by Mary May
“Lift your right arm,” Edgar told him. So as gently as he could, he lifted his right arm until Edgar nodded his head, “Now your left.”
Devon tried to lift his left arm, but he didn’t get it up more than a few inches when a searing pain blasted his whole body. Blinking away the tears and the black dots, he watched Edgar nod his head again.
“You have at least two cracked ribs. I can wrap them, but you will still be in considerable pain for a couple of weeks until they start to set.” Edgar then picked up the scissors and began to cut the shirt off. When he had it off, he gently felt Devon’s ribs until he found where the fractures were. He ignored Devon’s hissing and cursing as he wrapped the ribs tightly.
Once the ribs were wrapped, Edgar turned his attention to Devon’s badly beaten face. He washed the gash and told Devon it could use a couple of stitches. “Can you do it?” Devon asked him.
Edgar looked at him then gave a quick nod of his head. “Yes, but I don’t have anything to dull the pain.”
Devon laid his head on the pillow. “It doesn’t matter; just do what needs to be done.”
Edgar left the room to get the needed supplies, and that gave Gideon a chance to study Devon a little closer. Besides his face being bruised and his ribs cracked, what puzzled Gideon the most was the lack of defensive wounds. Devon’s hands and knuckles didn’t have any bruising or scrapes, which indicated that he hadn’t gotten many, if any, blows in. He didn’t see Devon as the type of man to allow himself to be beaten to this extreme without defending himself, so that meant that he was jumped. Which, of course, begged the question of who would jump him and why. A beating like this was a warning. So just what exactly was Devon involved in?
Sabrina and Cleo hovered outside of Devon’s room. When Edgar came out, Sabrina pounced. “Is he ok? Can I see him? Did he tell you what happened?”
Edgar patted Sabrina’s shoulder. “He will be fine, Miss Sabrina, a couple of cracked ribs and a small cut that needs stitching, nothing that is life-threatening.”
Sabrina felt her knees go weak with relief. “Did he say what happened?” she asked again.
Edgar looked her in the eye. “No, he didn’t and I didn’t ask. When and if he wants us to know, he will tell us. Really it’s best to leave it alone, Miss Sabrina.” Sabrina opened her mouth a couple of times to argue, but Edgar’s raised eyebrows had her clamping her lips shut and just nodding her head.
Devon tried to breathe as shallow as he could. Any movement of his diaphragm would cause such an extreme pain that he ground his teeth to keep from whining like a baby. Edgar had known what he was doing when he wrapped his ribs; the bindings were good and tight and wrapped evenly where the fractures were. He was thankful the old butler hadn’t peppered him with a million and one questions like he knew Sabrina would. He knew he would have to explain this to her eventually, but he hoped to gain a couple of days’ worth of reprieve so he could come up with a plausible story. Telling her the truth wasn’t even an option. The less she knew the better off she would be. He turned his head when he heard the door open and saw Edgar come in with a small wooden box. The butler pulled out a thin curved needle that actually looked like a stitching needle and some black thread.
At Devon’s questioning glance Edgar nodded. “Yes, this is a medical needle. My previous employer was a doctor and I have some of his supplies.” Devon watched as Edgar prepared the needle by disinfecting it and threading it with the black thread. He then cleaned the gash again and told Devon to be still. When Devon felt the needle go through his skin and then the slide and pull of the thread, he thought he was going to throw up. When Edgar tightened the first knot, his stomach heaved and he fought to control it. By the time Edgar had done it three more times, Devon was sweating and panting. Tears rolled out the sides of his eyes and he couldn’t have cared less. Edgar quickly cleaned up the mess of the ripped sheets and cut-off shirt and bloody bandages.
When he came back out of the bathroom he had an old mason jar filled with a thick brown liquid. “Mr. Devon, I have an old remedy for pain that will make you feel a lot better and allow you to sleep, but I warn you it is very foul tasting.” Devon would have swallowed straight up dog crap at that moment if it would make at least some of the pain go away. He looked at Edgar and weakly nodded his head. Edgar gently lifted Devon’s head off the pillow and put the rim of the jar to his lips; when the smell hit Devon, he thought he was knocking back dog crap! He turned his head and looked at Edgar. “Yes, and it smells bad, too, but I promise in a matter of minutes you will be asleep and out of pain.”
That was all Devon needed to hear. He put his lips back on the jar and slowly took a small sip. Oh, it was awful! Worse than awful! He felt his stomach try to reject the liquid, but Edgar held it to his lips again and ordered another sip. Devon again sipped at the jar and this time tingling warmth rushed down through his body, relaxing his muscles and immediately easing his pain. Edgar put the jar into the small box then straightened the covers and turned on the ceiling fan over the bed. He turned on the bathroom light then closed the door, allowing the light coming from under the door to illuminate the room faintly. “You will sleep until morning; I’ll come and check on you then.” By the time Edgar had walked across the room to leave, Devon was sound asleep.
Devon slept like the dead until early the next morning. He woke up and slowly opened his eyes, blinking several times to clear them. He slowly took stock of his injuries; he gauged his pain on a scale from one to ten to be about a sixty-four. He still wasn’t able to draw in a full breath without feeling like someone was trying to crack him open from the inside. So he lay there and very carefully tried to shift to his less-injured side. He never was a back sleeper. He moved precisely three inches before he knew that wasn’t an option just yet. He stared up at the whirling ceiling fan, wondering exactly what he was going to tell Sabrina. He knew she would be in here soon asking him what happened. He lay there for a few minutes wracking his brain for a believable story when he heard footsteps coming down the hall.
He quickly closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep, when he heard the door slowly open. He heard someone enter. The clinking of dishes and the aroma of breakfast had him opening them back up. Miss Cleo had her back to him, setting the tray on the table at the foot of the bed. She turned and blasted him with her megawatt smile. “Well, I guess being you ain’t dead, you might be hungry.” She walked over to the bed and started to help him into a sitting position. Devon had another more pressing need he was more concerned about at this moment, and he wasn’t sure how to tactfully tell her he had to go to the bathroom. Cleo had him sitting up and was starting to lay the breakfast tray across his lap when Devon stopped her.
“Miss Cleo, before you put that there, I need to get up.” He looked toward the bathroom meaningfully, hoping she would take the hint without him having to come right out and say it.
Cleo looked at him then the bathroom. “Oh! I guess you would need to use that after lying there for so long.” She moved the tray and eased him up to his feet, holding him steady while he caught his breath. Devon swayed for a moment while unbelievable pain roared down his battered body; his ribs hurt more this morning than last night and he really didn’t think that was possible. He took one painful step then another. The short walk to the bathroom took him a lot longer than he would have ever thought.
Once he made it and had used the bathroom and washed his hands, he looked into the mirror. His face was swollen and bruised a deep bluish black along the left side of his face. The black thread of the stiches stood out against the pale white of his face. They were puckered and red. The stitches were even and nicely done, he thought. He gently prodded the gash and it was tender but not too painful. He would have a pretty scar; that much was certain. He turned and looked at the bruising on his back and shoulders. He knew a bat was used, and he found the long bruise to confirm the solid hit. His shoulder-length blonde hair needed washing badly. He could see the caked-on blood, and he knew he probably smel
led. He picked up a washcloth and tried to clean up the best he could, but after just a minute or two he was swaying on his feet again. He knew he had better sit his butt down somewhere before he face planted on the tile floor. He had just turned to the door when he heard a gentle tap.
“Mr. Devon, are you okay in there? You didn’t go and pass out on me, did you?” He could hear the concern in the woman’s voice.
He opened the door. “No, ma’am, I haven’t yet, but I am as weak as a kitten this morning.” Cleo clucked like a mama hen and ushered him back into bed. He noticed she had stripped the bed and had fresh bedding put back on it while he was in the bathroom. The cool, clean sheets felt like heaven to his sore body. By the time he was settled back into bed, his ribs were throbbing so badly that he was holding his breath trying not to move them as much as possible.
Cleo had just placed the tray on his lap when Edgar came into the room with his jar of liquefied dog doo. The butler went over and checked the bindings around Devon’s ribs and smeared some more cream on his stitches. He then nodded his head in satisfaction. “I don’t see any infection, and the bindings are still good and tight. You must have been very still as you slept.”
Devon had woke up in the same position he fell asleep in. “Do I get more of that?” he asked nodding toward the jar on the table.
Edgar looked at Devon. “I can only give this to you very sparingly, Mr. Devon. Once or twice a day for the next couple of days, then I will give you over-the-counter pain medicine. I would suggest that you eat a little then I will give you some to help you rest today and tomorrow.”
Devon nodded then started in on the soft-cooked scrambled eggs and the small bowl of oatmeal laced with honey and cinnamon. Cleo had blended some vanilla yogurt into his glass of milk and the creamy mixture felt cold and smooth going down his throat without burning or irritating his bruised and cut up mouth. Devon ate all that he could then Cleo took away the tray and helped him settled back down into the bed. After she had fussed with his covers and fluffed his pillows, she left, closing the door behind her.
Edgar pulled a chair up to the bed and sat down, looking at Devon with hard eyes. “Mr. Devon, I am not going to ask what happened to you, or what you are involved in because that is not my affair. What is my affair, however, is what goes on in this house. I am telling you that under no circumstances are you to bring your trouble into this house. I know you are Miss Sherrilyn’s brother and I will respect that…to a point. But if I feel that you are putting anyone in this house in any danger, I can guarantee that a certain someone will take great pleasure in making sure your body is never found. Do we have an understanding, Mr. Devon?”
Devon’s eyes widened at the old butler who just sat there and so properly threatened to knock him off! He knew the old guy was dead serious, and he didn’t blame him one bit for being so protective of this family. He looked Edgar in the eye. “Understood.”
Chapter 5
Gideon couldn’t help but smile when Edgar had made mention of him. Ok, so he wasn’t mentioned by name, but he knew that he was that certain someone that Edgar spoke of. Edgar made him proud at that moment, and he was glad to know that they were both on the same page when it came to the protection of his family. He knew Devon was into some nasty stuff and he would like nothing more than to show him just who Edgar was referring to. He daydreamed a little of showing himself to Devon and seeing the shock and terror on the man’s face when he faced Gideon the Mighty! Yeah, that would be nice…real nice. Yes, he knew that wasn’t a very angelic thought, but he wasn’t your common everyday angelic.
Sabrina eased the door open to Devon’s room. The room was dark and quiet. All she could hear was his deep breathing and the whirring of the ceiling fan. She softly walked over to a chair that was pulled up close to the side of his bed. She sat down, letting her eyes roam freely over his poor battered face. He was lying on his back and didn’t have a shirt on, so she could see his tightly wrapped ribs. He looked so awful she knew he had to be in a lot of pain. She reached and lightly laid her hand on his wrist to pray for a speedy recovery. She had just bowed her head when her hand was seized in a viselike grip and she was jerked forward and found herself staring into his blazing blue eyes. She gasped, “Devon!” pulling her hand back, holding it to her chest, looking at Devon with wide doe eyes.
Devon swore softly under his breath when he realized he had just scared a decade off of Sabrina’s life. “I’m sorry, darlin’. I have ugly reflexes and I never meant to use them on you; are you okay? Did I hurt you?” He reached out and gently pulled Sabrina’s hand until he could see the red welts his fingers left circling the delicate skin of her tiny wrist. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” Devon sighed and laid his head back down on the pillows. “I guess now would be a bad time to tell you not to sneak up on me when I’m sleeping, huh?”
Sabrina’s eyes got even bigger. “Sneaking? I wasn’t sneaking! I was just coming in to check on you and to see if you needed anything. You were sleeping, so I just wanted to pray for you so that you would get better faster. I was not sneaking!”
Devon’s eyes were hooded, but she could see a gleam of amusement in them, and she saw his lips twitch.
Sabrina slowly stood up. “I’m sorry. Am I amusing you? You nearly jerked my hand off and you glared at me like you wanted me dead, but I’m the one at fault?”
Devon opened his mouth to say something when she whirled around and stomped off, muttering something about how he could lie there until the cows came home. Devon lay back down with a groan, but his lips were stretched in a smile.
Sabrina came stomping into the kitchen, her eyes bright, and her cheeks flushed with color, muttering a mile a minute about jumpy, suspicious men. Edgar and Cleo were discussing Thanksgiving plans and they watched while Sabrina stomped over to the fridge, jerked open the door and snatched a bottle of water out of the shelf. Then she slammed the door closed and stomped back across the kitchen and down the hallway muttering all the way.
Cleo looked at Edgar. “That child don’t have a clue,” she said.
Edgar watched as she stomped her way down the hall and into the den; then he shook his head and looked at Cleo. “Not a one.”
Later that evening Cleo brought in Devon’s dinner tray and found him trying to finger comb the snarls out of his hair. She set the tray down on the dresser and went into the bathroom to get a brush and a warm wet washcloth. Devon smiled his thanks when she started to clean his hair with the washcloth and brush out the tangles. “You sure do have some pretty hair, Mr. Devon, all blonde with the white streaks, just pretty pretty.”
Devon spoke with his eyes closed. “I think it’s a Lane thing, Miss Cleo. My dad had blonde hair and so did Sherrilyn, but hers was long and curly. It looked like angel hair.”
Cleo continued to run the brush through his flaxen strands, watching the way the color would change from deep gold to the palest blonde. “I didn’t know Miss Sherrilyn, but I sure would have liked to. From listening to Miss Sabrina and Edgar she sounded like a wonderful woman.”
Devon sighed. “Yes, she was. I hate to admit that I didn’t see her for a very long time before she passed. That’s something that I will regret forever.”
Cleo murmured under her breath, “Regrets, I know a lot about regrets, Mr. Devon. The main thing that I know about regrets is that they don’t do nobody no good. They are like an anchor around your heart and they just weigh you down.”
Devon opened his eyes and looked up into her face. “So, what do you do about them? I have a megaton of them; if there is a cure, then please tell me.”
Cleo chuckled then put down the brush and settled the dinner tray on his lap. “There isn’t but one sure cure for any heart problem, and that’s taking it to Jesus.”
Devon ate a few bites. “I’m afraid I haven’t been on real good terms with Him in a long time.”
Cleo puttered around the room, picking up and cleaning while she spoke. “None of us were on real good terms with Him until we
made the decision to be on real good terms. That’s our move, not His.”
Devon laid down his fork. “You make it sound so easy.”
Cleo laughed again. “Well, it’s not complicated; if you want to be on good terms with the Almighty, then do it. I never understood what folks are waiting for when they feel that tuggin’ on their heart from the Lord.”
Devon finished his meal and Cleo left, but he lay there thinking over everything she had said.
The next morning Devon couldn’t stand it any longer. He had to get a shower -- he could smell himself! He made it to the bathroom and stood looking in the mirror trying to decide what would work best, showering with the bindings or without? While he was waiting to make up his mind, he turned on the shower. Soon steam was filling the room. He finally decided he wanted all of his skin exposed to the hot water, so he started cutting off the bindings. He winced and waited out the rush of pain when the pressure was removed from his fractured ribs. He braced his arms against the counter and hung his head, waiting for the dizzy feeling to pass. In a couple of minutes the worst was over. He looked up into the mirror then whirled quickly around, looking wildly around the small room, his heart pounding so hard it actually hurt his ribs. He was alone, but for an instant he could have sworn… he saw a huge dude with black wings holding a freaking sword standing behind him…smiling!
“Bad, Gideon, oh, really, really BAD, Gideon!” Gideon chuckled to himself as he left the steamy bathroom and a seriously-spooked Devon behind. Oh, that was great! The look in his eyes! Priceless! He knew he would get a serious “talking to” about this one, but honestly it was worth it. He had been looking for a subtle (or not so subtle) way to let Devon know just WHO was guardian over this house, and when the bathroom mirror fogged up so nicely, well, the opportunity was just too good to pass up. Let him think about that while he was recovering.