CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
THE WAGON WAS hitched and loaded before Anna Price finished cooking breakfast. There was an uncomfortable finality to the meal, and there was very little conversation. Everyone, even those headed home, was feeling melancholy. Anna gave Madge last-minute instructions for tending to Clay’s wounds, insisting all the while that she was confident he would be fine. Eli ate sparingly and said nothing.
Jennie arrived, carrying two boxes she’d stopped by the mercantile to get. In them were Stetson hats for Clay and Madge, belated wedding presents she said. “I hope they’re the right size.”
She waited until Jonesy and Eli were helping Clay settle into the wagon before she spoke again. “A miracle took place out at the farm last night,” she said. She didn’t elaborate further, nor did the men ask for details.
Jonesy climbed onto the driver’s seat. “Never thought about having to haul your skinny behind home,” he called back to Clay.
“Just be sure you make it a smooth ride,” his passenger replied.
After hugs and a basket of hot biscuits from Anna, they were off, the marshal and Madge riding alongside. “I hope never to see this place again,” Clay called up to his driver.
Jonesy popped the reins to speed the horses along.
LONNIE HAD JUST returned from school when his new dog began barking at the sound of the wagon coming down the road. Patricia stepped onto the porch to see what the commotion was about.
She watched silently for several seconds, then said, “Honey, it’s them. Thank the Lord.” She untied her apron and tossed it aside, then began racing Lonnie and his dog to meet the arriving caravan.
Jonesy jumped from the wagon to embrace his wife and hug Lonnie. He looked down at the black puppy, its tail wagging furiously. “Don’t believe I know this little fellow,” he said.
“I’m calling him Little Jeb,” Lonnie said.
Patricia then looked into the bed of the wagon, where Clay lay. “Oh, my stars,” she said, reaching across the side to touch his arm. Lonnie had already climbed into the wagon.
“I’m fine,” Clay said. “Just getting lazy in my old age.”
Madge assured them he was on the mend and would be okay. “I’m gonna see that he gets a visit from the doctor tomorrow,” she said, “just to be sure.”
Marshal Rankin tipped his hat and excused himself, saying he’d best be getting home. Before turning to leave, he looked at Clay and Jonesy. “Much as I’ve enjoyed knowing you boys, I hope it’s a long spell before I see either of your faces again.”
DOC FRANKLIN ARRIVED at the farm midmorning. Clay was sitting on the front porch, drinking coffee and enjoying the familiar sights and the smell of the new-day air.
The doctor carefully examined the injured leg, then asked Clay to stand and bend it. “This was a nasty invasion of your body,” Franklin said. “Could have killed you if you had let it get infected. Appears to me you had good care at the proper time.”
Clay told him about Anna Price and the lessons she’d learned from her father.
“It probably won’t feel too good for a while, but my verdict is that you need to get yourself on a regular schedule of walking. I can send out a cane if you’re not too proud to use it. I wouldn’t try doing any chores in the near future. But all that said, you’re healing nicely, thanks to that Anna woman.”
He gave Clay a jar of ointment to apply daily.
“One day, when you’re feeling up to it, I wouldn’t mind hearing how you came to be injured,” he said.
Clay didn’t reply.
“And before I go, I wonder if I might see that horse I tended last time I was here. It was your brother’s as I recall.”
“He’s over in the pasture,” Clay said. “Not far.”
“Then how about you walking down there with me?”
Clay grunted and got to his feet. He drained the remainder of his coffee into Madge’s new flower bed. “Might take us some time.”
“I’m in no hurry,” the doctor said.
BEING BACK HOME far outweighed the pains that still occasionally took his breath away. Returning to a normal life, viewing familiar sights, and sleeping in his own bed with Madge by his side were more comforting than he could have imagined. Even her constant fussing over him felt good. Sarge was never more than a few feet away, seeming to enjoy the return of a normal routine. He had assumed his spot at the foot of the bed in the evenings.
Occasionally, Clay’s sleep was filled with restless dreams, always about his brother. But they were good, and he woke happy. In them, he and Cal were kids again, playing games, fishing, hunting, swimming, and always laughing. He came to look forward to nightfall and bedtime and the promise of visions of a glorious time in his life.
Lonnie stopped by every day after school. After he told Clay that the county fair was scheduled for the coming weekend, Clay limped to the barn and saddled his horse. With some difficulty, he put one foot into a stirrup and swung the injured leg over. For a few minutes, he rode around the yard, then up the road a short way. His smile soon became a quiet laugh.
On the porch, Madge stood, her arms folded across her chest, watching. Soon, she joined in the happy laughter.
“Lonnie says he’s gonna run in the hundred-yard dash at the fair,” he said. “I think we should plan to go in and see that.”
Madge followed him to the barn and watched as he carefully dismounted and began removing the saddle. “I ain’t exactly ready for rodeoing yet,” he said, “but that felt mighty good.”
CLAY AND MADGE were already at the fair, wearing their new Stetsons, when Jonesy and Patricia arrived. It was the first time they’d been together since the return. Jonesy eyed Clay’s cane and laughed. “Good to see you up and about, old-timer.”
Madge and Patricia hugged.
They stood in the shade of a tree, waiting for the footrace. Patricia had cut a pair of Lonnie’s britches into short pants at his request. He was off somewhere preparing for the race, which he’d said would include the fastest runners in the county, men and boys.
Standing shoulder to shoulder, Clay and Jonesy said little as they watched the celebration going on around them. The wonderful smells of all kinds of food wafted through the air. “Bet there’s not a single bowl of soup to be found,” Jonesy said.
“Lord, I hope not.”
Jonesy waited until the women left to find glasses of sweet tea before asking his friend how he was feeling. He was pleased to hear that Clay was again riding.
“Ain’t nothing that’ll heal things faster than being home,” Jonesy said. Without even thinking, he rubbed the shoulder where he’d been shot. “Been a real strange experience,” he said. “A while back, we first rode out for Tascosa, young and full of beans, planning on making everything in the world right. Now here we are finally back, two older men proud to be alive and standing under this shade tree.”
Clay extended his hand. “Having a friend like you means a lot,” he said. “I don’t think I ever thanked you proper for all you done to help me.”
Jonesy, unable to think of a response, just gripped Clay’s hand. “If you’re feeling all that obligated,” he finally said, “maybe you could let me wear that hat sometime.”
The mood had lightened by the time it was announced that contestants for the race should assemble. The men made their way toward where the judges were already in place at the finish line.
“I have to admit, I ain’t been this nervous in a long time,” Jonesy said.
Soon, they were cheering wildly. Without thinking, Clay tossed his new hat into the air. He raised his arms in celebration, letting his cane fall to the ground. Then he and Jonesy were hugging and jumping up and down.
Lonnie, now the fastest man or boy in the county, had won the race by two full strides.