"You
know damn well what's in my britches. Shut up."
Will
laughed quietly, punching his younger brother's shoulder. "Bed
that girl quick!"
"I
said shut up. You'll wake the boys."
"Not
them. They're dead to the world."
Luke
lay on his back, right arm raised, hand on his brow, as he stared at
the ceiling. Will rolled over on his side, facing his brother.
"So,"
he whispered. "She said yes...."
Luke
chuckled softly. "She said yes." He sighed sadly. "And
who knows? Dollie ain't the back seat of a car kinda girl."
"Any
girl is a back seat kinda girl if she gets hot enough," Willem
whispered.
"Was
Patty?"
"None
of your damn business what Patty is," Will said a little more
loudly than he should.
Lucius
shushed him. "Point is, neither is Dollie. And she's got her
reasons to be wary."
"Go
to sleep, brother." He punched Lucius again and rolled over the
face the wall.
Lucius
did his best to relax. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and
imagined he could smell Dollie's violet perfume. The summer breeze
drifted through the open window and he imagined he heard her voice
saying, "I love you."
"I
love you too," he whispered. Folding her in his arms, he fell
into a sound sleep.
Will
kicked Luke as he got out of bed. "Wake up, sleepy! Ma's wanting
to go to chapel."
Groaning,
Lucius sat up slowly. Having experienced his share of hangovers, he
decided this wasn't unlike the time he'd had too much of Grandaddy's
famous 'shine at the tender age of 17.
"Glory,
I feel like hell."
Will
flopped on the bed next to him. "You ain't getting' sick, are
ya?" He felt his brother's forehead. "Lord have mercy,
Luke! You're burning up!"
"I
don't get sick," Luke protested, getting out of bed with
difficulty. "Ain't took sick a day in my life." That wasn't
entirely true, but it was true that he didn't get sick often. When he
did, it was usually pretty bad.
"You're
gonna go to the clinic, see Doc Starbuck."
Lucius
couldn't disagree. He felt terrible. He managed to dress himself with
Will's help. Staying away from his mother and the children wasn't
easy, but he didn't want to take the chance of passing along
something.
"I'll
meet you at chapel after I take him down," Will told their
mother.
"You
won't! You stay with your brother. Me and the girls can watch the
young'uns." She took Luke's face in her hands, glaring into his
eyes. "Don't you die on me, boy! You hear?"
"Yes,
Mama."
Her
eyes filled with tears. "I can't lose another I love. I can't!"
She burst into tears.
Jane
took her mother by the shoulders, leading her to the couch. She sat
down with her, holding her mother close. She cooed softly, humming
and rocking to calm her as if she were a child. Tipping her head
toward the door, she told them silently to go. Will helped Luke to
the truck and drove slowly down to the clinic at the base of the
mountain just below them.
Doctor
Starbuck, a retired surgeon, lived in the clinic building and cared
for the sick and injured of the school. He gave shots, set bones and
did minor surgeries in a small operating theatre. He was just waking
up when the men arrived. He set aside his breakfast and hurried them
into the examining room. He helped Will put Luke on the exam table
then washed his hands and dug around for a thermometer. Rinsing it
off, he put it under Luke's tongue as he listened to the young man's
chest and felt his glands.
"You're
one sick fella," he told Luke as he read the thermometer.
"Hundred and one point two. Lie down," he instructed.
Luke
lay gratefully back on the table. The cold metal made him shiver
through the sheet. His long legs dangled off the end. Doc felt his
abdomen, listened to his chest again and frowned.
"Had
anything different to eat or drink?"
"No,
sir."
"Drunk
out of a rusty pump? Or outta the stream?"
"Nope.
I know better, Doc. You told us often enough."
The
doctor nodded. Reaching for Luke's wrist, he took his pulse. It was
then he noticed the scrapes and cuts on his hands.
"When
did you get these?"
"Reckon
the other day fencing. Them old poles are mighty torn up."
"You
didn't take out the splinters?"
"Thought
I got 'em, but they's so many, who can say? I had on gloves, but that
shit goes right through."
The
doctor examined his hands carefully, nodding, frowning and tutting.
"This one's infected," he muttered. "Where were you
fencing?"
©
2019 Dellani Oakes
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