Medicine Wheel (27 page)

“Thad,” she said, remaining next to her horse. “I’m glad you’re here. I was afraid you might not come.”

He moved closer. “I’m curious, so I took the bait. Cam said you wanted me to meet you here, although he had no clue where the ‘medicine wheel’ was. I think he was a little annoyed when I just told him it was a spot on the Rickers place.”

“I brought some sandwiches, but all I’ve got to drink is water. Shall we go to the top of the mesa?”

“Sure, give me your saddle bags with the food, and I’ll carry.”

He took the bags and grabbed his canteen after tethering the horses and followed Serena, who had a head start up the trail. He quickly caught up after she stopped and sat down on a slab of limestone that had evidently ended up next to the trail after some past rockslide. Her breathing was labored and she was sweating profusely, which he thought was strange for such a young woman on a balmy day.
 

“You must be spending too much time in the office these days,” Thad teased.

She returned a wry smile. “I do, I’m afraid, or I’m on a train to somewhere.”

“We’re not quite half way. Do you want to turn back?”
 

She gave him a horrified look. “No, we can’t.”

Thad tossed his canteen strap and the saddle bags over his shoulder and suddenly bent over and scooped her up in his arms.

She struggled for only a few moments. “What in the hell are you doing?”

“Just be quiet. I’m your train.”

She couldn’t weigh a hundred pounds, he thought, as he plodded up the trail. It was nice to have her in his arms, and he savored the scent and closeness of her. When they reached the top and stepped over the lip of the bluff, he let her slip out of his arms.

“I’m embarrassed,” she said, “I didn’t realize how I’d let myself go.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’m glad I could be useful.”

She strolled over to the medicine wheel. “It’s just the same as when I last saw it.”

“I don’t think anybody comes here. I suspect only a few know about it.”

She turned to him. “Do you come here?”

“Yes, sometimes. Just to think or when I want to be alone.”

“And now you own it?”

“I do. And you can come here anytime you wish.”

She walked slowly around the circle as if scrutinizing each stone, and then she focused on the cottonwood. “It’s grown.”

“Trees do that, you know. Why do I think you are avoiding something?”

She sighed. “Because I am. Let’s eat first, and then we’ll talk.”

They sat on the lush grass under the gently-swaying cottonwood branches and ate dried beef and cheese sandwiches made with fresh-baked wheat rolls, topping their lunch off with some original spice cookies Charlie had concocted. Neither spoke until they finished eating, and then Serena broke the silence. “Now we can talk.”

“You said we needed to talk, and it’s all sounded quite ominous.”
 

“I suppose it is a little ominous as far as I’m concerned.”

She took off a kerchief that had been tied about her neck and began dabbing at the perspiration on her face.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I will be,” she said. “For now.”

“You’re speaking in riddles.”

She looked away from him, gazing skyward, as she spoke softly and matter-of-factly. “I have stories to tell, and they will eventually merge into one story that involves both of us.”

He decided to say nothing.

“I’ve been told that I’m dying. The last physician I spoke with said I won’t be alive two years from now. That’s one reason I’m coming home.”

He felt like a sledge hammer had struck him in the gut. Bile surged in his throat. “What was his diagnosis?”

“He said I have a cancer in my internal organs and that it’s eating its way from the inside out.”

“How does he know this?”

“I don’t know. My symptoms, I guess.”

“And may I ask what your symptoms are?”

“They come and go. They started a little over two years ago. I had this terrible pain in my muscles and abdomen, as well as vomiting, and then got a terrible fever and the chills. Between chill episodes, I’d get the sweats and an excruciating headache. I’d have spasms in my chest. I was in a coma for several days, and when I woke up the symptoms lessened over several days until I pretty much recovered. ”

“You said they started two years ago. I take that to mean that you’ve had other episodes?”

“I had another three months later . . . but no coma . . . and I continued to suffer the attacks every three or four months after that. It’s been nearly three months since the last one. I’m due.”

“Have you seen other physicians?”

“Yes, but the doctors who will see colored people in Washington are limited,” she said with some bitterness in her voice. “One doctor said I had a poison in my system and wanted to start a bleeding procedure. I got up and walked out.”

“Yes, that’s nonsense. They helped kill our first President with that. But it was an accepted medical practice for some years . . . they even used leeches.”

“Another doctor said I have consumption and that I’ll eventually die from it.”

“Consumption might mean anything. Many physicians apply the term to what we now call tuberculosis, but others apply the term to anything they can’t find an explanation for. Do you have a chronic cough or anything like that?”

“No.”

“Any blood when you do cough?”

“No.”

“You’re not carrying any extra weight, that’s for sure. You were like carrying a goose-down pillow. Are you losing weight?”

“I lost ten pounds when I had the last attack. I never gained it back, but I haven’t lost any more.”

“You can have night sweats and a fever with tuberculosis, but it wouldn’t usually be dormant for long periods of time and your decline would be fairly consistent and continuous. Your lungs obviously aren’t at full capacity, which is a concern, but that could be from limited use. Talking doesn’t build up your lungs.”

She turned to him now. “Thad, I appreciate your interest in my case, but you’re talking like this is a damn doctor’s visit. That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

She sounded annoyed, just like she was when they first met all those years ago. “Sorry, I’m just concerned that you’re not doing everything you can to get the answers. You sound like you’ve accepted the verdict . . . a death sentence. That isn’t the person I saw in the courtroom.”

“Look, I haven’t given up. I’ll work until I die. That’s why I’ve taken a position with the Locke firm. But I’m a realist. I know I don’t have good health, and there’s a distinct possibility I’m going to die sooner rather than later . . . maybe very soon. That’s what drove me to right some wrongs.”

“Wrongs? What’s that got to do with us?”

Her dark eyes fastened on his like they were trying to bore into his soul. “Thad, you have a son. You and I have a son.”

What in the hell was she babbling about? He tried in vain to sort out her words, to make some sense out of what she had said.

“That’s not possible. How?”

“Good God, Thad, you’re a doctor. Do I have to draw you a picture?”

She was irritating him now, but he subdued his anger. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” he said evenly. “Just explain.”

“Our son is ten years old. He was conceived right where you and I are sitting.”

He could feel his heart racing and a mix of emotions—anger, regret, sadness and, yes, joy stirring in his mind. “And you’ve never told me during all of these years. I can’t believe it. Did your parents know?”

“Yes, Mama begged me to tell you, threatened to do it herself, but I told her she had no right. But I wronged her, too. She’s carried the burden of a silent lie all of these years. It hurt her terribly to keep this from you.”

“But why didn’t you tell me? I had responsibilities. I would have met them. I loved you. There’s no way I wouldn’t have been there for you both, even if I had to move back east. I would have married you in the blink of an eye. You know that. I asked you to marry me before you left.”

“That’s precisely why I didn’t tell you. I loved you then, Thad, but you didn’t fit into the life I was driven to, and Aunt Clara was there to help me raise a child. Besides, you would have hated it in the East. You probably wouldn’t have got your education. This is where you belong, doing exactly what you do.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that somehow I could have been a part of his life all of these years.”

“I know. I’m sick about what I’ve done.”

“What’s his name?”

“Edward Thaddeus Locke. He goes by ‘Ned.’”

“He carries the Locke name?”

“Yes. I asked Mama to enter it that way in the family Bible. I was going to tell you, but each year it got harder and harder.”

“And if you hadn’t determined you are dying, I would have never known about my son?”

“That’s not true. He’s been asking too many questions about his father. I had decided I couldn’t wait any longer. I was going to bring him back to meet you and then we would talk about how you would see each other.”

“I have no doubt you intended to do that, but pardon me if I’m skeptical that this would have ever happened if you hadn’t been concerned about your health.”

“I can’t blame you for thinking that.”

“What does he know about me?”

“I’ve told him where you live and about your family. For years I told him that you couldn’t come see him because you were so far away and so busy. He seemed to accept that since he had never known a life with a man in the house. But then a year ago he started to hammer me with questions and demanded I take him to see you. It was then I told him the truth . . . that you didn’t even know about him. He became very angry and belligerent, and then he turned sullen and quiet. This normally loving and enthusiastic boy grew distant and wouldn’t open up to me anymore. When I left on my speaking tour on my way to Kansas a month ago, I told him I was going to tell you about him and that we would probably be moving to the Flint Hills to be near his father and his grandparents. He was thrilled but, understandably, a bit disbelieving.”

“Tell me about him.”

“Well, he’s got the Locke gray eyes. Very tall for his age. I guess, by the standards that prevail, he’d be considered colored, but he’s even lighter-skinned than I am. He has a beautiful, friendly smile. Sometimes, he’s too serious. A very kind boy. His teachers tell me he’s smart as a whip, and he reads all the time.”

It stung Thad that he had missed out on this boy’s life, and thoughts of the things they could have shared flashed through his mind. He was nearly overwhelmed by a black melancholy. He stood up and extended his hand to assist Serena to her feet. “I don’t think we have much else to say to each other about this,” he said. “I need to think.”

Serena faced him, “I understand.”

“I want to see him soon.”

“We’ll be back within six months, probably sooner.”

“I can travel to Washington and spend a week or so. We can get acquainted.”

“I’d rather you didn’t come. I’m afraid it would be disruptive. School’s starting, and I have my affairs to wind up there. Please, give me this time to prepare him. I know I don’t deserve your consideration, but, please, let me do this my way. When we return, I promise I’ll do everything I can to bring him into your life.”

“But I’ve already missed all these years.”

“Please.”

“I’ll have to think about it,” he said noncommittally. “Now you’d better be on your way. Do you need help getting down the trail?”

“I’ll be fine. But there’s one other thing you should know. I had your father make out my will. Everything goes to Ned. Your father is executor, and I’ve named you Ned’s personal guardian. You and your father will be co-trustees of a trust to handle Ned’s money until he’s twenty-one.”
 

“The Judge knows about Ned?”

“Yes, I put him in a very difficult position. He insisted I tell you immediately. I convinced him to wait until the trial was over. Besides, at that point he was bound by attorney-client confidentiality. He and Vedette are the only persons outside my family who know about Ned.”

 
He shook his head in disbelief. A will. She did believe she was dying. She didn’t look well, but this had been a difficult reunion for both of them. What more could he say, though? She had made it clear she wasn’t interested in his medical opinions.

Serena looked at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to respond. He did not, and she turned away and walked unsteadily toward the trailhead.

57

H
ENRY
,
WHO
HAD
not yet returned to the home of his mistress, woke Thad up when he leaped on his chest and began to give his nose love nips, a clear signal it was time for breakfast. That meant it was precisely five-thirty this Monday morning, for Henry was as reliable as the best timepiece. Thad tossed back his covers and reluctantly climbed out of bed. He had just pulled on his trousers and boots, when he heard a feeble tapping at the exterior door of his office at the opposite end of his small residence. He slipped into a shirt and buttoned it on his way to the single-room office area.

When he opened the door, he was surprised to find Elizabeth Belmont standing there, her eyes wide and glistening with tears. “Elizabeth,” he said, waving her into the room, “come in. What’s the matter? More trouble with the hogs?”

She began sobbing, stopping intermittently and taking deep breaths as she spilled out her story. “It’s Serena. She’s dying. She’s been sick since Saturday night and keeps getting worse. Old Doc Robinson came out yesterday afternoon and said she was dying. He left laudanum to help with the pain.”

Thad was struck by a wave of regret about the cold parting he and Serena had experienced Saturday. Her illness had remained very much on his mind, however, and he had spent most of the afternoon and evening searching his limited medical books and journals to ferret out fragments of information that might help.

“Sit down, Elizabeth,” he said calmly, offering her one of the captain’s chairs before he pulled up another and sat down facing her. “Tell me, why did you come here?”