Leah continued in her stern voice, “Now, I’m going to give you some painkillers. You’ll feel better, but that doesn’t mean you can do anything. Do you promise not to move?”
“No,” he replied, and remained stone-faced, his glare almost dense enough to mark a path to the sun that was now directly overhead.
“Well, then, I’m not going to ease your pain.” She paused, and then snorted testily. “Why do you feel like you have to move?”
Ian remained mute, but didn’t try to move.
Wee Ian came to Leah’s side and held her hand. She looked down at him, and he just shook his head. Neither of them spoke and neither felt the need to. They stood there in silence, watching the grim-faced patient, until they heard a noise. Leah tensed, but Wee Ian squeezed her hand in reassurance.
It was Marty coming over the rise. His dusty tri-corner hat was black around the middle from sweat. He took it off, wiped his brow with the back of his forearm, and set it back on his head. “Well, that’s done. I didn’t have a shovel, so I just threw them in a heap and piled rocks on top. That should keep the stink down for a bit. The wild animals will be out to feed on them soon enough, but for now, they’re downwind and out of sight. How’s your patient doing, Leah?”
“Oh, he’s trying for the most stubborn male of the year award. I offered him painkillers if he’d promise not to move, but he said no. It must be a macho thing about being told what to do by a woman.”
“What’s macho?” asked Wee Ian
“Well, that’s when a man thinks he has to be tough—even when he doesn’t have to be—only because he doesn’t want other men to think that he’s weak. It’s okay to be careful when you’re wounded. I mean really, if he doesn’t take care of himself, or let you or me take care of him for the next few days… Well, then Marty will just have to throw his carcass on top of those other three,” Leah said sarcastically.
“What other three?” Ian asked, his voice soft, but only because that was the only volume level available in his weakened condition. He couldn’t have hollered angrily if he had wanted to.
“Well, there’s the one who tried to take off your head with a hatchet, and then the other two who were going to shoot me because I was tending to you. Marty tossed their bodies down that way. Oh, and that asshole who kidnapped and hurt Wee Ian, well, his rotting corpse is a few miles up the road. There are only us good guys left. So, since you and everyone else here is safe, would you lie still and let me give you a painkiller?”
“Aye, I’ll let ye,” he whispered hoarsely, “but I’d rather have a bucket of whisky. Is there anythin’ to drink?”
Wee Ian was at his side in a flash. “Here, mind yer heid, jest let me pour some in yer mouth.” The son was careful, dribbling in just enough to fill his father’s mouth without choking him.
Leah saw the effort it was taking and decided she needed to modify the accommodations for her prone patient. She opened her medical bag and cut off a one-foot length of the flexible tubing. “Here, let’s try this,” she said, and held out her hand for the bottle. She put the soft, clear plastic ‘straw’ into it and handed it back to Wee Ian. He frowned at the new arrangement then looked up at her.
“It’s like a reed. He can suck through it. This way he can control how much he gets. But wait.” She took two Percocets out of her pocket. “Open up, Ian. I want you to swallow these. Your son has the water.”
Wee Ian did as he was told and held the water bottle for his father. Ian swallowed hard and almost choked, but managed to suppress his gag reflex and kept the pills down.
“I still say whisky woulda been better,” he mumbled hoarsely. He squeezed his eyes shut in discomfort, settled his shoulders back into the ground, and seemed to accept his lot as an incapacitated patient.
Leah could only hope that he was really trying to rest. He was such an angry man. It appeared that it had been a long time since he had truly relaxed.
Ӂ ӁӁ
Wee Ian showed himself to be a clever and resourceful young man. James watched from his shady earthen bed under the tree as the bare-chested boy toiled. He had gathered leafy tree branches while he and Leah had napped and was now back to his project.
No one had told him what to do, but the lad had taken it upon himself to build his father a shelter from the sun. He had gathered as many bush and tree branches as he could, then realized they needed a supporting framework. He went to the edge of the clearing and retrieved the hatchet he had thrown away in disgust after pulling it from his father’s neck. He set it on the ground and rubbed dirt onto the blade, scouring the blood from it. After it was clean enough to pass his inspection, he walked toward the creek with it, head down, looking at the ground. He stopped, picked up, and then discarded several stones until he found just the right one: a fine-grained rock to use as a hone. He spit on the stone, then drew the edge of the hatchet across it in a wide semi-circle, stopping every few strokes to check the sharpness by touching it to his thumb.
When he was finally satisfied with the result, he went to the creek’s edge to study the drooping tree branches overhanging the flowing water. He cut down four bowed limbs best suited for use as arches, then came back to his father, dragging the timber behind him like a proud, miniature draft horse. He assessed the site, moved a few rocks out of the way, and then began digging post holes with another piece of wood he had chosen for his shovel.
Leah watched the young man’s ministrations from the shade of the healing tree. Wee Ian was determined, not angry or frustrated by his lack of tools or by the magnitude of the project. He was simply getting it done. Leah felt a hand on hers. James was awake and had also been watching the small Hercules create a temple for his wounded father.
“I’d help him if I had the strength—or thought he needed it,” he said softly. “I could only hope to have a son as resourceful and devoted as he is.” He patted her hand a couple more times, the taps echoing the little prayers he was sending up that he would be a father one day.
Marty had disappeared again, or at least was out of Leah’s line of sight. She wasn’t concerned. After all, he would show up when he was ready. That seemed to be his style. “Are you hungry or thirsty?” Leah asked James.
“Yes and yes. Did you bring any watermelon?” he asked, grinning.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. But it’ll be three months before they’re ready,” she said, referring to the fact that what she had were watermelon seeds. “Would you settle for some granola and water?”
“Actually, I’d like some of that jerky. For some reason, I have a craving for red meat. Hmm, must be I’m a little anemic…” he drolled.
“D’ya think!?” Leah replied with a laugh. She started digging into the bag, handing him the other water bottle as she searched for the beef jerky. “Wee Ian, are you hungry?”
“Aye, I could do with a bite. After I finish this, I’ll catch some fish fer our dinner. I’ll have to wait until the sun sets a bit, though. The fish ken not to come out when it’s so hot.”
“Only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the noonday sun,” James said, quoting Rudyard Kipling. “But this Englishman will pass until the sun goes down a bit. It’s been a while since I went fishing. I’d like to go with you this evening, if it’s all right with you.”
Wee Ian shrugged his shoulders, then went back to work, trying to get his arched beams set into their foundation holes.
Leah saw that no matter how clever the boy was, he needed assistance. “May I help you? You helped me, and I’d like to return the favor.”
It took her half a minute to manage her skirts so she could stand up—she’d figure out how to be graceful and decent later—and then went to his side. “Four hands are better than two, or something like that,” she said, as an excuse to both help him and to see if her patient really was getting rest.
The arches were great, and had just the right angle, but the wisps of river grass he had been trying to use to secure the frame walls at the apex were not working. No one had
any rope as far as she could see, and the only leather thongs were holding up the Ians’ loincloths. As if Wee Ian were reading her mind, he looked down at his waist in a quandary.
“Wait,” she said, as he started to negotiate the knot. “I think I know what we can use.”
Now it was James who could see what was going on. “Do you really want to do that?” he asked softly. Leah nodded and looked in her bag.
“Here,” James said, handing her the duct tape. “It was in mine. Use it well and save some for later. I might get warts.”
She smiled at his joke about duct tape for wart removal. “I just need a little bit of it. Drink more water and have another piece of jerky. I think I took too much blood out of you. I am so sorry.”
James shrugged his shoulders, grinned, and fished out the high-iron-content snack. His first mini-meal of jerky and water had helped, but he still felt he was only at 20% operating efficiency.
“I hope you don’t need a building permit for that,” he said, nodding at the new shelter. “It’d never pass inspection.”
“Right,” she drawled, and walked away, the roll of duct tape around her wrist like a fat, gray bracelet.
Wee Ian was still trying to use the lengths of grass to hold the north and south walls together at the top. “Just hold them there for a minute,” Leah said, “I’ve got some stuff here that will work.”
She shook the roll off of her wrist and used her teeth to pull the end loose. ZAAAPPP. The noise of duct tape being pulled off the roll was loud and coarse, and made Ian the elder jump. But it was an involuntary reflex. He was in a deep sleep.
“Oh, shit,” Leah said softly. Hopefully he wasn’t in a coma. If he was, she couldn’t do anything about it except let him come out of it naturally. After she and Wee Ian got the shelter framed, she would offer him more water.
Wee Ian held the arch segments together while she wrapped the tape around the ends. One more ZAAAPPP—another length of tape torn off—and then another section of framework was secured. Now it was time to set the top beam and tie the two together.
“Do you think we need more of the tape?” she asked Wee Ian. It was his project, after all. She was just a consulting structural engineer and tape puller-offer.
“Aye, I think we’d best use more of that zap. Da will jest have to bide with the noise of it comin’ off the band.”
Leah tore off two more pieces—this time, one right after the other—and put them on her sleeve for easy access. She returned the roll to her wrist, and with the help of Marty—who had just appeared—the shelter frame was completed.
Wee Ian looked at the two of them in turn, said a quick, “Thanks,” and returned to the next step in the project: breathing walls. He wove the brush into the twigs of the tree branches that had now become the studs and roof, creating a porous ceiling and walls. The shade factor of his creation was high, but still allowed for a cooling breeze to pass through.
“Nice work,” Leah said. Wee Ian backed away to inspect his construction, looking for faults by the frown on his face. Leah interrupted his evaluation. “Can I sneak in here and offer him more water? We need to get as much as we can into him.”
Wee Ian turned away and came back with the bottle of water and the plastic tubing straw. He crawled into the little hut and held the straw to his father’s mouth. Leah could see that Ian wasn’t drinking, or at least not sucking.
“Here, let me show you something,” she said. Wee Ian scooted back out and handed her the bottle. “Look.” While it was still in the water, she put one finger over the tubing, then pulled it out. She tilted her head back, opened her mouth with the straw held above it, then let her finger off the end. The water dropped all at once into her mouth. She swallowed, brought her head back up, and smiled.
“Now, don’t force the water into his mouth, just dribble a few drops into it with it held high like I did. Keep your finger on the end, and just let him have a few drops at a time. He’ll probably wrap his lips around it and eventually get the sucking reflex going again. If not, we’ll have to do the wet washcloth trick. I’d rather use the straw, though, because we can get more fluids in him that way. When you’re done, come get that snack. You’ve been working hard.”
James was tired but awake while they worked, content to stare out at the creek, at peace with himself, and looking forward to fishing for dinner with the young man.
Leah went back to the shade of the tree and pulled the backpacks to her. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until now. She chuckled to herself as she realized that she hadn’t eaten in over 230 years. A little bit of the granola would tide her over until the men caught fish for dinner.
The men—all of a sudden, she had four men in her life: three good, hard-working men and one ornery patient. Well, at least the numbers weren’t reversed, and it wasn’t three ornery patients and one good, hard-worker. Small blessing number 1,516.
Wee Ian came over to join them in the shade, bringing the water bottle and straw with him. “I got him to drink a bit. I think he’s in the deep sleep. I dinna ken what ye call it, but he may be that way fer a few days. His body is healin’ itself. I’ll mind him if ye have other places to go. I sure appreciate the sewin’ and gettin’ more blood into him. I never saw that done.” Wee Ian turned to James, obviously confused. “Does that mean he has some of yer spirit in him?”
“Well, first of all, it’s called a coma. Hopefully, he’s just in a deep, repairing sleep and not a deep coma. But either way, you're right—I’m sure his body is healing itself. And as far as the spirit goes, I don’t know. I’ve been told that blood is just blood—red water that carries fuel like—well, like wood for a fire. It helps the body burn brighter, but sometimes I wonder…”
Leah cleared her throat hard—twice—to get James to stop talking. He must be loopy from the blood loss. The boy’s bewildered as it is, and he’s confusing him even more. “Would you like some of his spirit to be in your father?” she asked.
Wee Ian leaned over and looked at James cynically. Then he looked at Leah. “He’s yer husband?” he asked.
“Yes, and a very good man. He’s smart and kind and, well, practically perfect. No, I think he’s a perfect man, and I’m glad he’s my husband,” she said, chest out with pride.
“Weel then, if it’s all right with ye two, I’ll hope that a bit of Mr. James’s spirit got into my da. He ran out of perfect parts and pieces a long time ago. He can use all the help we can find him… What’s that?” the boy said suddenly, staring at the large plastic baggie of granola he had just noticed.
“It’s a mix of good foods to help you stay strong, or in your case, grow strong. Here, put out your hands, and I’ll give you some.”
Wee Ian reached out and accepted a fistful of the fruit/oat/chocolate-chip/nut mixture. He crossed his legs ‘Indian’ style, and placed the bounty on his breechclout flap. “What are these?” he asked, holding up a tan bit.
“Well, that’s a cashew, a nut. There are other foods in there that I’ll bet you’ve never seen, either. But they’re all good for you. There’s pineapple and coconut, oat bits, pretzels, and chocolate chips. Well, chocolate is a little bit good for you, but it tastes real good.”
“What’s this one? It looks like a wee black turd.”
Leah nearly choked on her mouthful of granola. “That’s the chocolate that I told you tasted so good. Go ahead and try it. If you don’t like it, put the rest of them aside, and I’ll eat them. They’re great.”
Wee Ian picked up a piece and inspected it, turned it around, sniffed it, and still wasn’t sure he wanted to eat it.
“It’ll melt in your hand if you hold onto it too long. Just eat it—trust me.”
Wee Ian huffed in uncertainty, then put it in his mouth—he trusted her. His eyes widened and a grin of satisfaction grew to a full smile as he quickly licked the melted remains off his fingers.
“I told you so. I wouldn’t lie to you,” Leah said and chuckled. She didn’t have a radio or television, b
ut she was definitely being entertained.
“You wouldn’t lie to me?” Wee Ian asked, suddenly somber.
“Of course not. Why, what do you want to know? Oh, your father. I’m sure he’s going to be all right. If we hadn’t done all the sewing and the blood transfusion, he might have died, but now he has a great chance of recovery.” Leah’s voice and attitude changed into head nurse mode as she stressed her most important warning, “As long as he stays still long enough for the wounds to heal.”
“That’s not what I meant. I figured ye were a good healer, and I’m sure ye did the best ye could. That’s what healers do. But,” the boy paused, looked down at the partially eaten food in his lap, then decided to ask, “Are ye my kin?”
Leah was both shocked and guarded. She had briefly thought about the Pomeroy-Hart relationship when she talked to Marty before her nap, but there didn’t seem to be any way she could be related to Ian Kinkaid. “Why do you ask?”
“Not why do I ask. Are ye my kin?” he repeated, his hard stare letting her know he wanted—no, needed—her answer.
“Shoot, I don’t know. I don’t know your mother, and I don’t think there is any way your father and I are related. So, as far as I can tell, no, we’re not related. Now will you tell me why you think I’m your kin?”
“Yer dress and yer face. Ye look jest like Evie and yer wearin’ her dress. She’s my kin because her… Weel, she said to jest tell people we’re kin.”
“Oh, shit,” Leah mumbled.
“Yeah, oh, shit,” James echoed.
“Ye ken, I can hear pretty good. Why do ye say oh, shit?”
“Well, yes, Evie and I are kin—very, very close kin. But how are you kin to her?” Leah asked, both confused and very curious.
“Weel, since ye are her kin—and I ken ye are, jest by lookin’ at yer face and seein’ how kind and helpful ye are—I guess I can tell ye. Her babies are my siblings—that’s the right word, I think. My da was the sperm donor.”
Aye, I am a Fairy Page 42