A time to every purpose under the heaven. That’s what Dixon’s mother used to say. Likely it came from the Bible. A time to be born, and a time to die. His mother would probably say that Joab’s time to suffer had come. Did everyone have to endure hardships? That just didn’t seem right.
Dixon cleared his throat and walked across the dirt floor of the Blacks’ soddy to the parchment window. Not much could be seen through the window in the day, but at night, well one had only to listen to know what was going on outside. A blizzard.
Joab moaned and pushed his blanket off, exposing the raw sores covering his body.
Bile rose to Dixon’s throat. He didn’t like that the sight sickened him. Joab’s friendship made life in Surbank bearable. When Dixon was first stationed there Joab was the only one who treated him with due respect. It took a year for the others to even acknowledge Dixon’s presence, let alone allow him to do his job.
A blast of wind snapped the window and thrust a skiff of snow under the door.
He grabbed a blanket and shoved it against the crack. The snow was as invasive as a certain stranger. He snorted. It made him mad that Abbadon suggested Joab might have enemies. Joab proved a kind and faithful neighbor to everyone. The only way the man could entertain such a thought was through the pure ignorance of an interloper.
Across the room Nathaniel sighed heavily and rested his forearms on his knees. Barty sat on a crate in the corner holding his head in his hands. This would be a long night. Since Mrs. Black left for town, no one had spoken a word. For three strenuous hours, they all watched Joab’s agony.
“Oh my God, my God, why was I born?” Joab took in a ragged breath that caused his chest to quiver.
Dixon stepped to his side and knelt. He reached for his friend’s hand, but saw the angry-looking blisters. His own hand stopped mid-air, unsure where to go.
“Why didn’t you let me die at birth?” Joab bent his head back. His puffy face screwed tight. He let out a cry that vibrated through Dixon like the call of the dead.
Taking a couple of short breaths, Dixon grabbed the wet cloth from a pail beside him, and, with shaking hands, gently placed it on Joab’s forehead.
Joab shrieked.
Dixon jerked the cloth away. His friend was burning up with fever, but the sores on his head were too tender to touch. Determined to provide some relief, Dixon carefully placed the cloth on his friend’s brow again.
This time Joab accepted the touch though his body trembled. “I wish I were dead.”
“Shh.” If only he could tell him it would soon be over, but that would be lying. How long could a man endure such pain?
Barty cleared his throat, and the sound echoed off the stove. “Do you think he’s delirious?” Wind whistled through the pipe in return, an ominous response.
Dixon rubbed his brow with the back of his hand. “Likely. He’s quite hot.”
“Look at him shiver now. There’s soup on the stove. Why don’t we see if he’ll take some?” Barty stood and ladled a small amount of barley soup into a pewter cup.
Dixon lifted Joab’s head. It felt hot, and the smell of infection caused stomach acid to rise to the back of Dixon’s throat, but he swallowed it and breathed through his mouth.
Joab’s breath came quick as Barty lowered the cup to his lips. He coughed when Barty poured a bit into his mouth and roared as the hot liquid spilled across his raw lips.
Waving his hand for Barty to move away, Dixon lowered Joab back to the ground. “It’s no good. Too painful for him.”
But Joab seemed to rally his energies.
A shudder swept through Dixon as he saw hollowness in the once warm eyes.
Joab grabbed Dixon’s hand and winced. “I feared this.” He gasped for breath. “Devastation.”
Was there something to the possibility that someone sought revenge against Joab? Dixon leaned closer.
“It had to come.”
Surely it was not true. Someone as good as Joab couldn’t have enemies. Yet, from the man’s own mouth …
“Things were going too well. I was not in safety.” Joab’s hand shook as his grip tightened. “I could never rest.” He took a ragged breath and slumped back. “I had not remained quiet and trouble came.”
Did someone threaten Joab? Had the man been a witness to some heinous crime? That had to be it.
Dixon’s mind whirled, and he stood to pace. But what crime? Could it have happened before the Blacks moved to Alberta? An incident in Ontario?
He scratched the stubble on his cheek. For the years he’d known Joab, there’d been no serious crime in Surbank. The man had no association with the criminal element. In fact, Surbank offered little in the way of criminals. Sure there’d been the odd reprobate passing through, but Joab dealt with none of those.
This fear Joab had, it must originate from Ontario. Where was it they had lived before? Barrie or Berriefield? He would ask Mrs. Black as soon as he got back to town. Then he’d send a wire off. Perhaps the police there knew something. He almost felt guilty for feeling a bit of elation over this discovery, but at least it was a lead.
Joab shuddered and an uneven breath rattled his chest.
Dixon glanced at his friend. Solving the crime would be of little consolation to Joab. Nonetheless, it was the least he could do for him.