by Kim Fielding
“Why did you come here?” Henry finally asked.
Orris lifted his chin. “I was sent. I disgraced my family.”
Any response was lost as Samuel came rushing out the door carrying a small leather bag. Lucy was right behind him, her brow furrowed with concern. She didn’t say anything as Henry turned away from the road, toward the hills, with Samuel right behind him. Orris hurried to catch up.
The sheep bleated and galloped to the far end of the paddock as the men passed. They were unused to seeing them in such a hurry.
Orris hadn’t ventured past the edge of the farm to where the slope began, so he hadn’t realized there was a path leading into the hills. It was narrow and steep, studded with roots that threatened to trip him and overhung by branches that required careful maneuvering. Saplings and ferns blocked the way at times, and thorny berry canes with a hint of new leaves reached for him.
“What happened?’ Samuel asked when they were well on their way. He sounded slightly out of breath, which made Orris feel a little better about his own labored breathing.
Henry’s answer was terse and a little hard to hear since he was ahead of them. “He got shot.”
“Shot? With a gun?”
“Wasn’t an arrow.”
“But… how?”
He didn’t answer at first, and Orris thought he was ignoring the question. But finally, Henry grunted. “Stupidity.”
And that was that, apparently, because he moved ahead so rapidly that Samuel and Orris had to hurry to avoid losing sight of him.
By the time they reached a clearing, Orris’s muscles were heavy and his lungs felt like jagged glass. He figured they’d been traveling for an hour at least. A small log cabin squatted in the center of the clearing, its roof so heavily festooned with moss and pine needles that it resembled an odd sort of plant. There was a bare spot of ground adjacent to the structure—probably a vegetable garden—but no other signs of civilization.
Henry didn’t pause to let them catch their breath. He pushed the cabin door open and strode inside. Samuel and Orris followed.
Orris nearly gagged. The close air of the cabin reeked of sickness and rot. The interior was stifling as well, no doubt due to the large pile of glowing coals in the fireplace. The single room was dim even with the lantern light. Henry moved to the side of a narrow bed where a man lay unmoving on his back, and Samuel pushed him slightly aside so he could examine the injury.
“How long ago was he shot?” Samuel asked after a few minutes. He’d moved blankets and clothing and bandages aside, but his patient hadn’t so much as twitched.
“Several days ago. Week, maybe.”
Samuel shot Henry an angry look. “And you waited ’til now to do something about it?”
“I didn’t know. Not at first. He didn’t tell me.”
“How could you not notice your brother was wounded?”
“It wasn’t… it wasn’t so bad, at first. He knew I’d be angry, so he hid it from me. I reckon he thought he’d heal on his own.” Henry’s voice was subdued, full of sorrow and regret.
“Fetch some clean water, please,” Samuel said. He sounded weary.
Henry grabbed a tin pot from near the fire and left the cabin. He came back a moment later with the pot full. “Should I heat it?”
“In a few minutes.”
Orris still felt ill, and since he wasn’t sure what to do with himself, he peered around. He saw another bed against the opposite wall, piled with neatly folded blankets. Near the two chairs and small table of rough wood were several shelves stocked with foodstuffs, tools, dishes, and cups. That was nearly the limit of the cabin’s contents, but for a tall stack of cured animal skins tottering just inside the door. There were no decorative items at all, not even a rag rug on the packed-earth floor.
Samuel sat in one of the chairs and worked in near silence while Henry stoked the fire, fetched more water, and heated it. At Samuel’s request he tore some cloth strips. Meanwhile Orris paced until his stomach finally settled.
They had been in the cabin for quite some time when the patient made a horrible, high-pitched moan and began to flail violently. “Hold him still!” Samuel shouted.
Henry threw himself across his brother’s chest and tried to pin his arms down. Hoping he was doing the right thing, Orris rushed over and put all his weight on the man’s legs. What was his name again? Orris thought inanely as he struggled to remain in place. Ah, Charles. That was it.
Even with Orris and Henry holding him down—and Samuel doing something to his belly that Orris didn’t want to see—Charles still bucked frantically. He was screaming now, his animalistic howls deafening in the cramped cabin, but Orris wasn’t sure he was truly conscious. His movements, while incredibly strong, seemed uncoordinated.
“Dammit! Hold him!” snapped Samuel after one particularly vicious jerk of Charles’s body. Samuel’s voice was ragged and his brow sweaty. Orris did his best to hold on.
The convulsions ended as abruptly as they had begun, Charles going instantly limp and silent on the bed. Orris would have thought him dead but for the thin wheeze of his lungs. When Orris stood, he finally got a good look at Charles, from the awful mess at his midsection to his face. Even as sick as Charles was, his resemblance to Henry was clear.
“Give me a little space, please,” Samuel said quietly. “And something to drink.”
Orris backed away and watched as Henry brought a tin cup of water, holding it as Samuel drank. Orris felt an irrational stab of jealousy.
Eventually, Orris sat in the remaining chair, while Henry sat on the empty bed and watched his brother worriedly. But sometimes Henry looked at Orris instead, and every time he did, the temperature in the cabin seemed to increase. Nobody had ever scrutinized Orris so closely.
Then Henry surprised him with a gesture toward the shelf with the bottles. “Do you want something to drink?”
“No. Thank you,” Orris replied, although his mouth was dry.
“Food?” Henry barked a humorless laugh. “My first guest in a long time, and I’m being a poor host.”
“Don’t concern yourself with me. I’m not important.”
“Whoever taught you that was a liar. But I reckon now’s not the time for that discussion.” Henry shook his head slightly before returning his attention to his brother.
After what seemed like a very long time, Samuel stood and wiped his hands on a rag. He gathered his things and tucked them into his bag and then, without saying anything, walked out of the cabin. Henry followed him at once; Orris hesitated a moment before following suit.
Orris took in several lungsful of clean air. In the gray light of late afternoon, Samuel was pale and solemn. “I don’t know how he’s lived this long,” he said.
Henry answered. “He has a strong constitution.”
“I’m… I’m afraid it’s not enough. Even if I were a real doctor, I don’t think there’s much I could do for him now.”
“There’s no hope?”
Samuel shook his head grimly. “He’s badly infected. His organs are already… I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing I can do?”
“Try to keep him as comfortable as possible. I… I doubt he’ll regain consciousness. He hasn’t much longer, Mr. Bonn.”
Orris was distantly aware that Samuel had temporarily lost his rough frontiersman’s twang and had reverted to his old way of speaking. He sounded like a gentleman who lived in a mansion on Fifth Avenue and studied medicine at the university. It was a strange juxtaposition, with his farmer’s clothes and the towering fir trees that surrounded them.
Henry licked his lips and set his jaw. “I understand. Thank you for your efforts. I truly do appreciate them.”
“We’re neighbors, Mr. Bonn. We do what we can for each other. You certainly helped us in the past. I’m just sorry I couldn’t do more.”
“Let me take you home before it gets dark.”
“I can find our way back. Stay here with your brother.”
After a brief hesitation, Henry nodded. For just a split second, raw grief washed over his face. But his expression was composed when he turned to Orris. “I’m sorry we didn’t meet under better circumstances. Maybe we’ll see each other again, sometime.”
Orris tried to ignore the way his heart leapt at those words. This was hardly the time or place for happiness. He mumbled an awkward combination of apology and condolence. Then Henry shook hands with Samuel and Orris before ducking back into his cabin.
It would have been hard to converse during the journey home, if Samuel and Orris wanted to, because they were forced to walk the narrow path single file.
But when they came to a passage where the trail widened slightly, Orris stepped forward and caught Samuel’s arm. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. Just tired.” He gave Orris a quick sideways glance. “I’ve seen dying people before. It happens, especially when there’s no real doctor nearby. I watched my own child die and couldn’t save her.”
“But you tried to save her. And you tried today. You… you did your very best. Nobody can ask more of a man than that.”
Samuel sighed. “Thanks, Orr.” He ducked under a branch and then glanced at Orris again, this time for longer. “Are you all right? You’re not used to death yet.”
Yet. Orris didn’t care for the implications of that word. But he had other concerns at the moment. “I’m fine. Who are those men, Samuel? Why do they live… as they do?”
“The Bonns were here when Lucy and I first settled on our farm. I don’t know their history. They keep to themselves, mostly. Make a living off hunting and trapping, I reckon. Those first couple of winters here, when times were rough, the Bonns traded us some meat. They didn’t ask much for it either—just enough that I wouldn’t feel like it was charity.”
“It seems a strange way to live. Alone in the forest like that.”
“I reckon some men prefer solitude. Maybe they were brought up like that. They’d probably find New York City just as strange.”
“Maybe,” said Orris, stepping over a large fallen branch.
“I see Henry or Charles once or twice a year. They don’t have much to say, but they’ve always been pleasant enough. I get the feeling they ain’t real happy with folks movin’ in and building towns ’round here.”
The path narrowed again and Orris stepped behind Samuel.
The last of the day’s light was laboring through the clouds when they descended the hills and walked alongside the sheep paddock. The sheep still huddled on the far side, eyeing the men distrustfully.
“Samuel? How do you suppose Charles got shot?”
“Dunno. Ain’t my place to ask.”
“But aren’t you curious about it?”
“Not really. Maybe it were an accident. Happens. Maybe they got into a fight and Henry shot ’im.” He shrugged. “That happens too.”
Orris supposed Samuel was right. He knew from his own experiences that fraternal love had its limits—and sometimes those limits were quite narrow. But as he slogged his way toward the house, he realized that he hadn’t seen a gun inside the cabin. He would have expected a pair of hunters to have their weapons prominently in view.
Still pondering, Orris picked up his pace. He was hungry and exhausted, and soon he’d have to patrol the farm. Lucy stood waiting for them at the anteroom door, the aroma of dinner in the air and her arms folded over her swollen belly.
6
Orris wasn’t sure which he appreciated more: the luxury of a private room to himself, or the ability to stretch out on a real, lump-free mattress. The knowledge that he’d built a substantial portion of that bedroom was a bonus, leading to a warm feeling of satisfaction. The separate room was particularly nice given the odd sleeping hours he’d been practicing these last two weeks. At his own insistence, he’d continued to guard the sheep every night, snatching a few hours of rest after dawn and after the noontime meal. When he wasn’t sleeping or patrolling, he helped with the farm chores.
He felt ragged and blurry, as if he were slowly growing transparent. Which was odd, because in reality he was slowly developing hard muscles. He’d never be as brawny as Samuel, but his labors came ever more easily and his body felt sleek and sinewy under his skin.
Even when he took to his new bed, Orris didn’t fall asleep at once. He ached with need in a way he never had—either before or after becoming Daniel’s lover—and he took himself in hand shockingly often. Maybe the people who said masturbation leads to insanity were correct. His mental equilibrium was certainly unbalanced. But his own touch felt too good to forgo.
And when he did finally succumb to sleep, he dreamed. More of those strange, tumbled visions of hunting and being hunted, of forests, of a naked body embracing him, of blood and glowing green eyes. The dreams simultaneously terrified and thrilled him.
One drizzly morning, Orris helped Samuel harness Beau to the plow. The horse waited somewhat impatiently, snorting frequently as if to hurry them along. He seemed happier once he began to till the field, plodding back and forth in straight lines with Samuel at his side. Orris took in the scent of rich, freshly tilled earth and the cacophony of several bird species that feasted amid the overturned soil.
The field was nearly finished when Samuel’s younger daughter came running full-tilt in their direction, braids flying out behind her. “Papa! Papa! The baby!”
Samuel went instantly paper-white. “Orris,” he groaned.
“Go. Go tend to her. I’ll take care of the horse.”
Samuel ran to the house without looking back.
Orris and Beau looked at one another. Over the past couple of weeks, they’d reached a fragile truce, although both were still nervous around the other. But perhaps Beau realized that without Orris’s help, he was likely to be stuck in his traces for a very long time, so he stood still as Orris fumbled to unhook him from the plow. Orris didn’t even need to lead Beau back to the barn—in fact, the horse led him. Once they were inside, Orris made sure Beau had food and water, but he didn’t try to brush him down as Samuel would have. He hoped Beau wouldn’t be too much the worse for wear; at least, he seemed content enough.
Orris washed up at the pump and then, with considerable trepidation, entered the house. Heavy footsteps sounded on the upstairs floorboards, and the girls huddled wide-eyed at the table, but nothing else seemed amiss.
“Do you need anything?” Orris asked them.
The older one shook her head. “Mama said there’s bread and butter if we get hungry.”
“Are you hungry? I can help you rustle up a meal.”
“No.”
He combed his beard with his fingers. “Would you like to do some lessons?”
The girls exchanged quick glances before the older one said, “No thank you, Uncle Orris. Not now.”
“All right.”
He stood in the middle of the kitchen, unsure what to do. He had no notion of how long babies took to be born. A few minutes? A day?
When he realized he was pacing restlessly—probably making his nieces even more worried—he stopped and sighed. “I’m going to step outside. But I’ll stay close to the house, so if you or your parents need me, just call.”
The girls nodded in unison.
Orris was thankful to leave the claustrophobic confines of the kitchen and breathe fresh, cool air. He wandered to the front of the house—the side facing the road—and climbed onto the rarely used porch. Everyone who lived in the house came and went through the anteroom, where coats and hats and muddy boots were kept. And in the time since Orris had arrived in Oregon, not a single visitor had come to the front door. It wasn’t that his brother’s family was reclusive, but their farm was fairly isolated, and they and their neighbors tended to be too busy to socialize.
The front porch was covered, and there were two slightly rickety wooden chairs. Orris sat on one of them and watched the clouds scud across the sky.
Perhaps he dozed off, because a man stood on the porch in front of him with
such suddenness that Orris yelped and nearly fell out of his chair.
“Sorry,” Henry Bonn said quietly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” He was dressed in buckskin again, hatless, his long blond hair tied with a cord. He held a fabric-wrapped bundle.
“You didn’t scare me. I was just… distracted, I suppose.” Belatedly remembering his manners—and hoping his legs would hold him—Orris stood and held out a hand.
Henry’s hand was large and rough and very warm. He shook Orris’s hand firmly, but without making the little interchange feel like an attempt to prove his strength. “It’s good to see you again, Mr. Spencer. Under less stressful circumstances.”
“Orris. And, um, yes.” Orris wasn’t sure how to phrase the next question, so he blundered ahead. “Your brother…?”
“He was dead by the time you reached home.”
“I’m… I’m so sorry. Please accept my condolences for your loss.” The words seemed stiff and meaningless. Certainly insufficient to soften the grief etched onto Henry’s face.
But Henry bobbed his head. “Thank you. It was his own damned stupidity that killed him, but he was my brother and I loved him.”
It was slightly shocking to hear a man speak of loving another man, even if the love was fraternal. Orris had never spoken those words to or about any of his brothers—not even Samuel—nor had any of them. But he could tell Henry’s statement was honest and heartfelt.
“You did what you could for him,” Orris said gently.
“And so did your brother. That’s why I’m here. Wanted to thank him properly.” Henry hefted the fabric-wrapped bundle slightly. “Just some deerskins. A token. ’Cause there ain’t many folks ’round here who’d go out of their way for me, and your brother did. You too.”
“Oh. Well, I’m afraid Samuel’s… occupied right now. But I’ll be happy to pass your message to him.”