“All right now, we’ve done covered it all, right? I take your body into the woods, find me a clearing, and build the pyre out of pine boughs. Put your body in the middle, set the wood afire, and—it all right if I say some words?”
Jed nodded, somber, and Gideon nodded back. “So I say some words, and then I wait for the fire to burn out good. Scatter the ashes and the remains. If I haven’t found one of your kin, I’ll talk to my other Indian friends, or I’ll keep your hair in my coat pocket for a year, then set it loose in the wind someplace wild. That about it?”
“Yes.”
“Then no more talk of dying, Jed,” Gideon ordered, determined. “Talking about it’s as like to bring it on as that infection in your leg.”
“That is….” Jed frowned. “Your people believe that? I never learned that from the nuns.”
Gideon didn’t know nothing about nuns, but then, he didn’t have much in the way of religious practice, himself, other than what he’d heard from the tent preacher who’d traveled a while with Bill Tourney’s show. Jed clearly knew more about the Christian Bible than Gideon did. “Don’t know what regular church folk believe,” he admitted. “I just know my pa says that talking about trouble is like to bring it home. So no more talk of dying.”
“What do you talk about?”
“My family, my friends, the animals we work with in the traveling show….”
Jed frowned. “Traveling show?”
Gideon nodded. “That’s right. My folks both work in Bill Tourney’s Traveling Wild West Show,” he said proudly. “Bill, the owner, says his was the biggest and the best, before Buffalo Bill came along, and me, I was born into it. My daddy works with horses, trick riding and roping, and he did some bronc riding back when I was a kid. More circus-type stuff now. My ma works a—” he cleared his throat, “a ladies’ show, when she ain’t trick shooting.” His mother wasn’t ashamed of her job, and neither was Gideon or his daddy, but you never knew how some men might take it.
Jed nodded, interested. “I know of these shows. Many of my people have traveled with them. Talk of that, Gideon,” he said, his eyes still fever-bright. “Tell me of your life.”
That was as easy as breathing for Gideon Makepeace. He smiled and started in, telling tales of when he was knee-high to a grasshopper, scrambling underneath horses’ bellies to, as his pa had said, cause as much consternation as he could, watching the performances and learning to ride before he could even climb up on a horse without a boost from his pa. Jed’s eyelids started drooping just a few minutes into the tale, but Gideon kept talking until he was sure the man was asleep, glad he could offer him a little peace.
Gideon returned to his book, but kept an eye on the rise and fall of Jed’s chest, anxious that he’d slip away if Gideon didn’t keep watch and annoyed at his own fancy. As if staring at the man would keep him breathing. His pa would have all sorts of things to say about that, when he told him this tale.
A quiet rap on the door drew him away, but it was just Miz Howard. “We’ll be sitting to supper soon, Gideon,” she said with barely a glance past him to the sleeping Indian. “Ten cents each if you want to partake here.”
“Much obliged, ma’am.” It was cheap, less than half the price of a restaurant meal, and he was proud of her for only covering her expenses on it. He glanced back over his shoulder. “Don’t reckon he’ll be eating, but I might try and get some broth down him later.”
She nodded. “Dining room, few minutes from now. You’re welcome to sit down with us, but he’d best eat in here.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” Gideon agreed, meaning it even. Eight women worked this house. There was no way at least a couple of them wouldn’t hate to see an Indian in their home, and Gideon didn’t want to start trouble any sooner than he had to. “Doc MacCray said he’d be stopping by tonight to check on Jedediah.”
Miz Howard frowned. “Jedediah? That’s an awfully white name.”
Gideon thought about the nuns. “Guess he was brought up in a boarding school, like most these days,” he offered. “Jedediah’s Biblical. Don’t know what it means, but it ain’t Indian.”
“‘Blessed of the Lord’,” she quoted, not quite scoffing at the idea, but Gideon smiled.
“I don’t know. I kind of like it.”
HE RETURNED from dinner with the broth of a stew Miz Howard had made, and he managed to get Jed awake enough to take some of it. His fever was down a little, but after a few swallows, Gideon was afraid Jed might lose what he had in his stomach. He set the rest of it aside.
MacCray came by as promised, peeled off the bandages and poked at the leg, and Gideon kept his face turned away until the doctor was done.
“What are his chances?” Gideon asked MacCray as the man was finishing up his visit. Jed was almost but not quite unconscious, his arm once more over his eyes and his breathing fast and shallow. When called to assist, Gideon had helped MacCray wash out the wound again, and it looked to be about as bad as it had been that afternoon. The towel they’d put down during the procedure, as MacCray called it, was wadded up on the floor, ruined with blood and pus, and Gideon had already started thinking about the cost of replacing the linens, too.
MacCray shrugged. “Depends on how the night goes. Reckon you’re in the worst of it now—fever’s climbing and the infection’s deep, but I don’t see that it’s spread any more than it was this afternoon. That’s good news,” he said, but he was frowning. “Every couple of hours, you need to soak that bandage with carbolic and wash it out, just like we did. Keep him dosed up with laudanum if he’ll let you, otherwise keep him on the salicylic. And get as many fluids into him as you can. I’ll stop by first thing in the morning, before I open up my office.” He grinned then and added, “If I don’t spend the night here, anyway.”
It was the first time he’d hinted at the relationship he carried on with Miz Howard, which was common-enough knowledge but not something said to either of their faces. Gideon wondered if it was because he was asking for MacCray that she had given in about this room.
It was a long night, one of the longest Gideon had had in years. He spent part of it, when he was trying to stay awake so he could change the bandage and doctor the leg, thinking on the last time he’d had a night like this. Maybe the time his ma had been so sick. She’d taken a fever one winter, when they were in Abilene, and he and his pa had tended to her three long days and nights, taking turns staying at her bedside and minding his younger siblings. By the time her fever had broken, he wasn’t sure who had been in worse shape, her from the illness or them from the tending.
It was like that now, with Jed. He changed the bandage regularly, washing it out in a bowl of carbolic and then suffering through Jed’s pained hisses as he gently wiped out the wound before putting the bandage back on. Each time, the wound looked a little better—or little less bad—or maybe Gideon was just getting used to seeing it. Each time Jed’s pain seemed to be worse.
Around two in the morning, Jed’s fever rose, and he sweated so heavily that the sheets were soaked with it. Gideon turned him to his side and pushed a blanket beneath him to help absorb some of it up and keep him from lying in it, and put his hand to Jed’s head a time or two, just checking: he was burning up. Jed mumbled things, words that Gideon couldn’t make sense of, most of them in a language that must be his native tongue. Jed didn’t get loud, but that was almost worse, and Gideon thought about having to perform those burial rituals. He knew the Indians in Bill Tourney’s show real good. They took their rites seriously, and all Gideon could think now was how he might fuck it up and fail this fragile, lonesome stranger. If he couldn’t find Jed’s kin, he’d do as he’d promised, but it seemed a big thing now, too close. What would a Sioux god think of a white man doing Jed this favor? What would He do if Gideon did something wrong?
He slept in fits and starts, curled up on the floor, waking up fast whenever Jed called out, but the man seemed in the thick of his delirium, and never asked for anything. So Gideon would
just hold his head and try to get him to drink water or broth, and sometimes sit on the edge of the mattress with a hand on Jed’s arm. That seemed to soothe him as much as the salicylic or the laudanum—maybe more than.
Toward dawn, Gideon was tending to the wound when he heard a soft knock on the door. He turned in time to see MacCray slip in, looking tired and rumpled. “Fever’s up,” he said without preamble.
Gideon could’ve told him that. “It’s been up for a couple of hours,” he said. “Doc, he’s burning up.”
MacCray nodded and tugged the sheet away. “Need to cool him down.” He wasn’t wearing his coat or vest and his shirtsleeves were already rolled up. “Get me some clean water—the cooler, the better. Use the well outside, there should be a bucket near the door.”
By the time Gideon got back, MacCray had managed to get Jed out of most of his clothes. The sight of him—all that brown flesh, dark against the white linens—gave Gideon pause. Slender and long-limbed, all lean muscle and sharp bone, Jed was a pretty thing.
“Get over here with that water,” the doctor said, bringing Gideon out of his distraction. “Need to get this fever down—when did you give him the salicylic last?”
“It’s been a while,” he answered, setting the bucket down beside MacCray. “Want me to make up another tea?”
“I want you to start washing him down,” MacCray shot back. “Try to cool him off—and keep him that way. I’ll make up the tea.”
“Me?” Gideon asked, hoping that his voice didn’t squeak quite as much as it sounded like from inside his own head.
MacCray frowned at him as he made his way to the door, picking up the vial of salicylic from the dresser along the way. “Just cool him off, Gideon.”
Cool him off, Gideon told himself and tried to stay focused on that. But he was tired, and his mind wandered as he wiped a wet cloth over the hot, smooth skin. Jed startled easily, but he was barely aware. His body would arch toward Gideon’s hand, but it had to be the coolness of the cloth. Sick folk just wanted to stop hurting, and this Indian couldn’t be no different. He still mumbled in his own language, but every now and then his eyes would focus on Gideon, and he’d stammer out things in a mixture of English and the unknown tongue, things that sounded like “thank you,” and “don’t cut off my leg,” and “no women, not here.”
MacCray walked back into the room carrying a cup, and already talking before he’d closed the door. “Let’s try this. It’s stronger, but I don’t think it’s going to matter at this point.”
Gideon ended up sitting behind Jed, resting the heavy head against his shoulder while MacCray forced him to drink. Jed resisted at first, but Gideon whispered calmly to him, promising that it was all right, that nothing was going to happen to his leg, that he was going to feel better. All the while, he rubbed the wet cloth over Jed’s chest and belly, trying not to pay any attention to the firm body under his hands.
“Hopefully, that will do the trick,” MacCray said, drawing the tea cup away empty and wiping at Jed’s chin with a rag. “Try to keep him cool and quiet. He seems to trust you.”
Gideon wondered about that as he eased out from behind Jed and settled him back into the bed. Jed tried to catch his hand, holding on to it until Gideon had him still and quiet. MacCray nodded. “See? Says something good about you, Gideon, that you gain the trust of wounded animals and people alike.”
Gideon grinned over his shoulder at MacCray’s fancy. “That’s me, Doc, animal tamer.” MacCray let himself out the door, and Gideon just sat there on the edge of the bed. After a time, the tea did its job; the flush of fever faded a little, Jed’s breathing evened out, and the grip on Gideon’s hand relaxed.
Chapter 3
THREE long, hard days went by, three days spent sponging Jed down when the fever spiked, reading himself hoarse when he ran out of stories to tell—which he wasn’t sure Jed could hear anyway—and trying not to think about the things he’d promised. Or about the feel of Jed’s smooth skin or the tickle of his black hair as his head rested against Gideon’s shoulder. Or about those quiet, clear moments that would come over Jed when he seemed almost fine, when he put all of his considerable attention and interest on Gideon.
It was easy not to think about those things when he had to reach into his wallet to pay out for their room, board, and protection. It hadn’t taken but two days for word about Jed to get around, and Gideon, tired and irritable, had coughed up the extra dollar when Miz Howard had come to him with a frowning sheriff’s deputy at her shoulder.
“He’s like to make all kinds of trouble for us,” the deputy had said.
Gideon produced a dollar and flipped it across the room to him. “Hope that’ll help cover any extra work, Deputy,” he said. He even meant it. Deputies had a tough job even in a railroad town like this one, keeping the peace between locals and tourists, and more between locals and other locals, with so many Negroes and Irish and Chinese in this here town. It was worth the extra dollar to know no one would bother them here.
Lila checked in on him from time to time, usually bringing food or something for him to drink as the days wore on. She came and sat with him, listening as he talked to Jed and adding stories of her own, soft and lilting. He was glad of her company, between her clients, and he told her so.
By end of the third day, Gideon was ready to have it over, willing to perform those death rituals if it meant Jed’s suffering would end. The room stank of both of them, of sweat and fever, even though he kept the two tiny windows open all the time. He had come to value the time he got to spend outside, washing out the linens and cloths they were using.
“He’s one hell of a fighter,” MacCray said the next morning. “I expect today will settle it one way or the other.” He smoothed the hair from Jed’s face in a manner that was surprisingly gentle.
“Any guesses which way it’ll go, Doc?” Gideon asked. Jed had been awake for a long part of last night, making quiet chanting noises, like a song with just a few notes, and Gideon had sat there listening, mesmerized by it, like his heart started to beat to that tune.
MacCray shrugged. “He’s gotten this far, and that leg looks better than I imagined it could when I first saw it. I’d say he’s got a good chance.” He stroked Jed’s forehead again.
Gideon felt a lick of jealousy at the overly familiar touch, which made him curse himself in the privacy of his head. That feeling told him plenty about his less than pure motives here. Damn it. “He’ll make it,” Gideon said grimly. “He better—I’ve put too much into this for him not to.”
MacCray snorted but stood up and stepped away from the bed. “I hope you’re right,” he said.
Just in case he wasn’t, Gideon decided he’d best lay it all out, for himself if not for the insensible Indian. He waited until the middle of the day when Jed was asleep again and the ladies were otherwise occupied. He sat on the bed but held his hands tight together between his knees. “Guess I ain’t the nicest of men,” he whispered, tilting his head to watch a face he’d become all too familiar with. “Got some habits decent folk don’t cotton to, and taking care of you, listenin’ to you talk, washin’ you down especially—they reminded me, powerful strong. Reckon you deserve to know that I ain’t all bad, though. I didn’t take advantage or nothin’. Reckon you deserve to know that if I have to do them rituals, I’ll do ’em as best I can, ’cause you’ve got me feeling right protective of you, Jed, and worried.” He chuckled a little, low. “Maybe if you make it through and get well, you’ll rub me the wrong way, and that’ll take care of these feelings,” he whispered. “That optimistic enough for ya?” he asked with a smile for the sleeping man.
There. He’d said it, said what he’d thought and wanted not to say. The fact that Jedediah was still too caught up in his sickness to hear it was neither here nor there.
It turned out, Gideon was right about Jed getting better. Just about dusk, his fever finally broke for good. It took Gideon a while to realize it. He thought at first that the Indian was de
ad, his body barely moving as he breathed so slowly that it was hard to see his chest rise at all. But while Gideon was working up the courage to touch him, to see for sure, Jed stirred, a slight twitch of his fist against the pillow, then a shift of his leg—the injured one. He made a low noise in his throat, not quite a moan. His eyes slowly blinked open.
For the first time in days, they were clear—swollen and tired, but not fever bright or unfocused. He looked around the room, his gaze drifting past Gideon before coming back to settle on him. “How long?” he asked, or tried to. The words were mushy, like his mouth didn’t want to work just yet.
“Four days,” he said, smiling. “And three very long nights.”
Jed frowned, his fine eyebrows drawing together and putting a furrow above his nose. “You stayed? The whole time?”
Gideon pushed himself out of the chair he’d been living in and picked up a cup of water. He sat down on the side of the bed and held the cup to Jed, helping him drink. “Didn’t have much else to do. And I didn’t stay the whole time. Had to see to my horse, make sure she was faring well at the place I moved her to. But mostly, yeah, I stayed,” he said, diffident. He didn’t add that every time he’d left, he’d asked Lila to keep an eye on Jed, just in case.
Jed’s eyes widened, and Gideon saw a flash of doubt, so he went on more softly, “Told you, I have good friends who are Indians. I wouldn’t have left any of them to go through this alone.” He held up the cup again, pleased when Jed drank down more.
When the cup was empty, Jed lay back in the pillows. “You are a good man. Better than I deserve to call friend. I thank you.”
Gideon patted him on the shoulder, flattered at the words and sure they were sincere. “Let’s see about getting you back on your feet now.”
Getting Jed back on his feet took a little longer than the three days he’d been at his worst. The Indian had had little weight to spare when he’d first come to them. After three days of fever and virtually no food, he was weak as a kitten and bony as a mongrel dog. Miz Howard and Elsie were good about keeping a broth or a soup available for him, but it was slow going. The first day, Jed could barely manage to stay awake long enough to eat, and solid foods were still out of his reach. After that though, his appetite picked up and so did his energy.
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