All the Blue of Heaven (22 page)

           
He slowly walked back through the crowded barn to where Mateo waited with the
mare. Marco stood to the side, curiosity etched plainly on his young face.

           
“It go not so well?”

           
“You could say that,” Thomas said gruffly, hoisting a heavy rope from the side
of the stall. He sighed, hitching the rope over one shoulder and walking to the
side of the skittish mare. What a strange day. And the sound of the wind
against the wooden barn was almost ghostly. The afternoon was turning dark at
speed. The slats of the barn rattled under the force of the gusts while the
younger workers busily lighted additional lamps to combat the gloom.

           
Thomas stroked the mare’s mane and spoke quietly in her ear, making sure she
was calm enough to submit to the dental check. In a few seconds he had a good
view inside, with Mateo holding the lamp.

           
“All clear. I’m just going to feel that sore left hoof. She seems better,  after
packing it with gauze and antiseptic but we don’t want her to go lame tomorrow.”
He moved around to the back leg and was running his hand down the heavily
muscled leg, from the forearm to the knee to the cannon, a cue for the bay mare
to lift her hoof. She shifted a bit, then lifted it for examination.

           
Thomas held the mare’s knee against his thigh, the cannon tucked securely
against his forearm and tilted the heel toward the light. He quickly removed
the gauze and Mateo doused the area with alcohol. The mare shifted her weight
again, but stayed quiet. Thomas repacked the gauze and lowered the hoof to the
ground.

           
He straightened up and addressed the mare’s carriage man, Frank Bassett, who
stood off to the side, watching closely. “We’ll have to have her back in a few
days, just to make sure she’s progressing.”

           
“Aye. She will be here. If the storm doesn’t clog the roads.” The dark-haired
Irishman jerked his head toward the barn entrance, where carriages clattered by
on the street.

           
“Clog the roads? Is it going to be as bad as all that?” Thomas nodded at Marco,
who brought forward the mare’s lead rope.

           
“Already ‘tis. The old oak at Bellevue has gone down. Jerry Mannish told me so
as I came in.”

           
Thomas froze, his mind struggling to accept the words. “Bellevue? The Leeds
estate?”

           
“One and the same. Must have had a weak point. Didn’t stand a chance with these
winds. Went right through the young lady’s bedroom.”

           
He felt his heart pound, saw Bassett’s mouth moving, but heard nothing. Allie
had been heading up the staircase when he had left just hours before. Would she
have been resting there still?  He stepped away from the mare, imagining
the very worst. The oak crashing through Allie’s bedroom window, crushing the
bed, impaling her. The thought of it was almost too much to comprehend. He put
out a hand to steady himself, forgetting the skittish animal a few feet away.

           
His father had always said, “Stay close or stay away”. Thomas was neither close
nor away, but just the wrong distance. His hand brushed the mare’s rump. She
responded to the touch with a fierce kick, her powerful leg launching at
lightning speed.

           
There was no time to yell a warning and no time to step back. Marco was darting
forward, hand outstretched with the rope. The boy was going to take the blow,
and at his height, it would be fatal. Thomas did the only thing he could. He
stepped forward into the path of the mare’s hoof.

           
Thomas felt the blow before he could register the pain. He body spun with the force,
collided with Marco’s slight figure, and they both landed in the dirt at an
awkward angle. He used the momentum to roll them both as far out of the way as
he could get. A dozen images and thoughts flashed through his mind.
Don’t
stand up.
Standing up in a daze could get him a second kick and this time
it could be deadly.

           
He grasped Marco’s slight figure and scooted further away, blinking the
blackness out of his vision. Marco lay motionless beside him on the dusty barn
floor, his white shirt shining in the dim light. Mateo ‘s cry of shock and
horror echoed around the barn by other witnesses.

           
Thomas felt pain, but was still not sure where he had been hit. Not his head,
because he was still conscious. He gingerly put a hand to his chest, barely aware
of the yells and shouts around him.

           
Mateo and Bassett hovered over him, one telling him to stay down while the
other endeavored to stand him up.

           
“Just lay still, we’ve sent for a doctor.” Mateo’s voice was high with panic.

           
“Marco kicked?” Through the waves of agony, he gritted out a few words. He had
to know.

           
“No, no. But he is hurt. Please, don’t try to stand.” Mateo gently shoved at
his shoulders and Thomas swatted his hand away.

           
He needed to know one more thing, this time focusing on Mateo’s face. His dark
skin was pale even in the dim light of the barn, eyes wide with fear. “Was
Allie injured by the oak?”

           
Mateo blinked, working to connect Thomas’s words with the present situation. “I
do not know, sir.” He turned to Bassett, then the others crowded around. “When
the big oak come down, was anybody hurt?”

           
Bassett shook his head, cap askew. “No. Mannish says nobody was upstairs. The
cook was scared senseless and the kitchen maid was crying.”

           
Thomas let out a breath and let himself flop backward on the straw-strewn
floor. He could feel bits of horse manure under him, could see the dust
swirling overhead from the hurried feet and the wind blowing through the barn’s
entrance. But he did not care. Marco had not taken the force of the kick. Allie
was safe. Janey was safe. As his mind quieted, his body decided it was time to
let him know exactly where the bay mare had landed her hoof.

           
Thomas rested his hand against his thigh. It screamed at the slightest touch. His
elbow throbbed at the point where it had collided with Marco’s head. The voices
of the men echoed around him but he let his eyes fall closed for a moment.
Thank
you, Lord, for sparing my skull and my chest.
A man could live with a
crippled leg, but he could not live after such a kick to the brain or the
heart. Even a half-strength kick from an injured mare could be deadly.

           
“Mr. Bradford,” a voice said near his head. He opened his eyes to see Dr.
Barrows leaning over him.

           
“Please see to Marco.”

           
The doctor nodded. “I have. He was knocked unconscious during the fall but
should be all right.” He motioned a few feet away, where Mateo was cradling
Marco. The boy sat up on his own, but his eyes seemed vacant and his face was
drawn.

           
“Very pale. Sweating. Heart rate is too quick.” The doctor mumbled, withdrawing
a stethoscope and pressing it to Thomas’s chest.

           
“My leg took the brunt of it. The patella might be bruised, but is mainly...
the femur.” His last words came out in a groan as the doctor ran a steady hand
down Thomas’s injured leg.

           
“Always easier when the patient helps with the diagnosis,” Barrows muttered. He
spent the next few minutes extending the leg, turning it from the hip joint,
gently probing the flesh.

           
“Well, you’re going to have a rough few days ahead of you, but I do not believe
it is broken. There will be swelling and some pretty fancy colors, but you
should be up and around within the week. Let’s get you home and have that leg
wrapped in cold cloths to decrease the swelling. I’ll take you in my carriage.”

           
Thomas turned to Mateo, questioning. The stout Italian nodded. “I will take
Marco home now.” He attempted a smile. “And if I do not return, it is because
my sister has taken revenge on me for letting her boy get in the way of a
horse’s hoof.”

           
Thomas cringed. “Mateo, I beg your pardon. Give her my apologies. It is my
fault.” He shifted slightly, then stopped, gritting his teeth against the pain.
“Can you forgive me?”

           
“Mr. Bradford, your elbow may have injured him but your quick thinking saved
his life.” Mateo’s tone was earnest. He stood, carefully supporting Marco’s
slight figure as he swayed unsteadily. Thomas watched them move toward the
door, troubled.

           
“Were you waiting outside for an accident to occur?” Thomas attempted a little
humor, as the doctor replaced his tools.

           
“I was just driving by when Mr. Bassett ran out the door. He waved me over.”

           
He looped his strong arms under one of Thomas’s and Bassett took the other
side. They gently lifted Thomas to his feet, carefully keeping his injured leg
from bearing any weight.

           
Thomas glanced up at the small crowd of men gathered and lifted a hand. “You
may stay and have your horses checked by the team, or bring them back next
week. I apologize for the wasted time.”

           
A young man stepped forward, his cap in his hand, gray eyes clouded with worry.
“You don’t give a moment’s thought about that, Mr. Bradford. We’ll be fine
here. You take care of that leg.”

           
Murmurs of agreement came from the group, and Thomas felt a few gentle pats on
the shoulder as he made his way to the doctor’s carriage. It was slow going, as
they shuffled through the barn like an awkward five-legged creature.

           
The wind wailed around the men as they approached the carriage. The doctor’s
long coat flapped, the horses shuffled their hooves as the dust and debris
swirled around. The street was almost deserted and the sky was turning an angry
black.

           
They lowered Thomas as carefully as possibly, but the pain took his breath
away. His leg protested with every movement. The drive to his home promised to
be an exercise in suffering.

            Great is the Lord
and most worthy of praise.
He focused on holding still, one hand gripping
the edge of the carriage door as the doctor settled on the other side.

           
“Yes, He is,” the doctor responded with a nod, and put a strong hand on Thomas’s
shoulder.

           
He had not realized he was repeating the words aloud. He turned his head and
smiled wanly. “Sounds strange, I’m sure.”

           
“Not to me. Remember what I do every day. You know and I know how deadly a
horse’s kick can be. I’ve seen bigger men gone in one instant.” He snapped his
figners for emphasis. “We praise God’s name together, for sparing you and that
child.”

           
Thomas laid his head back against the seat, gritting his teeth against the
waves of pain that came with every bump of the carriage. He had never noticed
the road being as rough as it was now. Maybe the wind had something to do with
it. He mind went to Allie, and the oak. There could have been another tragedy
today.
Great is the Lord and most worthy of praise,
he prayed with all
his heart.

           
“Why do you think that is? That one man is spared while another is not?”

           
Dr. Barrows shook his head. “I would like to say I’m too wise to ever question
God’s will, but there are days―” His voice trailed off and he looked out
the window at the deserted Chicago streets. “When parents watch their little
ones die in their arms, or a woman is left a widow, or a strong man is made
frail and I cannot find the reason for it, those are times I ask ‘why’.”

           
He glanced over at Thomas and his craggy eyebrows lifted. “But I do not think
He minds so much. As long as we end our questions with trust in His plan.”

           
Thomas rested his eyes again, clenching his hands against the pain. There was a
divine plan, he knew it to be so. But pain was difficult to bear, it seemed
never-ending. Was this what Allie suffered those months after the fire? No, her
pain had been much worse. He felt his heart constrict, imagining her alone in a
hospital, surrounded by strangers and demanding answers from God.

           
“Here we are,” Dr. Barrows said. The carriage had made its way fairly quickly
to Thomas’s house, perhaps because the streets were so empty. As the doctor
opened the door, Thomas turned his face from the gust of wind that rushed
through the carriage compartment. In a moment, the driver had opened the other
side, and the two of them helped Thomas up the steps.

           
“Mr. Bradford!” Mrs. Anderson let out a cry of dismay as she opened the door to
the small group of men.

           
“Please don’t be alarmed,” Dr. Barrows said, to Thomas’s relief. He would have
spoken but he was biting his tongue to keep from screaming. His leg was
throbbing with even the smallest movement.

           
The cook shuffled this way and that, one hand pressed to her mouth and the
other wrapped in her apron. The maids crept from the kitchen to watch the
procession with wide eyes.

           
“Let me call Mrs. Bradford,” Mrs. Anderson said and rushed to the sitting room.

           
“I’m taking him directly to his bedroom,” called back Dr. Barrows. “As soon as
he tells me where we’re going.”

           
Thomas took a ragged breath and pointed with one hand. Up the stairs. How he
wished he had a room on the first floor, near the servants. Dr. Barrows took
one look at the staircase and sighed. “Right. Here we go.”

           
The trip upstairs was one that Thomas never wanted to repeat in his lifetime.
His mother hovered behind them, asking questions and interrupting answers. The
driver was strong and nimble, but Dr. Barrows was a little too portly for being
a part of the transfer team on such a narrow staircase. After what seemed like
several hours, Thomas was gingerly laid to rest on the covers of his bed. He
could feel the beads of sweat slipping from his hairline down into his ears.