Till My Last Breath

My brother Vermin and I sat at a back table in the Pick & Shovel Saloon. Working on his third whiskey, Vermin’s temper escalated as I sat silently, sipping sarsaparilla. Out-of-the-blue, Vermin slugged me in the left arm. He never needed a reason since pure evil ran through his veins.

Being mute myself, I grabbed my left arm where he’d hit me, and lightly moaned. Most of my life, I’d given in to the abuses my brother doled out. Fearful, if I retaliated, Vermin would either leave me behind to die in some out of the way place, or just plain shoot me. It was that simple for him.

Abruptly standing, Vermin headed to the back door without looking back. I, on the other hand, remained seated sipping on the last of my drink. Vermin may think I was stupid, but what I astutely heard, loud and clear, was the men at the bar tell of a gambler who was brought in alive the previous day. Their conversation had my eyes widening in astonishment. What I heard would infuriate my brother. That’s why when he walked through the back door, wiping his filthy hands on his pants, I remained silent, waiting for the right moment to spring this news on him.

The same men that had carried Caleb into the clinic were now tasked with moving him to a small room in the back where he could begin his recovery. What Doc called the recovery room held a small metal-framed bed, with at least a better mattress than ropes strung between wooden posts. I looked about the room while the men lay Caleb carefully on the bed. Against one wall was a dresser with a cracked mirror overhead. In one corner was a stand holding a porcelain washbasin and pitcher filled with tepid water.

The only window looked out over the back of the building with a view of the desert hills. The fading winter sun filtered in through faded yellow curtains, casting flickering shadows on the wall. On the floor at the side of the bed was a sizeable hand-woven rag rug that had seen much use. In another corner stood a caned rocker waiting for its next occupant, to sit and rock.

Rocking was a solitary affair, reminding me of a wise old crone. Running my hands over its rim, I wondered how many people it had held over the years while waiting for the healing hand of God, or the devil's clutch of death to take their loved one. Despite my dark thoughts, it was a pleasant room compared to the cabin Caleb and I had shared the last few weeks.

“Ma’am?” the same cowboy who helped me out of the wagon, spoke softly coming to stand in front of me. “Excuse me, ma’am.”

I looked at him blankly, “Yes. Did you need something?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Turning his hat around and around through calloused fingers, he took in a deep breath. “The boys and I were just wondering if there is anything else we can do for you before we leave.”

“No, thank you. You’ve been very helpful,” I answered, moving to the bedside where Caleb lay.

The cowboy left just as Sheriff Johansson moved in to take his place. “Miss Sweeney, will ya be needin’ a place ta stay tonight?”

“No. Thank you sheriff. I’ll be staying here with Mr. Young. I need to be here when he wakes up.” Laying my hand on the bedpost, I added, “Or, if the good doctor is called out during the night, I’ll be here to watch over Mr. Young.”

Looking over at Caleb’s still body, “Tats probably wise. If ya need anything, yust send vord over ta the jail. Myself, or one of ta boys will come right over.”

I followed the sheriff’s gaze. “Thank you again, sheriff, but I’ll be OK.”

“I’ll ask Doc if he has a cot for ya to sleep on. If not, I’ll have one of da boys bring one over from ta jail. They’re not fancy, but it beats the floor. I hope ya don’t mind.”

“That would be nice. Anything is better than sleeping on rocks. At least, Caleb, I mean, Mr. Young should rest more comfortably tonight.”

Leaving the room, he returned not ten minutes later with a cot. “Doc said he would bring you some linens.

“Sheriff.” Coming to stand next to him, I placed my hand on his forearm and said, “I can’t thank you enough for your help. From what I understand, you and Mr. Young got off to a rocky start.” Looking down at my dry, cracked hands, I added, “And so did we for that matter. You could have easily left us up in the hills. But I don’t think you’re that kind of man to do such a thing. I only hope that what happened between the two of you, and between us, you won’t hold it against Caleb.”

“No, miss, I don’t.” Placing his hand over mine, “No one deserves vhat he got. I yust hope he pulls through for yar sake.”

Not surprised for once, I knew the sheriff’s words were sincere. “Sheriff, I do have one question. Running my hand over my threadbare dress, I asked. “Do you know where I can get some clean clothes for myself and Mr. Young?”

“I tink I can handle that, miss. I’ll have one of Miss Abigail’s girls bring over clothes for ya tis evening. Tomorrow, I’ll bring over some for Mr. Young.”

“That would be wonderful. Thank you again. If there is ever anything I can do to repay you, please, don’t hesitate to let me know.” I gave him my best smile, considering how tired I felt.

Sheriff Johansson made it to the door before I thought of one more favor to ask of him. “Oh, sheriff,” holding up my hand to stop him. “I’m sorry, but I have one more favor to ask. If I may impose upon you to send a message to Mr. Young’s sister. I believe she lives somewhere in Boston. She should be informed that her brother has been gravely injured.” Pausing, I added, “Actually, I don’t think she even knows he’s still alive. From what I gathered, it’s been years since they last saw each other.” Feeling like I was giving him too much information, I caught myself wringing my hands. “Or maybe you could tell me how to contact her?”

“Yust give me her name, and I’ll get a telegram off to the Boston Police Department tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you, sheriff. That would be very helpful.”

I heard Sheriff Johansson softly talking outside the door with the Doc, letting him know that he was available to help if needed. “I feel partially responsible for vhat happened to Mr. Young since it vas I tat ordered him ta leave town.”

“Sheriff, ye had no way of knowing this would happen. You’ve got to understand, it’s not your fault. You were only doing yer job. Now go home son, and get some rest.”

Pulling back the cover to check on Caleb’s bandages, I was pleased to see they remained dry. His fever still had its frightening grip as I placed my hand against his cheek. Pouring fresh water into the basin, I took the damp cloth and gently wiped it across his flushed face. “If only I had antibiotics.”

Frustrated, I felt the overwhelming exhaustion of fighting an uphill battle with none of the tools I usually worked with. I hated feeling so helpless! Sending another prayer heavenward, I moved down the top sheet to Caleb’s waist and continued with my cooling ministrations.

“Ahum!” I heard Doc Sweeney clear his throat behind me to get my attention.

Turning towards the door, I saw him leaning against the frame, looking as tired as I felt. So many questions needing answers rattled around in my head, but now wasn’t the time to ask. They’d have to wait for another day. Strange, but no words passed between us as he turned away from the door.

Satisfied Caleb would be resting for a while, I followed my grandfather into the kitchen. It reminded me of my grandmother’s house, where I’d learned to bake cookies and cinnamon apple pie. Moving into the room, I stood at the end of a long wooden table that had seen years of wear. It felt like home. “I thought you were going upstairs?”

Not bothering to look up from reading a newspaper, he answered, “I was, but I won’t sleep. I’m all wound-up.”

“May I heat some water?” I asked.

“Of course ye can dear.” Laying the paper down, he took his glasses off and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Do ya need any help?”

“Maybe. It’s just that I’ve never used a pump or a wood cookstove before.”

Doc painfully pushed himself up from his chair, its legs scratching the worn wooden floors beneath. “Dang rheumatism,” he swore under his breath. Slowly, making his way to the stove, “Here, let me show ye how tis one works.”

Grateful, I stepped aside.

“Always make sure that te flue here tis open ta the outside or ye’ll have the room filled with smoke.”

Lifting the round plate that covered the flames, he further instructed, “Place da kindling in here, making sure it’s to the back of the stove, like this. There still are some hot embers in da back tat should take hold in a few minutes. Once they’ve caught, ye can add a few larger pieces. But, don’t put in te many. Ye don’t need to burn te house down.”

Gracing me with a sincere smile, I placed my hand on his arm, realizing the curmudgeon I’d first met was actually a kind and gentle man. Despite him being the one who brought me here, I kept my anger in check. “I haven’t thanked you enough for all you’ve done. So, thank you, especially for what you’ve done for Mr. Young. I’m grateful,” I added, averting his gaze.

Patting my hand, Doc Sweeney replied, “It’s indeed me pleasure, my dear. Ist what I’m here fer. I’m te only doctor tis town has, and probably fer a hundred miles around.” Turning away from the stove, he added, “Besides, it’s always nice te be in te company of a beautiful young lady like yerself.”

Feeling the heat of a blush rise on my cheeks, I said, “Thank you, Doctor Sweeney.”

Using a pump looked easy. You just pick up the handle, pull it up and push it down. “This can’t be that hard to do.” I soon realized it was not as easy as the movies portrayed. “Dang those pioneer women needed muscles to get these things working.” After several hard pumps, my biceps started to burn, and the water finally began to flow.

Returning the kettle to the stove, my grandfather asked me to sit with him while I waited for the water to boil. Remembering the old adage, “A watched pot never boils,” I was happy to oblige. Taking a seat at the opposite end of the table, I ran my hands slowly over the worn wood, waiting for the doctor to speak. He remained silent.

Caught wool-gathering, the kettle began to whistle. I pushed it to the back of the stove when I noticed a chipped flowered teapot on the counter. Holding it out towards my grandfather, I asked, “Can I make you a pot of tea?”

“Tat would be nice. Thank ye,” he replied. “Please, will ye join me for a wee cup?

“Maybe another time, I really would like to clean up. It’s been a very long day,” I answered. Adding loose tea leaves I’d located in a tin, I poured in hot water, watching it turn a golden brown before replacing the lid.

“Of course, dear. It has been a long day for all of us.”

Pouring a cup, I handed it to my grandfather. “Sheriff Johansson said he would have one of the girls bring over some clean clothes for me this evening.” Holding the hot cup to his lips, he blew on the steaming liquid. “But right now, I’d like to shower off the dirt, then check on Mr. Young again.”

“Shower?” looking over the rim of his cup, he questioned my comment.

“What I mean is bathe.” I quickly corrected myself, realizing the Doc was probably not familiar with the concept of showering.

“I understand, dear. Ye go right ahead. I’ll have ta clean clothes brought back to ye as soon as they arrive.”

Thanking him, I took a towel off the counter and wrapped it around the handle of the kettle. Excusing myself, I carried it down the hall to the room where Caleb slept. Opening the door slowly, so as not to wake him, I walked to the stand and poured the warm water into a flower-rimmed porcelain basin. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to be at the hotel soaking in a tub filled with steaming hot water right now.

I visualized myself at home in Seattle, leaning back against my soft tub pillow, my favorite lavender soap, and a glass of fine wine in my hand. Every tight muscle fiber in my body would relax to the bubbling massage of the Jacuzzi jets. Instead, I was standing next to a small bowl with its contents rapidly cooling and an empty tea kettle in my hand.

Shaking my head, I stared in the mirror and ran my hands over my dry face, then through a tangled mess of hair. Pulling the chair over, I sat down to take off the boots I’d come to hate. With every inch of their freedom, I couldn’t even imagine putting the tortuous devices back on my feet. Rolling down the scratchy black wool stockings, I gratefully placed my bare feet on the cold hardwood floor and sighed.

Standing, I unfastened the tiny buttons down the front of my dress. With several hip wiggles, it dropped to the floor in a pool of tattered calico. Only in my camisole and pantaloons, I stole a look at Caleb before proceeding to further disrobe. Thankfully, he remained asleep, unaware of my state of undress.