Yellowstone Memories (28 page)

When Justin’s tears ran down his cheeks in damp streaks, she wiped them with her palm.

The pain ebbed sometime after dark, the jolting, blinding bursts replaced by the dull ache of swollen flesh. Some needle pricks and a rush of something numb in his feet. The doctor and two medics worked side by side with shiny instruments, heads bent over Justin’s feet. Probably removing the dead skin and flesh.

His toes had blistered, and when they’d finished cleaning the wounds, Doctor Hollowford wrapped them gently in gauze bandages. Moving carefully around sleeping Lia, her head resting on the edge of the examining chair where Justin lay.

He opened groggy eyes, dull with pain and throbbing muscles, and passed a hand over her head. Twining one of her soft curls between his fingers and bringing it briefly up to his lips.

The most beautiful color he’d ever seen, a black-brown of painful regret laid to rest.

When Justin awoke, he no longer lay on the examining chair. He had a hazy recollection of being moved, half carried and half walked, to a stiff infirmary cot in the back room—where he dreamed in fitful, exhausting spurts, hour after floating, convoluted hour. The bandages still circled his feet, stiff and immovable, and someone had covered him in an itchy wool army blanket. He blinked and yawned, gazing around at the empty cots and slats of light streaming through closed shutters.

Justin groaned, his body sore and toes aching, and sat up just enough to see Lia’s empty stool in the sterile white examining room. “Doc?” he called, his voice sounding like a bullfrog’s ragged croak.

He heard the squeak of shoes on the pine floor, and Doctor Hollowford poked his head in the door. “Well, well. Rise and shine. Although it’s a little late for that.” He wiped his stethoscope with a cloth. “How do those feet feel?”

“Like they’ve been stepped on by a moose.” Justin rubbed his face. “Are all my toes still there?”

“For now.” Doc smiled gently, lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “We’ll have to see how the tissue responds, but I’m hopeful it’ll heal up all right if it doesn’t get infected. You’ll have to use crutches for a while though, and stay off your feet a bit.”

A stab rushed through Justin’s chest as he pictured the work crews along the green woods, fresh morning sunshine slanting through the pines as he raised a hammer or reached out to grab a board. Doing something bigger, better, than he’d ever done with his life. Filling his lungs with fresh mountain air, his body ragged from sweaty exhaustion—and never happier.

“Where’s Lia?” Justin glanced at the light through the window. “Who?”

“The girl who was here.” He rubbed his arm over his face, trying to jog his groggy memory. “She sat with me, didn’t she?”

“Oh, that little gal.” The doctor held up his stethoscope to the light, squinting. Wiping at another spot. “Your girlfriend, I reckon?”

Justin’s heart missed a beat, lurching as if he’d lost his balance. “No. A friend.” He felt his blood beat faster, warmer, at the very idea that he could call Lia Summers a friend. “A good friend. Where is she?”

“Dunno. She woke up when we moved you back here to sleep, and I haven’t seen her today. The folks she’s with are heading out though. Chad Parker suffered a pretty bad concussion, and I’m sending him to Jackson to get better help.”

“Jackson?” Justin jerked upright. “Have they gone yet?”

The doctor glanced at his pocket watch. “Probably. It’s a long drive.”

“All of them?”

The doctor tipped his head at Justin. “I’m assuming so. Why?”

Justin started to get out of bed, trying to roll his injured, bandaged feet to the floor. Unrolling his pant legs and reaching for the next cot to brace himself.

“You nuts, boy? You don’t even have crutches. Hold on and I’ll help you. But you’ll be on bed rest for a couple of days, and—” The doctor turned at a knock on the door and held up a finger. “Hold on. Let me get this, and I’ll show you how to use the crutches.”

Justin finished unrolling his pants, barely hearing the doctor, and dug on the nearby chair for his socks. He desperately needed a shower, a shave, and a toothbrush. A cup of steaming coffee after sleeping on the chilly cot and about three plates of the heartiest food Cook could dish out.

He’d just tried unsuccessfully to stuff his swollen, bandaged foot into a scratchy wool sock when Doctor Hollowford rapped at the door. “Justin?” He poked his graying head in. “Lieutenant Lytle’s here to see you.”

“The lieutenant?” Justin dropped the sock on the floor, his heart hammering. “What have I done now?”

The door opened, and in strode the lieutenant, all stars and buttons and badges. He slammed the door behind him, and sleek boots tapped across the hard floor in staccato beats. Justin could smell the crisp wool of his uniform mingled with the pungent scent of pipe tobacco.

“Sir?” Justin tried to scramble to his feet.

“For pity’s sake, Fairbanks. Sit down.” The lieutenant waved an arm and drew his black brows together in a look of irritation as he seated himself on a nearby cot. “Tell me something. I’ve been trying to figure this out since last night, and I’m hoping you can shed some light on my little quandary.”

Justin drew back. “Shoot,” he said. “Sir.”

The lieutenant leaned forward, making the cot squeak. “Explain this.” He jabbed a finger into his calloused palm. “If Frankie White refused to take your boots, then why do you have frostbitten toes and he doesn’t?”

The room fell so silent that Justin heard a clock tick from the doctor’s examining room behind the closed door.

“Fairbanks?” The lieutenant raised his voice so that Justin jerked upright.

“Sir?” Justin gulped. “I … uh …” He ran his hand over his stubbly jaw, blinking faster as he searched for words. “It’s … sort of hard to explain.”

The lieutenant studied him, motionless. Staring at him so intensely that Justin felt sweat bead on his forehead.

“I see,” said the lieutenant finally, settling back on the cot and stroking his thick mustache. “I think I get it. You don’t want to tell me Frankie did it, do you? Is that it?”

Justin swallowed nervously, his gaze bouncing down to the floor and back up.

The lieutenant narrowed his eyes at Justin. “I thought as much.” He leaned back and massaged his close-shaved chin. “I’ve no idea
why
, mind you, but it’s the only thing that makes sense to me. Do you agree?”

“Yes sir.” Justin’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I … I think so.”

“Well then.” The lieutenant stood. “Rest easy, Fairbanks. If there’s one man in this camp I trust, it’s you, boy. You must have your reasons.” He moved, and a glint of light fell on his medals. “I’ll reissue those orders for you to be moved up as supervisor, and we’ll say no more about it this time.”

He clapped Justin on the shoulder. “Take care of those feet, young man. Hear me? That’s an order.”

And he winked before stalking out of the room.

Justin was still sitting there in a dumb stupor, wondering what had just happened, when Doc knocked on the door again. “By gravy, son, you’ve got another visitor. Who are you, Clark Gable?”

“Another visitor?” Justin knocked his pillow to the floor in surprise, reaching for it on the wood floor. It lay just out of reach, tormenting him. So many simple things would be difficult now—walking, moving, standing.

The door opened, and Lia edged in, one crutch under her arm. A fawn-colored hat on her head, nearly matching her brown tweed jacket. Her dress fell in a slim ivory pool, like the satin billow of Yellowstone Falls, and Justin thought he’d never seen anything more beautiful.

The doctor helped her to the cot opposite Justin, leaning her crutch against the wall, and she nodded her thanks. Barely seeming to notice when he slipped discreetly back into the examining room, leaving the door open a crack.

What should he say? Justin wanted to say everything, but nothing sounded right.

“You’re still here?” he finally managed, running a hand over his scratchy jaw in embarrassment. Wishing to goodness the doc had let him get a shave and maybe a haircut before letting Lia see him like this.

“The Parkers are leaving now, but I had to tell you good-bye,” said Lia, sitting down carefully on the cot where Lieutenant Lytle had been just minutes ago. She grimaced as she extended her splinted ankle. “And I wanted to say thank you.”

“Thank you? To me?”

“Of course. You saved our lives. Cynthia pretty much hates Frankie’s guts by now,” she added with a laugh. “But I told her she can’t hate him. She can’t. It’ll eat her from the inside.” She dropped her head and picked at the hole in the index finger of her glove. “If she can let go of her hate and remember her own sins, then there’s room to grow again.” She pressed her lips together, their color redder than Justin remembered. “There’s room to … to … well, love again.”

Justin’s heartbeat quickened, and he longed to reach out and press her to his chest. But he restrained himself, running his hand along a crease in the sheet. “I’m so sorry I hurt you, Lia.” He forced his gaze up and into her eyes, determined to make her hear it. “I’m not the same person I used to be, but I can’t bring your father back. I’ll be sorry about that forever. As long as I live I’ll never be able to right it for ya.”

Tears glittered briefly in her eyes, and she managed a smile. “I’m not the same person I was either, Justin. I’ve grown a lot in four years. Everything’s changed—my life, my family, the whole country with this Depression. I never imagined my life could change so much in a few short years. But … that’s life. We never stop. We just go on, one day at a time, begging God for strength and mercy.” She swallowed, tracing the edges of her glove. “And if my father were here, I know he’d forgive you and love you. The way he did back then.”

Justin couldn’t speak, the lump in his throat choking him.

“God’s sovereign over death, Justin. You know that?” Lia raised her eyes to him. “He gave my father life, and He chose to take it away—like Job said in the Bible. And we bless His name no matter what.”

She bit her lip, which had begun to heal. The spot of blood gone, and the dryness of dehydration exchanged for a satiny sheen. “God could have spared my father, but He didn’t. And He didn’t spare His own Son either. For you and for me.”

Justin heard the clatter of dishes from the distant mess hall even through the thick infirmary walls. The rattle of truck wheels at the far end of the camp. In a few minutes they’d be calling for her, and she’d get in the car and disappear in a puff of gravel and dust.

All those years he’d wished time would speed forward to his death, and for the first time he suddenly wanted to jerk it to a stop. Suspending himself in this moment, this hush, forever. The color of her eyes like the shade of a country nightfall, crickets chirping in warm waves from the grass.

A horn honked outside, and Lia flinched. “That’s for me.”

Instead of speaking, Justin reached out and took Lia’s hand, pressing her fingers to his lips. Trying to memorize her scent. Fresh like soap, simple and quiet. No boisterous perfumes or exotic fragrances. Just soap and cotton and something gentle he couldn’t describe, like face powder or cold cream. She didn’t pull her hand away.

“Come home, Justin,” she whispered, her tears spilling over.