blanket covering them. It seemed there was a meeting of sorts being held—Dr. Wayment was there, leaning with one arm up on the mantel. Mike sat in the corner on a wooden chair from the kitchen, as his clothes were dirty from his long day of work. Sully sat in the opposite corner, fingering a carving, but not whittling at the moment. Wynonna and Jack sat in front of the fireplace, Fiona and Rowena off to the side.
“His recovery will mostly depend on him, but not entirely,” Dr. Wayment was saying. “There are things he can do to help himself, but in the end, it’s a matter of waiting to see if his body heals itself. He should get plenty of rest with very little excitement, and he shouldn’t strain himself under any circumstances. He’ll need someone nearby at all times until he’s learned to navigate his world. Does he have any family?”
“No,” Mike said. “He’s been on his own most of his life.”
“We’re his family,” Sully interjected. “We’ll do whatever he needs—and there are enough of us that someone will always be around. He won’t be able to get rid of us.”
Dr. Wayment smiled. “Now, I hesitate to have him move back into the bunkhouse—he’d really do best staying where he is, in Mike’s cabin. There’s a little more room, and he can learn to feel his way around with more accuracy. Plus, I took a peek into the bunkhouse and noticed that potbellied stove there in the middle—that’s a hazard for him now.”
“I didn’t think about that,” Sully said. “We’re gonna have to watch him every minute, like a baby learnin’ how to walk, aren’t we? Well, we can do it. Just teach us what needs to be done.”
Helen couldn’t listen to this anymore. It was preposterous and demeaning. “Now, just wait a minute,” she said, stepping farther into the room and holding up both hands. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Two days ago, Zeke was a hard-working man making a living from the dust of this land, and now you’re talking about him like he’s a liability and a burden. Why wasn’t he invited to this meeting? Shouldn’t he be involved in deciding his fate, where he lives, and who should take care of him? You can’t plan his life for him behind his back and expect him to go along with whatever you say—he’s a man with pride and with feelings. You must let him make as many of these decisions as he can. Don’t take his free will away from him.”
“She’s right,” Margaret said. “You all respect Zeke for the way he shows responsibility and gets things done around here—he’ll do the same when it comes to his own life. Give him a little time to accept his circumstances, and I’ll bet you good gold that he’ll come up with a plan for how to make it work, just like he does for everything else.”
“Zeke’s lucky to have such good friends in his corner,” Dr. Wayment said. “It would be even better if he had a wife, but I know you’ll all find a way to meet his needs and help him through this. Now, I told him I’d meet with him one more time before I left and explain what we need to do next, so I’ll head out there and then be on my way.”
“He needed some rest, so he’s lying down,” Helen said. “Could you possibly give him a little time?”
The doctor pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at it, giving a little sigh. “I suppose I could, if one of you ladies would be so kind as to find me some dinner.”
Fiona stood up immediately. “Of course. I have just the thing.” He followed her into the kitchen
, and Helen turned to everyone else in the room.
“I think that when Zeke wakes up, you should call this meeting again, but this time, he should be the one to conduct it,” she said. “Doing this behind his back . . .”
“It’s not that we meant for this to be a formal meetin’,” Mike said, looking uncomfortable—and not just because he was sitting on a wooden chair. “We were just talkin’ and wonderin’ what we needed to do, and I guess it sort of became a meetin’ the longer we talked.”
“Well, regardless of how it came about, Zeke should be here,” Helen reiterated. “And right now, he’s not in any condition to be anywhere. He’s just had a horrible shock, and he needs to rest. After that, well, it’s like Margaret said. He’ll come up with his own solutions, and we’ll help execute them.”
“In the meantime, supper’s just about ready,” Fiona said, coming out of the other room and walking toward the front door. “Meet me at the bunkhouse kitchen in fifteen minutes, men.”
The room became noticeably quieter as everyone went back to their duties. Helen took a seat near the window and watched as the other ranch hands streamed in from their various tasks all over the property and headed over to get their meal. They went straight to the pump and washed up, then stood outside respectfully until Fiona let them in. Helen smiled as she turned from the window. They were shaping up nicely.
Margaret reached out from her place on the sofa. “You care about Zeke a great deal, don’t you?”
Helen opened her mouth, ready to retort, then closed it again. “I’m not sure what I feel,” she said at last. “If you’d asked me that question two days ago, I would have been filled with nothing but contempt. When I saw him talking to Alice Appleby, I wanted to wring her neck and his, too, for good measure. When I saw him get struck in the head, I wanted to die. And just now, watching him take the news with so much courage, and then as he realized what this could mean . . .” She looked down at her hands. “Whether I like it or not, we’re connected. There’s something about him that calls to me, and it’s odd because we’ve had so few actual conversations.” A chuckle escaped her lips. “It’s not for lack of trying, though—the man just doesn’t speak when he’s spoken to.”
A Handyman for Helen Page 6
