The Borrowed World Series | Book 8 | Blood & Banjos

by Horton, Franklin

  “So what did you do?”

  “When I started to get sleepy I went to put the fire out. There were pockets of snow up here so I packed snow onto the fire to put it out. The moon was bright that night and I barely needed my headlamp. After I smothered the fire, the world took on that blue tinge of moonlight in the forest. The feeling that I wasn’t alone didn’t go away. I crawled into my tent, zipped it shut, and I could feel these presences around me.”

  “Why do you think that was?”

  “Trust me, I had a lot of time to think about it that night. At first, I figured it was the fire. Anyone who’d survived a crash up here probably died a cold death. As I lay there in my sleeping bag, I started to wonder if it was my presence that drew them. It wouldn’t have just been a cold death up there on that mountain, it would have been a lonely death too.”

  “You going to tell me that you went outside and hugged them all once you figured that out? You sang campfire songs together and roasted marshmallows?”

  “No.”

  “So you just went to sleep with those creepy ghosts circled up around your tent?”

  “No. Didn’t sleep a wink. Laid there awake all night.”

  “Sissy,” Lloyd cracked.

  Jim chuckled. “You want to try it yourself? I’ll come back for you in the morning.”

  Lloyd promptly exited the plane. “I got no interest in doing that at all. In fact, I’ve had enough of this place already. Let’s get out of here.” He started toward Jim.

  Jim raised a finger and pointed at the plane. “You might should close that door back.”

  Lloyd returned to the plane and slammed the door, making sure the latch caught. When he turned away from the plane, Jim was already walking away. “Hey, hold up!”

  Jim slowed and waited for him to catch up. “You ready now?”

  “Yeah, get me the hell out of here. What was the point of this anyway?”

  “I’m not sure,” Jim said. “Just wanted to see the place again. Wanted to see if it felt like I remembered it. I imagine it will be the last time I’m ever here. Not sure I’ve got many climbs like that left in me.”

  “Not sure I ever had one in me.”

  “Yet, here you are,” Jim said, gesturing at the expanse of wilderness around them.

  “Don’t remind me,” Lloyd said. “It’s only the first full day of Jim’s Morbid Mountain Tour and I’m beginning to wonder if I’m up for this.”

  Jim grinned. “Too late to back out now, my friend. You’re here for the duration.”

  “What’s next? A graveyard? A hanging tree? The site of a murder or suicide? I’ve never understood these grim obsessions of yours. What is it about the dead that fascinates you?”

  “Ain’t the dead—it’s the history.”

  “Eh, history is the past. Nothing more. It only has the power you assign to it.”

  Jim shook his head. “History writes the present.”

  “Where to next, Mr. Philosopher? You going to plant yourself on a rock and say profound shit all day? Not sure how long I can stomach that.”

  “Nope. We’re going to drop back below the treeline and head north. We’ll circle the peak of the mountain and head northeast along the ridge toward Mutter Gap, then ride to Laurel Bed Lake.”

  “What about this Civil War deserters cave you wanted to find?”

  Jim ducked through a gap in the rhododendron, fighting it back with one arm. “I need to think about that some more. I’m wanting a backup location for the family. I need to find a place we can retreat to and hide out if the valley becomes too hot. I’m not sure living in a cave on this mountain is sustainable though. Maybe the lake is a better option.”

  They reached their horses and found the animals had managed to tangle themselves in the brush. It was unavoidable in this kind of terrain. It took them a moment to set things right. When they had, they mounted their horses and rode out of the shady tunnel of forest. The midday sun seared away any lingering unease remaining from the crash site.

  “You’re getting spooky in your old age, Jim. You were always a simmering pot but the contents of that pot are darker than they used to be.”

  “Well, you’re getting uglier in your old age.”

  Lloyd shifted in his saddle. “Reckon I’d take ugly over spooky any day of the week.”

  16

  Oliver’s House

  Getting back to the camp took Sharon longer than she expected. The mile of road between Oliver’s house and the camp got rougher with each rain, exposing rocks and carving troughs into the hard clay soil. She had no choice but to move at a crawl, afraid of damaging her chair or turning it over. When she finally made it back to the camp, Nathan was not yet back from gathering peaches. It took her twenty more minutes to locate him and quietly relay what had taken place.

  His immediate reaction was wide-eyed terror. He’d lived a sheltered life, or more accurately a blessed life, up until this point. No one close to him had died or even succumbed to grave illness. Prior to the terror attacks, when he’d been with his family, they’d all been healthy as horses. Because of his inexperience, he was scared by the idea of having to visit Oliver with Sharon. He had no idea of what he’d find there or what he’d have to do.

  “It’ll be okay,” Sharon assured him. “I’ve dealt with things like this before. I just need you there to help me move him. I can’t do it alone.”

  “Maybe you should take another of the boys. Somebody has to stay here and watch the kids.”

  Sharon reached out and took him by the hand. “You can do this, Nathan. You’re stronger than you think, physically and mentally. It’s you I need. I’m going to leave Kay in charge here. She can handle things. If we’re late, she can help the other kids with lunch. She knows what to do and they’ll listen to her.”

  Seeing there was no way he could easily get out of going, he relented wordlessly, offering a nod of concession.

  “You’ll be fine,” Sharon said. “Let me speak to Kay and then we’ll go.”

  Nathan led the pony to a watering trough, then let it munch on some grass while Sharon talked to Kay. Watching from the corner of his eye, he saw Kay cover her mouth with both hands, a certain indication that Sharon had not sugar-coated the severity of Oliver’s situation. As always, she was painfully honest with the children, accurately explaining situations in terms they could understand. She didn’t have children of her own but lived a life full of children, all of whom she treated like miniature adults. When they wanted to know the why of things, she told them in as plain and honest a fashion as she could.

  When she was done with Kay, Sharon waved Nathan over and he led Honey along in her improvised harness. He helped Sharon clip in and they were off, her rolling and him plodding alongside beside her. There was something about traveling the unimproved farm road that harkened back to another time. It demanded patience and laid the stage for introspection. Whether in a car, on foot, or traveling by some other means, it accommodated no hurrying. It took however long it took. Other than the type of fencing that ran alongside the road, most of their surroundings were the same as they would have been a hundred years ago.

  “What will happen to Oliver?” Nathan asked.

  Sharon was staring ahead, watching the baked road and the bobbing head of her pony. “It’s hard to say. I’ve known people to have strokes and live twenty more years, their bodies twisted up, having to be waited on hand and foot. I’ve known others where it was the start of a downhill slope and they died not long afterward. Without doctors and advanced diagnostics, there’s no way for us to know what’s going on with Oliver.”

  “Is he...in pain?”

  Sharon considered this. “I don’t think so. He can’t speak, but I don’t think he’s in pain. I’d guess he’s scared and probably confused.”

  “So what can we do for him?”

  “We can try to make him comfortable and see what happens. We can be there for him and hold his hand. The real issue will be whether he can eat and drink. If he
can’t swallow, it’s not likely we’ll be able to keep him alive for more than a few days.”

  Nathan mulled that over as he walked, staring at the ground, and watching rocks fly as he kicked at them. “I don’t want to see him die.”

  “I don’t want him to die either but that’s not in our hands.”

  “No, I mean I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to be there when he passes away.”

  Sharon considered this before replying. “I don’t exactly want to watch it either, but you know what bothers me more?”

  “What?”

  “The idea of him dying alone and scared. Look at what he’s done with this camp he built. Look at all the happiness he’s given people. Even after the attacks last summer, after things fell apart, he helped keep us alive. He helped us get through the winter and showed us how to plant in spring. Every time our pantry began to look empty he came up with something. After what that man has done for us, I can’t turn my back on him. Imagine it was you laying there. What would you want?”

  “When you put it that way, it doesn’t leave us much choice,” Nathan said. “I guess we owe him.”

  Sharon was pleased to see him arrive at this conclusion on his own, or at least on his own with a gentle nudge from her. “That’s exactly right. We do owe him. I won’t lie. This is going to hurt. It’s going to be hard to watch. It’s going to make us sad and we’re going to want to run away from it, but we won’t, will we?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” Sharon pressed.

  “Because we honor our obligations. We take care of the people who take care of us.”

  She grinned broadly. “That’s exactly right, Nathan. You’re growing up to be such a smart young man. Your family would be proud of you.”

  At the mention of his family, Nathan grew quiet. He wasn’t sullen exactly, but thoughtful. This often happened with the children who’d been left behind at camp, trying to figure out what had happened to the people who were supposed to come for them. Sharon let each process it in their own way, helping when she was called upon to do so.

  With Nathan’s silence, her mind traveled. What she hadn’t told the boy was that she felt she owed Oliver for more than what he’d done last winter. She owed him for the twenty years he’d allowed her to work at the camp. She was paid a little, as were all the staff who worked there, but she’d have gladly done it for free simply for the privilege of being there.

  The camp made her whole. Seeing these children grow, watching them come back year after year until they were no longer children, gave meaning to her life in a way that nothing else did. She knew it wasn’t simply what they taught at the camp. It wasn’t only about music and becoming a better player. It wasn’t about performing and learning new songs. It was the whole atmosphere, the environment. It was the farm and the isolation. It was Oliver and his devotion to what they did there.

  When they’d first met, when she’d interviewed for the job, she saw his eyes flicker to the chair. She saw the doubt. He might as well have shaken his head, rubbed his chin, and said, “I don’t know about this.”

  Yet she won him over. She’d never had a doubt in her mind that she wouldn’t be able to. It was her smile, her enthusiasm, the glow in her eyes, and her aura of radiance that warmed everyone close to her like a campfire on a cold night. They’d had to make some accommodations, some changes to the facilities to allow her to get where she needed to go. He’d been hesitant about that at first, too. The camp had already been there for more than twenty years and Oliver was kind of attached to the way things looked. He didn’t want to go changing things.

  They worked it out though. Seeing her determination made Oliver want to remove any barriers to her getting where she wanted to go. After hearing from some of the staff that Sharon had spent four hours trekking to a remote swimming hole so she could watch some kids swim, Oliver bought her a golf cart to make certain that she could get anywhere on the property she wanted to go.

  Thinking of the golf cart made her lament the lack of fuel. Before they ran out of gas it had been her primary means of going back and forth between the camp and Oliver’s place. It was so much easier. This was the state of things though. There was no point in dwelling upon that which she could not change. She learned that long ago.

  17

  Oliver’s House

  The trip to the camp and back consumed over two hours. Sharon was uncertain of what she’d find at Oliver’s house so she was apprehensive as she rolled onto the back porch and opened the door, though her level of apprehension was nowhere in the range of Nathan’s. He lingered over tying up Honey, not wanting to cross that threshold.

  “C’mon, Nathan. We need to check on Oliver.”

  He gave the pony a rub between the ears and headed for the house. Sharon went on through the door and Nathan followed, closing it behind them. The house was totally silent, the thick walls shutting out the few sounds of the outside world—roosters, distant dogs barking, the bleat of a goat, and the cawing of crows. The sound of Sharon’s wheels on the multiple layers of vinyl flooring made a sound both sticky and hollow at the same time. She thumped over an aluminum transition strip at the doorway and headed down the hall toward Oliver’s bedroom.

  Natural light flooded the long hallway through tall windows but it did nothing to lighten the mood. The sunlight emphasized the grain in the dark maple floors and revealed the texture in the hand-plastered walls with their thick layers of paint. It filled the dusty gossamer curtains that hung as a remnant of the day a woman had cared about such homey touches. Despite the brightness of the midday sun and the sweltering heat of the outside world, no warmth reached the interior of this house. It was not humid, the air tinged with mildew as one might expect. It was cool, cavernous, and solemn as a church.

  The sound of Sharon’s wheels echoed from the hard surface of the walls. She neither lingered nor wasted time, as Nathan did behind her. She turned right at the end of the hall and found the door to Oliver’s bedroom shut. She paused to try and recall if she’d closed that door. She couldn’t imagine she had. There’d be no reason to do so in the empty house.

  She turned the old glass knob and the well-worn innards moved with a fluid mechanical efficiency. The bolt retracted and Sharon pushed. The hinges creaked and the door swung. Oliver lay unchanged before her. His eyes were open and he was pitched awkwardly on his side. His large chest moved with the intake of breath, though perhaps faster than ideal. Uncertain if he’d detected her presence, she moved forward and took his hand. It was warm, dry, and rough with callouses.

  “I’m back, Oliver. I brought Nathan with me. You haven’t moved. You still feeling the same?”

  He moved his thumb against the back of her hand, the only digit capable of cooperating with his intentions. He moved his mouth in an awkward contortion that never did produce speech. When the effort failed, Oliver quit trying. He closed his mouth and issued a low groan, a mournful rattle of air over uncooperative pipes.

  Oliver’s eyes flickered beyond her and she knew he’d caught sight of Nathan. Sharon turned around to offer the boy a supportive smile but he’d not entered the room yet, unable to bring himself to step over the threshold. He stood in the doorway, his hand clutching the jamb as if to anchor himself in place. Perhaps it was all that kept him from fleeing.

  “Oliver, I feel like we need to try to make you more comfortable. Maybe if I can get you over on your back we can see if you can take some water. How’s that sound?”

  The response was a resigned groan.

  “Nathan, can you get to the other side of the bed, please? We’re going to try and roll him over onto his back.”

  Nathan hurried to the task, as if the sooner he got to it, the sooner he could be out of there. “How do I...where do I hold him?”

  “We’re going to be gentle and move slowly,” Sharon said. “Sometimes a stroke can make a person’s body rigid. He might not roll easily. I’m going to have you put your hands on the shoulder that’s sticking up in
the air. I’m going to reach for the shoulder that’s beneath his body. We’re going to slowly pull on him until he starts to turn over onto his back. If it looks like we’re hurting him, we’ll stop. If it causes him any distress we’ll return him to the position he’s in now. Got it?”

  Nathan let out a long breath, a steeling of the nerves, before answering. “I’m ready.”

  They put their hands in position and Sharon noted the coolness of Oliver’s body. It was exactly the opposite of what she’d expected. They turned him and the dank smell of urine rose in a cloud around them. Oliver was not a slight man. He was over six feet and two inches, over two hundred and fifty pounds. As they rolled his body, his limbs did not yield but protruded in an awkward and insectoid manner.

  He moved though, his body turning inch by excruciating inch, and Sharon’s mouth curled in a smile of triumph until they got him over on his back. Oliver immediately began choking and coughing.

  “Raise him up! Raise him up!” Sharon said urgently.

  Terrified, Nathan grasped Oliver by the shoulders and tugged him forward so that Sharon could slide pillows beneath him. Nathan stared at Oliver’s face, his deep-set eyes crushed together in an urgent cough that provided no relief.

  “Now set him back,” Sharon said, struggling to help Nathan lean Oliver back onto the pillows.

  When they had him settled back, Oliver’s eyes opened wide and his chest expanded in a great wheeze. The coughing began anew, a violent choking hack that made Sharon’s heart ache. She felt totally helpless.

  Nathan was panicking. “What do we do?”

  Sharon’s face bore a pained expression. “We’re going to have to put him back the way he was when we came in. Lift him up!”

  Nathan again tugged Oliver forward while Sharon removed the pillows this time.

  “Put him down, then we’ll turn him.”

  Nathan did as instructed, laying Oliver onto his back and then gently rolling him onto his side, back the way they’d found him. Oliver continued to cough and wheeze for a painfully long period but his distress subsided.