Story #7

With the two of them working together, it didn’t take long to get the boy onto an animal and get on their way. She glanced back at his dark form, lolling from side to side with the swaying steps of her Grandfather’s mount. Veronica had so many questions swirling in her mind, and the anxiety for the boy was growing by the minute. By the time they pulled into the barnyard, she was nearly in a state of panic. Grandfather guided Hank up to the porch, and carefully dismounted around the deadweight boy on the back. The horses tossed their heads impatiently, insisting that it wasn’t the time for such things. The weary girl had to agree with them. She dismounted, and threw the reins over the rail. Her legs screamed in protest. She stretched them, and wriggled. Her shoulders hurt, her legs hurt, her head ached, everything hurt. Her grandfather reached up and pulled the boy down, breaking his fall as best he could by pulling him straight onto the porch. Vern felt relieved, it was a few less stairs to pull his massive weight up. She just stood there, looking at him. Grandfather did the same, breathing hard.

“Think you can get him into the downstairs bedroom?” He rasped. Vern felt herself nod, eyes still glued to him. There were two bedrooms downstairs, and two upstairs. One of the ones upstairs was hers, one downstairs was Grandfather’s, the other two were empty. Grandfather took Trolly’s reins, and headed off to the barn with the horses. She watched him leave, wishing he wouldn’t. She just wanted to go upstairs and go to sleep, but she knew there was at least another hour of work to do. It was getting on towards midnight now. She sighed, stretched again, and took him under the arms, wriggling and dragging him towards the door. She reached behind her and opened the doors with her foot. She scooted through as fast as she could, but his legs still got trapped in the screen door. She freed him guiltily, and began down the hall. The house was still, the fire in the kitchen was nearly dead, and the floorboards creaked every now and then as she moved down the hall. Stopping for a moment, she pulled the string from the ceiling, and the hall was flooded with dim yellow light. At last, she kicked the door open, and was greeted with cool musty air. The last time this room had been touched was spring cleaning, three months ago. She drug him in, and turned on the light. The low bed was neatly made with the sheets turned back. Vern groaned and put her hands on her back, leaning and stretching. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and knelt on the floor next to him. His face was colored, but his lips were ashen. She pressed her palm to his forehead. He was burning with fever, and the gash on his temple looked bad. It oozed with pus and had been reopened at some point, there was fresh blood. She wiped it away with furrowed brows. Staring at his troubled face, she just felt lost. Things had been so normal, and then with a single afternoon, her world had been turned upside down. She shook her head, and began to remove his coat. It was thick leather, and probably had had something to do with him passing out. The heat added with dehydration could definitely have done it. She felt his shirt, and it was damp with sweat. She discovered a dark red stain on the chest, that had been covered by the coat until now. She frowned, and began to remove the white shirt. As it came away, Vern gasped. There was a shard of glass, three inches long, embedded sideways in his chest.

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Song