His attention was once again drawn to the tiny window as he could hear the sound of horses coming to a stop outside the jail.
“Good evening Arthur,” he heard Sheriff Gideon’s voice boom out. The man could be heard from across a crowded room of screaming babies. There was no mistaking him.
Great, he thought. They had called his father.
“Evening, Sheriff.” His father sounded more tired than usual.
“I’d like a word with you before you go in,” Sherrif Gideon said.
Thomas leaned towards the wall and strained to hear what they were saying. His head was still fuzzy but clear enough to understand.
“Now Arthur, I know you’re all trying your best, but this can’t go on. The doctor had to be called this time.”
There was a pause in the conversation. “Is it bad?” His father's voice was heavy with concern.
“Not this time, just a gash. But what happens next time when I’m not there in time to break up the fight?”
Thomas could hear the break in his father’s voice. “I’ve tried everything Sheriff. Nothing gets through to him anymore. He’s given up on God. He’s given up on himself.”
“Something will have to change, Arthur. I’ve been patient up until now. Next time he disturbs the peace he’ll have to do some time...” His voice trailed off. “That’s assuming I get there in time.”
Their voices disappeared as they walked away from the window. Thomas stood and walked to the bars of the cell. Laying his head against the cool steel, he shut his eyes and waited for them to set him free.
As he waited he replayed the clear disappointment in his father’s voice. He knew he was letting his family down.
He knew things needed to change, but he wasn’t sure what or how. One thing was certain. He wasn’t going to ask God. He could figure this out on his own. He would not be disappointed again.
***
Thomas Stratton winced as the afternoon sun streamed into his room through the open drapes. His head was aching something fierce as he tried to open his eyes.
He lifted his aching body and swung his legs off of the double bed. He was still wearing his muddy boots, but someone had removed the shirt he had been wearing and left him in his stained vest. He scanned the room for any kind of evidence that would suggest what had happened after he left the jail.
Nothing was out of place, everything looked just as it always had.
The floral drapes hung partially open and the hardwood dresser they had received as a wedding gift stood facing the bed. The basin and mirror with a stand for towels stood where it always had beside the door. Nothing was amiss on the stand beside his bed that held the matches and lamp.
This was the room he had shared with his wife. She had chosen the bright yellow wallpaper shortly after they had been married. It used to bring him so much joy waking up here in the mornings. Now it just seemed cold and empty.
He heaved his body off the bed and made his way to the basin. Cupping his hands in the water, he splashed his face a few times before reaching for a folded towel on the stand next to the basin and wiping his tired face. He sucked a breath sharply through his teeth as he rubbed the towel over a tender spot on his forehead. Frowning, he noticed a line of blood on the towel.
Glancing at his reflection in the mirror that hung on the wall above the basin, he noticed the stitches and ran his finger along the line. He had forgotten the doctor had stitched him up. Bits and pieces were starting to come back.
“You got that last night, or should I say early this morning.”
He turned to see his father’s lanky frame leaning against the door jamb, his strong arms folded across his chest. Thomas hadn't even heard him coming. His mother had always said he and his father could have been brothers. Apart from their eyes, it was like looking at an older version of himself. His fathers’ eyes were dark where Thomas had inherited his mother’s honey brown color.
Concern was etched into his face but his greying hair was still swept neatly to the side. “We need to talk Thomas,” he said heavily.
Thomas rolled his eyes. “Not again, Pa.”
“This can’t go on son, I need help with the ranch. Your son needs you.”
“He’s got Buena Gideon.” Thomas flung the dirty towel onto the floor and crossed the room to his dresser. Taking out a clean shirt, he buttoned it over his dirty vest.
“She can’t keep coming all the time. She has a family of her own, a husband to look after.” Arthur regretted his words as soon as he said them.
Pain flickered across Thomas’ face. “At least someone has a wife to look after them,” he said begrudgingly. The loss of his wife was a constant pain he couldn’t escape. It stalked him day after day, never giving him peace.
