The fever didn’t come back. When Luke woke again, he was ravenously hungry, but able to eat only a few bites of the stew Emily fed him before it started to sicken him. He kept it down, though.
From talking to Emily, he found out it wasn’t the day after she’d rescued him from the riverbank. As a matter of fact, three days had passed since that stormy afternoon.
“You were burnin’ up with fever and out of your head most of that time,” she told him as she sat in the rocker beside the bunk. “You kept ravin’, but I couldn’t make much sense out of most of it.”
“What did I say? Did I talk about anybody in particular?”
“Oh, your ma and pa, of course. I’d expect that. And somebody named Kirby.”
“My little brother,” Luke said.
“And Janey.”
“My sister.”
“And Potter.”
It was all Luke could do not to snarl in hatred. “He’s not part of my family.”
“I hope not, the way you were talkin’ about him. Remember how I said I could cuss pretty good? Well, you had me beat all hollow while you were talkin’ about that fella Potter.”
“He’s the man who shot me,” Luke said. “He and his friends are deserters and renegades.”
“Well, then, you’ve got good reason to be cussin’ him. I figured somebody must’ve waylaid you and robbed you when I didn’t find no horse anywhere thereabouts.”
Luke waited a moment, then asked, “Did I talk about anything else?” He wanted to know if he had said anything about the gold while he was out of his head.
“Not really. There were some other names . . . Renny, somethin’ like that?”
“Remy,” Luke said. “A good friend.”
“And Dale and Edgar. Who are they?”
“More friends.” Luke didn’t offer any further explanation. Their bodies must have been taken by the river before Emily found him, otherwise she would have asked him before now who those dead men were.
Just as well, he thought. He didn’t want to tell her about the gold, about the way he had lost it and gotten his friends killed. That was a burden he was going to bear alone.
“Grampaw says it looks like that bullet hole in your back is healin’ up better now,” Emily went on. “I was sure upset with him when I came in and found that he’d been cuttin’ on you, but I reckon he did the right thing.”
“What’s your grandfather’s name?” Luke hadn’t heard her call him anything except Grampaw.
“Linus Peabody,” she told him.
“A fine name. I’m in his debt ... and yours.”
She shook her head. “You don’t owe me nothin’.”
“You saved my life. I would have died out there if it wasn’t for you.”
“It’s my Christian duty to help folks in need.”
“I wish more people felt like you about that,” Luke said. “If they did, we might not have had this war.”
“Grampaw says we didn’t need to have it anyway. We never had no slaves and didn’t want any. He tried to talk my pa and my brothers into not goin’ off and fightin’, but they said it was their duty because the Yankees had no right to invade us.”
“They were right about that. I just wish it had never come to that point.”
Emily sighed. “Wishin’ don’t do folks a lot of good, Mr. Jensen . . . I mean, Luke. If it did, there’s a whole heap of things in the world that’d be different.”
She was certainly right about that, Luke thought.
Because if wishing did any good, his legs would work again, and so far . . . they didn’t.
By the time a week had passed, Luke’s appetite had returned and so had some of his strength. He was able to sit up in the rocking chair with a pillow to cushion his wounded back, as long as Peabody and Emily helped him get there from the bunk.
But he still had no feeling in his legs, and when he sat there and stared at them and willed them to move, nothing happened. The legs remained limp and lifeless.
“I wish I could help you with the chores,” Luke said at supper one evening. “You folks saved my life, you’re feeding me, and I can’t do a blasted thing to repay you.”
“Nobody’s asked you to repay nothin’,” Peabody said.
“I know that, but I want to, anyway.”
“Maybe the time will come that you can. You can’t never tell.”
Another couple days passed. Luke continued to get stronger. Peabody built him a bunk of his own, so he and Emily could return to their own beds. He checked the wound in Luke’s back and changed the dressing on it, then proclaimed, “Looks like that hole’s just about healed up, son. I got to admit, I didn’t think it’d happen that way, but you must be durned near as strong as a mule . . . and stubborn as one, too.”
Emily said, “Grampaw!”
But Luke threw back his head and laughed, which was something he hadn’t done much of for a long time. “My pa used to say the same thing about me. The stubborn part, anyway. But the real reason I’m not dead is because you and Emily took such good care of me, Mr. Peabody.”
“The gal wouldn’t have it no other way,” the old-timer said, which brought another blush to Emily’s face.
Peabody went out to work in the fields, leaving Emily to finish cleaning up after breakfast before she joined him. With just the two of them to take care of the place, they both worked from dawn to dusk most days. They had gotten behind on the chores during the time they’d had to take turns looking after Luke, and knowing that added to his feeling he owed them more than he could ever repay.
A short time after leaving, Peabody hurried back into the cabin just as Emily was finishing up with the dishes. Luke saw instantly that the old-timer was upset about something.
Peabody didn’t keep them in the dark about it. “Yankees comin’.”
“Oh, dear Lord,” Emily said. “How many?”
“Just a dozen or so . . . but that’s plenty if they’re lookin’ for trouble.” Peabody frowned at Luke. “You’re sure they ain’t huntin’ you?”
“I don’t see how they could be.”
An old single-shot rifle Peabody used for hunting game hung on hooks attached to the wall. He took it down and checked its load.
“You don’t want to start trouble,” Luke warned him. “Not if there are a dozen of them.”
“Don’t plan on startin’ it. But if they force me to it, I’ll fight.”
Luke thought swiftly. “How close are they?”
“About a quarter mile, I’d say.”
“Put the rocker on the porch and help me into it. I’ll hold the rifle in my lap, under a blanket.”
“They’d be able to see it anyway,” Emily said. “I have a better idea.” She opened a cabinet and took out the Griswold and Gunnison revolver Luke had brought with him from Richmond.
He didn’t know what had happened to his rifle, but the sight of the revolver lifted his spirits a little. Only for a moment, though. He recalled how wet the gun had gotten. “The charges in that are bound to be ruined.”
“They were,” Emily agreed, “until I cleaned it up and reloaded it.”
“Where’d you get ammunition for that gun?”
“Bought it at the tradin’ post the other day. I thought we might need it sometime.”
Luke hoped that time hadn’t come. Even with the revolver, he wouldn’t be any match for a dozen Yankee cavalrymen, especially stuck in a rocking chair with useless legs.
But being armed was always better than being defenseless, so he held out his hand for the gun and slipped it into the pocket of the overalls he was wearing. It was a good thing Linus Peabody was a fairly big man. His clothes fit Luke without being too tight.
Peabody dragged the rocking chair onto the cabin’s front porch, then he and Emily helped Luke get seated in it. She hurried back into the cabin to grab the blanket from the bunk, which she draped over the lower half of Luke’s body.
It was the first time he’d been outside since the day of the storm. The air was warm and smelled good. It
