Aftermath

Nick kept a close eye on his older brother. He’d asked Jarrod a couple times since lunch if he wanted to stop and continue on in the morning, but Jarrod just replied he was fine. The last time, Jarrod’s answer was full of barely controlled anger and Nick stopped asking, he just started watching more closely so he could catch Jarrod when he fell out of the saddle.

But Jarrod hung on and they rode though the gates of the ranch just before dinnertime.

“I can get off myself, Nick,” Jarrod snapped as Nick dismounted quickly and hurried to Champ’s side. Nick took a step back and clenched his fists at his sides to prevent from grabbing at Jarrod as his brother stumbled and clutched at the stirrup leather to regain his balance.

Jarrod closed his eyes tightly. His head swam and his body trembled from a combination of fatigue and stress and he knew he hadn’t been eating enough. To top it all off, Nick’s hovering had his temper on the edge of exploding. I just need to get upstairs, he thought, and lie down in my own bed. He didn’t want to admit to needing help, didn’t want anyone close to him and touching him, but he wasn’t sure if he could make it to the house under his own power, let alone up the long flight of stairs. Slowly letting go of the stirrup, Jarrod took a shaky step, followed by another before his knees gave out and he felt Nick grab his arm and the back of his belt. He panicked and reflexively tried to break free, but he didn’t have the strength and fell against his younger brother.

“Whoa, Jarrod, take it easy,” Nick warned as he draped Jarrod’s arm around his shoulders, “just let me help you. That stubborn pride of yours’ll take more of a beating if you fall face first in the dirt.”

What’s wrong with you? Jarrod screamed at himself as he fought to regain control. This is your brother, for godssakes, how many times have you helped each other into the house after an accident or a fight? But his primal instincts shrieked at him to run, to get away. He hung on with tooth and nail not to vocalize the words and his racing heart gradually calmed as Nick helped him up the steps and into the house.

“Mother!” Nick hollered as soon as they were through the door and Jarrod had to fight off the panic again.

“Nick, must you---?” Victoria stopped and her hand flew to her mouth as she took in the haggard appearance of her eldest son. “Jarrod, sweetheart, what happened? Are you all right?”

Can’t you see I’m not all right?! he wanted to shout, but managed a smile instead. “I’ll be fine, Mother,” he reassured her and wished he could believe it himself. “I just need a little rest, that’s all.” He closed his eyes as he endured her gentle caress on his cheek.

“You must be starving,” she said and looked him over carefully. “Would you like me to have Silas bring you up some supper?”

Jarrod started to shake his head, the thought of food revolting, but realized part of his weakened state was likely due to the fact he hadn’t eaten a good meal in days. “I don’t think I could eat a full meal, Mother,” he said reluctantly, “but maybe just a little soup if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Of course it’s no trouble,” she reassured him. “Nick, why don’t you take Jarrod upstairs and run him a hot bath? I’m sure a good soak will do wonders.”

“Your wish is my command, Duchess,” Nick said with mock-gallantry. “C’mon, big brother, let’s haul those tired bones of yours upstairs.”

Jarrod let Nick help him to the bathroom and start the water before chasing him out. “I can bathe myself, Nick,” he snapped and shoved his brother away as Nick started to help him with the buttons of his shirt.

“Yeah, Jarrod, all right.” Nick turned as he left. “I’ll leave some clean clothes outside the door and if you need anything, just holler, okay?”

Jarrod nodded curtly and locked the door before sitting onto the edge of the tub as it filled. He used his left hand to slowly unbutton his shirt and let it drop to the floor. Regarding the dirty bandage across his torso, he realized it hadn’t been changed since he left Knight’s Ferry. Jarrod found a pair of scissors in the cabinet and managed to make his hand work enough to cut through some of the bandage so he could peel it off. He gritted his teeth when he had to tug in a few places to free it from the healing wounds.

After removing his boots and pants, Jarrod turned off the water and lowered himself into the steaming tub. He winced as the hot water stung his back before he remembered the bandage on his right wrist. Grabbing the scissors from the edge of the cabinet, he awkwardly cut through the cloth using his left hand. The skin of his arm and the back of his hand were a mottled green, yellow and red of healing bruises and lacerations and Jarrod shuddered to think of what his back must look like. Tossing the bandage onto the floor, Jarrod sank back into the tub and closed his eyes. He willed himself to relax as he wondered if he’d ever feel normal again.

Nick took some clean clothes out of Jarrod’s room and left them outside the bathroom door as promised before heading down the stairs. He wasn’t looking forward to his mother’s questions, questions she would insist he answer, questions he wasn’t even sure he had the answers to.

To his surprise, she wasn’t waiting for him in the parlour. He went to the table holding the crystal decanters and poured himself a large measure of whiskey. About to take a drink, he heard the door open and turned to see Victoria enter the house.

“I sent Ciego into town for Dr. Merar,” she explained. “And you can pour me one of those as well.”

Nick silently passed his untouched drink to Victoria and poured himself another. He followed her to the sofa where they sat side by side.

“What happened up there, Nick?” she asked quietly and Nick could hear a tremor in the normally strong tone. “Jarrod looks… I don’t even know what he looks like.”

Nick put down his glass and placed an arm around her shoulders. He drew his mother close so she could rest her head against him. “I only know the basics, Mother.” He wondered how much he should tell her. Anything she might hear around town, he decided, anything further Jarrod would just have to tell himself. “Remember Coryville?” At her nod, he continued. “Ben Coulter apparently couldn’t forget, either. He hired someone to grab Jarrod and kill him. Lucky for us, he decided to take his time and Jarrod was able to escape. Jarrod got hurt pretty bad but he ended up killing both of them.”

Victoria glanced to the top of the stairs. Her heart broke that her principled son had to take not just one life, but two, and sent up a prayer of thanks that he was finally safe. “How bad off is he, Nick?”

Nick shrugged. He didn’t want to go into details and worry her even more. “He rode all the way from Knight’s Ferry to Plymouth and then back here, so he’ll be okay. But I reckon he’s hurting more than he’s saying. You know Jarrod.”

Victoria nodded and bit her lip in concern “Well, Dr. Merar will check him over. Your brother’s home now and we’ll make sure he gets the rest and care that he needs.”

Jarrod awoke in a panic. His sudden attempt to get to his feet caused him to slip and he splashed back into the water and slammed his shoulder painfully against the edge of the tub.

“Hey, Jarrod, you all right in there?”

Jarrod took a deep breath as he finally recognized his surroundings and the identity of the voice registered in his mind. Home. I’m home, he repeated to himself.

“Yeah, Nick,” he called back. “Just fell asleep in the tub, I guess.”

“Well, I reckon you should get out before you start looking like cousin Alma,” Nick said through the door. “And Dr. Merar’s here. Mother called him out to check you over.”

Jarrod felt a cold fear clutch his chest. “I’m fine, Nick,” he retorted sharply. “I don’t need the doctor.”

“You can tell that to Mother,” was Nick’s reply. “I left a shirt and pants outside the door. If you’re not out in ten minutes, I wouldn’t be surprised if she comes up and drags you out of there, clothes or no clothes.”

Ruthlessly pushing aside the dread that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in his belly, Jarrod hauled himself out of the now-tepid water and towelled off gingerly. He wrapped the towel around his midsection and unlocked the door, thankful there was no one in the hall as he picked up his clothes. Dressing carefully, he re-exited the bathroom and met Dr. Merar and Victoria as he walked toward the stairs.

“Jarrod.” The grey haired physician calmly looked him over. “I hear you’ve been injured.”

Jarrod managed a tight smile. “I guess I’ve been better,” he said non-committally.

“Well, do you mind if I have a look?” Dr. Merar asked. “Nick said you had some competent doctoring initially, but I’d like to make sure everything’s healing as it should.”

Jarrod took a deep breath and tried to settle his nerves. “Really, doctor, I’m fine. Just need some food and a little rest is all.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

Nodding, knowing he wouldn’t be able to dissuade the family’s doctor, Jarrod headed down the hall to the door to his own room. Putting a hand on the doorknob, he turned and said as casually as he could, “Mother, I don’t think it’s necessary for you to stay. I’m sure Dr. Merar can manage fine on his own.”

“Jarrod…” Victoria started to protest, but he cut her off.

“Mother, please,” he repeated and she reluctantly acquiesced.

“All right, Jarrod. I’ll bring you up that soup when Howard’s done.”

Dr. Merar followed Jarrod into his room and the attorney shut the door firmly behind them.

“What did Nick tell you?” he asked quietly as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“That you were beaten pretty badly,” the physician said as he set down his bag, “and the doctor in Knight’s Ferry was surprised you’re still alive. Now let’s see that hand.”

Dr. Merar gave Jarrod’s hand and wrist a thorough examination, checking the mobility and strength of the whole hand as well as each finger individually. “Well, Jarrod, I won’t lie to you,” he said finally. “I don’t think you’ll ever have the same use that you did before, but a lot of the strength and movement should come back in time. Providing,” he added sternly, “you take it easy and allow it to heal.”

Jarrod nodded. “I will, doc,” he said as Dr. Merar rebandaged it.

“Now Nick said your back was also injured and you have a couple broken ribs.”

Jarrod nodded again and clenched his teeth as he unbuttoned his shirt and removed it. Jarrod held still as the doctor inspected the burns and lacerations. His muscles trembled under the strain of fighting back the unreasoning fear and the urge to run. Trying to fight down the nausea brought on by the doctor’s hands touching him, he squeezed his eyes so tight that they were leaking tears by the time Dr. Merar rewrapped his ribs and placed a light bandage around the rest of his chest and shoulders.

“You need to have this changed every couple days,” the doctor cautioned. “Most of it’s healing well, but there are a couple spots that look a bit inflamed.” He noticed the strain on Jarrod’s face. “I’m not surprised if it still hurts quite a bit. I’ll leave a bottle of laudanum for you in case you need it.” He sighed. “There’s going to be quite a bit of scarring. I wish I could do something for it…” The doctor shook his head and Jarrod forced out a wan smile.

“It’s okay, doc. I know you’d do everything you could.”

Dr. Merar rose to his feet and put his instruments back in his bag, closing it with a snap that made Jarrod flinch. “I’ll look in on you in a day or two and change that bandage, maybe remove some of the stitches.” He held out his hand and Jarrod shook it quickly. “Call me if you need anything and don’t worry about seeing me out. I know my way.”

The doctor left and as he closed the door behind him, Jarrod sat back on the bed in relief and sunk his head into his hands. What the devil is wrong with you? he asked himself. No one here is going to hurt you; no one you know would ever… He stopped that thought before it got any further. Don’t think about it. Don’t dwell on it and maybe you’ll be able to forget it ever happened.


A/N:
1. Yes, if you had enough money, you could have hot running water in your house in the 1870s.
2. Post traumatic stress disorder wasn’t actually recognized as such until the 1970s, a century after the Barkleys and ‘The Big Valley’