“No, he passed out and hasn’t woken up for two days.”
“What about his age, description?” Harris asks.
“Not sure, his face is pretty damaged, but I’d say the early twenties.” Sutton is evasive and glances around, desperate to be back on the road again.
“How soon can you be ready to ride?” Harris says, standing up and gesturing for the waitress.
Sutton grins, “I was hoping you’d say that. My horse is at the livery, across the street.”
“Is everything alright, Dr. Rivers?” she asks.
“I have to leave.” He hands her some money and a generous tip, and she smiles as both men hurry from the restaurant and are soon mounted up and on the way.
“Tell me his symptoms when you found him,” Harris demands.
“He was fevered, chills, moaning, thrashing, sipping water, but not eating.”
“Any rash? What about the bullet wound you described?”
“No rash and the bullet ripped through the outer thigh, he tried to sew it, but one corner broke open.”
“That’s not a bad thing, it can drain the wound and allow the infection to escape. I’m more concerned about him not waking up. Two days is a long time.”
They ride and talk about the ranch and their sheep herding business. Harris gives him information on the trains, and they talk about the wool and lamb prices that are in high demand right now.
Harris isn’t sure who this soldier is, but he might have information on Kimani and where she might be. Sutton glances at the Doctor and hopes he forgives the deception, but he doesn’t want to disclose Vanessa’s situation to anyone just yet.
Hours later Harris and Sutton ride into the Homestead just as the sun is setting. Trent and his wife Melody along with their son Billy greet him.
“Trent, let me introduce Doctor Harris Rivers,” Sutton says softly.
Melody gasps and looks at him in surprise. “Rivers?”
“I’m not sure if I’m related to your patient, but I hear he’s in rough shape.” Harris reaches for his leather bag containing his medical supplies while Trent and Melody glance at each other nervously.
“Thank you for coming, Dr. Harris. Please come inside.” Trent replies and leads the way.
Harris steps into the modest two-room cabin, following his host and stares in stupefied shock at the sight in the corner of the room.
“No!” He shouts and stumbles to Kimani’s side as relief pours through his heart. Tears flood his eyes, and he drops to his knees beside her bed. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he is shocked by the heat coming from her body.
“She told us her name was Vanessa Rivers, Doc. We’ve taken care of her the best we could.”
Vanessa Rivers? Harris can’t speak for a moment. “Thank you,” he replies hoarsely.
“We’ll give you some privacy. If you need us, we’ll be outside.”
Harris doesn’t reply as he strips the covers from her body and rips open his bag. “God, please don’t let me be too late,” he whispers.
“Kimani? Can you hear me,” he calls her name as he surveys her body?
She’s wearing a nightgown, borrowed from one of the women and when he lifts it above her thigh and sees the sewn-up wound on her leg, he growls in rage. Pressing on the injury he is happy to see that it has finished draining, and has no striations running down the leg. No smell or leakage suggesting infection in the wound. Just to be safe, he cleans it and struggles to stop the trembling in his hands. There is not an inch of her body that isn’t scratched, bruised or wounded. Her legs are torn and bruised, and even her feet are damaged. His heart drops with fear when she doesn’t flinch or responds to his touch.
“Kimani, I’m gonna need you to wake up and fuss at me, like you always do.” Harris orders as he treats the wounds on her feet and works his way up her body, checking for broken bones or signs of infection.
Her purple ribs are damaged, possibly cracked, and he calls to Melody to help wrap them. Together they are able to lift her body and get the ribs treated. When they are finished, he lays her down gently.
“You will find not much of her body isn’t damaged in some way. Her scalp was bad, Dr. Rivers. I don’t know what happened, but it may be a blessing that she’s sleeping through this.”
“Her scalp?” He runs his hands through her hair gently parting it and hissing when he sees the damage. Dried blood is still caked in her hair. Tears fill his eyes, and he wipes the back of his hand across his eyes. “It looks intact, thank God.” He kisses her forehead gently. “Bruised, but it doesn’t look like they tried to scalp her.”
“They?” Melody asks softly.
“I’ve been searching for days. She’s the only survivor of an Indian massacre. I’d wager they’ll be looking for her.”
Melody gasps, “The poor girl. Is she your wife?”
Harris startles and nods slowly. “Not yet, but she was trying to get to my ranch. I imagine that’s why she gave you my name.”
“I see.” Melody watches the way he tends to her wounds, with trembling hands and a gentle touch.
“I don’t see any sign of infection,” Harris tucks the blanket around her and begins rolling up his tools.
“We used an herbal poultice on the wounds to fight any infection. She was fevered for the first two days but found the strength to fight it off. Now she just needs a reason to wake up,” Melody suggests and excuses herself.
Harris sits beside her bed and takes her hand. “Alright, Kimani. I need to see those beautiful eyes. Come back to me,” he whispers. No response. “Wake up!” he demands.
Kimani is walking through a sunny field of flowers, when a butterfly, black with
