House On Windridge

by Tracie Peterson

  “But you know about the past. You know what Essie did when I lived in New York.”

  “Yes, but I don’t see Essie around here. It’s just you and me, and I’m not about to steal your child away from you. Don’t you see, Jessica? The more you smother Ryan with protectiveness and isolate him from being able to love anyone but you, the more hollow and useless your relationship. He’ll run the first chance he gets, just to give himself some breathing room.”

  “I know you’re right. God’s been working on this very issue with me. I guess I just let fear control me sometimes.”

  “Sometimes?” Kate questioned with a grin.

  “All right, so fear and I are no strangers,” Jessica said, smiling. “Kate, would you please watch Ryan while I get some sleep?”

  Kate nodded and patted Jessica once again. “I would be happy to help.”

  Jessica nodded, made her way to the bed, and fell across it, not even bothering to undress.

  Father, she prayed, please heal my son. You know how much I love him and how lost I would be without him. I’m begging You not to take him from me.

  She felt welcome drowsiness engulf her. Devon’s face came to mind and, with it, the thought that she needed to pray for him. Watch over him, Father, she added. Please bring him home to Windridge.

  The snow let up, but not the wind, which kept the effects of the blizzard going on for days. The blowing snow blinded them from even seeing the top of Windridge. Jessica saw notable improvements in Ryan’s health and forced herself to accept Kate’s involvement in nursing him. It wasn’t that she didn’t dearly love Kate, but the fact was, Jessica still needed to let go of her possessive nature when it came to the boy.

  Sitting at her father’s desk in the library, Jessica thought back on the things Devon, Kate, and Buck had told her over the course of her time at Windridge.

  “Folks need folks out here,” Buck had once said. “It fast becomes a matter of survival.” His point had been made in talking to her about selling property to Joe Riley. He needed a spring in order to assure himself of having water for his cattle and his land. Jessica could easily see that what Buck said made perfect sense. They were so isolated out here in the middle of the Flinthills that to be anything other than neighborly could prove fatal.

  She stared into the fireplace and watched the flames lick greedily at the dry wood. Kate had said, “It’s better to rely on folks than to die on folks.” This was kind of an unspoken code of Kate’s. “The prairie is no place for pride,” Kate had added. “Pride not only goeth before destruction, it is the thing that stirs up strife and causes heartache.”

  Jessica knew it was true. Her own pride had nearly caused her to alienate Kate’s affections. That was something she could never have abided. Kate was like a mother to her in so many ways that Aunt Harriet had never been. Aunt Harriet had raised her, but Aunt Harriet had never loved her the way Kate did.

  Devon came to mind when Jessica thought about love. She loved him so much that it hurt to think about what tragedies might have befallen him. She planned to have Buck go into town and wire the livestock yards in Kansas City. They would have records of the cattle transactions and just possibly those records would include the name of the hotel where Devon was staying. It was Jessica’s hope that they might learn something about Devon’s whereabouts by starting down this path.

  But the blizzard had put an end to that thought, and Buck felt certain more snow was coming their way. She felt her enthusiasm slip another notch. Life on the prairie was very hard—there could be no doubt about that—and it was quickly becoming apparent that Jessica could either accept that she could do nothing on her own, or she could perish.

  “Don’t be so sure you don’t need anyone,” Devon had told her once. It had startled her to have him read her so easily. She smiled when she thought of the halfhearted protest she’d offered him. She could still see the laughter in his eyes and the amusement in his voice when she’d told him he didn’t know anything about her feelings.

  “I may not know you or your feelings,” he’d countered, “but I know pride when I see it. Pride used to be a bosom companion of mine, so I feel pretty certain when I see him. Just remember, pride isn’t the kind to stick around and help when matters get tough.”

  Jessica chuckled at the memory. He’s so right, she thought. Pride only offers seclusion and a false sense of security. I have to let go of my pride and allow people to help me when I need it and to help others when they have needs. Otherwise, Ryan and I will never survive life at Windridge.

  ❧

  “It’s been two weeks,” Devon heard someone say. His mind was lost in a haze of darkness, but from time to time someone spoke words that made a little sense. He strained to understand the words—fought to find the source of the words.

  “His vital signs are good, but the fact that he’s still not regained consciousness worries me.”

  “Any word on the man’s identity?” came another male voice.

  “None. We really should send someone around to contact the businesses in the area where he was found.”

  Devon floated on air and wondered why everyone seemed so concerned. Who was this person they couldn’t identify, and what were vital signs?

  “His injuries were extensive,” the man continued, “but the bones seem to be healing just fine, and the swelling has gone down in his face. It’s probably that blow to the back of the head that keeps him unconscious.”

  From somewhere in his thoughts, Devon began to realize they were talking about him. It startled him at first, but then it seemed quite logical. The next realization he had was of being in extreme pain. Something wasn’t right. Somewhere in his body, someone was causing him a great deal of torment.

  These thoughts came and went from time to time, but to Devon they seemed to transpire in the course of just a few hours. It wasn’t until he heard one of the disembodied voices announce that if he didn’t regain consciousness soon, he would die, that Devon began a long hard fight to find his way through the mire of blackness.

  “Did you have a nice Christmas?” someone questioned.

  “A very nice one, Sir,” came the feminine voice in response.

  Devon thought for a moment the voice belonged to someone he knew, but the thought was so fleeting that he couldn’t force it to stay long enough to interpret it.

  “The New Year’s ball was superb,” the woman continued. “I’d never been to anything so lovely.”

  “Yes, my wife loves the occasion. Of course, it’s also her birthday,” the man responded.

  Birthday. Devon thought about the word for a moment. Someone he knew had a birthday on New Year’s Eve. Without realizing what he was doing, Devon opened his eyes and said, “Birthday.”

  His eyes refused to focus for several minutes, but when they did, Devon could see the startled faces of the man and woman who stood at his bedside.

  “So, you finally decided to join the world of the living,” the man said in a stern voice that was clearly mingled with excitement.

  “Where am I?” Devon asked, his voice gravelly.

  “You’re in the hospital. Have been for nearly a month,” the man replied. “I’m Dr. Casper, and you are?”

  He waited for Devon’s response with a look of anticipation. The woman too looked down at him in an expectant manner. Devon stared blankly at them, trading glances first with the woman and then with the man.

  “Did you understand my question?” the doctor asked. “I need to know who you are.”

  “I don’t know,” Devon replied with a hideous sinking feeling. He shook his head, feeling the dull pain that crossed from one side of his skull to the other. “I don’t know who I am.”

  Chapter 11

  The weeks that followed left Devon depressed and frustrated. His injuries were quick enough to heal, so why not his mind?
“How does that leg feel?” the doctor questioned as Devon hobbled around the room like a trained monkey.

  “It’s sore, but I’ve had worse.”

  “How do you know?” the doctor asked curiously. “Are you starting to remember something more?”

  Devon shrugged. “I remember little pieces of things. I remember a room with a stone fireplace. I remember riding a horse out on the open range.” He hobbled back to bed and sunk onto the edge of the mattress. “But I don’t remember anything important.”

  “Those things are all important, Mr. Smith,” the doctor told him.

  “Don’t call me Smith,” Devon replied angrily. “Not unless you have proof that that’s who I am.”

  “We have to call you something,” the doctor replied. “Now, raise that arm for me.”

  Devon lifted his left arm and grimaced. Apparently his assailants had hit him repeatedly and kicked him as well. He had suffered busted ribs, a broken ankle, and a dislocated shoulder. His left arm had been continuously pounded, the doctor believed by boot heels, as had his face.

  “It still works. Just not as well,” Devon told the doctor.

  “I’m sure in time it will all heal properly. Are you in as much pain today as you were yesterday?”

  Devon shook his head. “No.” He glanced up to find one of the nurses coming down the ward with a well-dressed man at her side.

  “Dr. Casper, this man believes he knows our patient.”

  Devon perked up at this and studied the man for a moment. Was he a friend? A brother? Some other family member?

  “Yes,” the man said enthusiastically. “This is the man I’ve been searching for. He didn’t have a beard when he stayed with us, but he’s the same man. He’s a guest, or was a guest, at our hotel. I’m so happy to have found you, Mr. Carter.”

  “Carter?” Devon tried the name. Carter. Yes, Carter sounded right.

  “The assault this man received left him without much of a memory,” Dr. Casper told the hotelman.

  “No wonder you failed to return,” the man said sympathetically. “When I heard about the poor man who’d been beaten in the alley not far from the hotel, I thought, perhaps this is Devon Carter. I knew you wouldn’t leave without retrieving your things. After all, you left quite a bit of money in my safe.”

  Devon nodded. Yes, he remembered having a good amount of money. He closed his eyes and pictured himself handing it over to the man who now stood at his side. “I remember you.”

  “Good,” the doctor said enthusiastically. “Seeing something familiar often triggers memory.” He turned to the hotelman. “Did you bring any of his things?”

  “No, but I can have them brought here immediately.”

  “Then do so,” the doctor instructed. “Mr. Carter will need all the help he can get in order to remember who he is.”

  Nearly half an hour later, a boy appeared with saddlebags, two brown paper packages, and a large envelope. The man from the hotel stood at his side as though standing guard. “We have your things, Mr. Carter.”

  Devon nodded. It felt so good just to know his own name that knowing anything else would be purely extra. He took hold of the saddlebags and noted the carved initials D.C. He ran his fingers over the indentation, remembering vaguely the day he’d carved the marker on the bags. Reaching into one side, Devon pulled out his shaving gear and studied it for a moment. It seemed familiar, but nothing that offered him any real memory. Next, he took out an extra shirt and pair of socks. Nothing came to mind with those articles, so he quickly reached into the other side of the bag.

  Here, he found receipts all dated from the middle of December. Some of the receipts were for furniture, and others were for homey things like lamps, curtain rods, material, dishes, and such. The kind of things a wife would have need and desire of. Did he have a wife? The same face kept coming to mind. At first she had appeared only in a hazy outline, but as time went on, the warmth of her smile and the sincerity in her dark eyes became clearer in his memory. Was this the image of his wife?

  “Do you remember these things?” the doctor questioned.

  “Somewhat,” Devon replied.

  “This,” the man from the hotel said, “is the money you left with us.”

  Devon took the envelope and looked inside. There was a great deal of money, and it immediately triggered a thought. The money was intended for a special use. The money belonged to her. The woman in his mind. Perhaps it was a dowry. Maybe they were setting up house, and this money had come from her.

  “Why don’t you unwrap these packages? My nurse will be glad to rewrap them afterward, but perhaps they will trigger some memory.”

  Devon nodded and gently stripped away the paper on the first package. Toy soldiers. Devon felt mounting frustration at not being able to remember. Then to his surprise, the image of another face came to mind. It was that of a child. The fuzzy brown hair of the boy seemed to draw Devon’s attention first. There was something important about this child. Then a horrible feeling washed over Devon. Was he not only a husband but a father as well?

  “Here, try this one,” the doctor said, helping to pull the paper from the other package. A jewelry box was revealed as the paper fell away. Devon stared at the box, feeling sure that he should remember it but having no real understanding of why. Had he bought this as a gift for the woman in his dreams? Had he left a family somewhere to worry and fret over his well-being? What if they were in danger because of his absence? What if they needed the supplies and goods he had procured?

  “No,” he muttered, handing the things over to the nurse. He stuffed the receipts and money into the saddlebag, then turned to the hotelman. “I don’t suppose I gave you an address?”

  “No, Sir, but you said you were from Kansas. You came to sell cattle.”

  Devon drew his legs up onto the bed and fell back against the pillow. “I think I need to rest,” he told them all. He felt angry and frustrated. He had hoped that with the recognition of his own name, he might instantly remember everything else that he needed to know.

  “Thanks for bringing my things,” he told the hotelman. The man smiled and prodded the kid to follow him from the room. The nurse and doctor agreed that rest was the best solution and finally left Devon alone.

  He stared at the ceiling for awhile, then rolled onto his side and stared down the corridor of beds. Several men moaned and called out for help. Others slept peacefully, and a few read. But all of them had their minds. All of them knew their name and recognized their own things.

  Sleep finally overtook Devon, and although he passed the time fitfully, he actually felt better when he awoke. The light had faded outside, leaving little doubt that dusk was upon them. This time of day made Devon melancholy. He longed to be home—wherever home might be.

  He thought of the dark-haired woman in his dreams. Thought of the child whose laughing face warmed his heart. He loved these people; he felt certain of that. They were important to him in a way he couldn’t figure out, but he knew without a doubt they were keys to his past.

  Supper came, and although Devon had figured nothing good could come of the meal, he found himself actually enjoying the beef stew. It wasn’t as good as Kate’s, but. . .

  Kate? Was that the dark-haired woman’s name?

  Devon stared at the stew and forced an image. He was sitting in a stylish dining room. The dark-haired woman and little boy were sitting beside him, but there was also someone else in the picture. An older woman’s face beamed a smile at him. She pushed up wire-rimmed glasses and asked if he’d like more stew. Kate. Katie! He actually remembered her.

  This triggered other thoughts, and soon Devon found himself overwhelmed with people and events. Still, he couldn’t remember the brown-haired woman’s name, nor that of the child. Nor could he remember where he lived and where he might find the others.

&n
bsp; “I’ve brought another visitor,” Dr. Casper said as he approached Devon’s bed.

  The supper had grown cold, but Devon didn’t care. “I’ve been remembering some things.”

  The doctor smiled. “Good! That’s very good. This gentleman called for you at the hotel, and he knows quite a bit about your home. We thought you might remember him as well.”

  Devon looked at the man and nodded. “Yes, he does seem familiar.”

  “I am Mr. Whitehead. You ordered a large number of chairs and two bedsteads from my company. You also ordered several nightstands and dressers.” The man chuckled. “You look a bit different what with the beard. You had the mustache, but the beard is new.”

  Devon nodded and smirked a grin. “Nobody seems to offer me a shave around here. You say I ordered furniture? I do seem to remember something along those lines, but did I say why I needed so much?”

  “You were ordering them for your place in Kansas. You are planning a resort ranch at a place called Windridge.”

  The word Windridge triggered everything. Suddenly it was as if the floodgates to his mind had opened. He realized exactly who he was and who she was. “Jessica.” He breathed the name and sighed.

  Then, startling both the doctor and Mr. Whitehead, Devon exclaimed, “What day is this?”

  “February 3,” the doctor replied.

  Devon rubbed his bearded face. “Get me a razor and some soap. I have to get home. I should have been there months ago.”

  The doctor smiled. “Are you certain you feel up to leaving us?”

  Devon nodded. “I’m positive. Just get me my things. Oh, and I need to send a telegram.” No doubt everyone would be worried sick by now. Especially Jessica.

  “Well, it seems as though this is all working out rather well,” Dr. Casper said. “I wouldn’t have given you odds on pulling through that beating, but you’re one tough man, Mr. Carter.”

  “I don’t know about how tough I am, but I’m definitely a man with a purpose, and that gives a guy strength, even when all hope is lost.”