Working around the mess, Roy retrieved a clean kitchen cloth from one of the drawers and then walked out behind the quarters to pump water from the well. It was a small, iron appliance that sat close to the ground, nothing remotely appealing to the eye, but it was functional. The well pumped ground water at a much lower temperature than the water in the creek, which was directly under the sun, so Roy was able to soak the cloth in cool water that was ideal for a sprain. He wrung out the cloth so that it wasn’t sopping, filled a small bucket with additional ground water, and returned inside carrying both items.
Thankfully, Cora was still in the position he had left her—he would not have been surprised if she had tried to make an escape just to spite him. He pulled the wicker chair beside the bed and placed it at the end of the bed near Cora’s injured ankle. He was feeling slightly embarrassed for the mess of dirty clothes he had moved from the chair to the floor, especially when he had just gotten through mentally rebuking the other men for leaving out dirty dishes.
Roy didn’t speak as he pressed the cloth to Cora’s ankle. He noticed that it had grown slightly swollen, but not to an excessive degree. Thankfully, there was no evidence of a fracture, meaning it was just a sprain and would heal much more easily and quickly.
Roy applied gentle pressure to her ankle with the cloth, occasionally moving the cloth in circular motions over the swollen area. Throughout this, he didn’t speak or look at her, keeping his eyes fixed on her injury.
A deep, physical pain had taken root in his chest now that the initial shock had subsided. He was glad that his father had her by his side in his last hours, that he didn’t have to die alone, but the pain of regret knowing that it was not him who was there with him was almost unbearable.
“Did he suffer a lot?” Roy surprised himself by breaking the silence to ask. It was as if the question had been bubbling near the surface, and the cork had finally burst. “Near the end, I mean. Was there a lot of pain?”
Cora paused before answering. “Dr. Davenport and I kept him as comfortable as we could. At the end, he was given medicine to numb any pain. By the time he passed, it was peaceful.”
Roy nodded in acknowledgment, relieved at her answer. He silently dipped the cloth into the bucket to regain the cool temperature, wrung the cloth, and placed it again on her ankle.
“Leave this here,” Roy instructed, standing up from his chair. “The cool water will help the swelling go down so that you’ll be able to walk on it again.”
“Thank you,” Cora said stiffly. Despite her tone, there was a vulnerability etched in her voice that was much different from the confident, despotic manner that she had spoken when she first arrived, and he found himself softening. He finally allowed himself to meet her gaze. Although her blue eyes still regained that hardheaded glint she had arrived with, he also sensed trust from them—something that Roy hadn’t had directed at him in a long time.
Roy dipped his head just slightly, hesitating before making his way back outside.
“Are you leaving me here all alone?” Cora asked, her voice rising slightly. He looked up at her to meet fear in her eyes.
“I have to finish my work for the day,” he said. “You need to stay and rest the ankle. But don’t worry. I’ll make sure nobody bothers you here, and I’ll be back as soon as my work is done.”
Cora nodded compliantly behind a tight jaw, and Roy turned away, heading back outside.
Roy quickened his pace as soon as he was outside the house, careful not to be spotted by any of the other hands. He made his way across the ranch, past several fences of animal pens and weathered barns to the farthest pasture—a clearing between a cluster of trees and a steep, grassy hill.
Once he was sure he was far enough away that none of the other hands would be able to hear him, he surrendered to the grief that had been tearing into him since the moment Cora Williams arrived. He dropped to his knees, his palms pressing deep into the field, his fingernails digging into the dirt beneath the grass. He was in the perfect position to pray, to surrender his grief to God, but it had been so long since he had entertained the thought of prayer that he didn’t know how to do that anymore.
In the absence of words to formulate a Heavenly petition, Roy tilted his head to the sky and let out a thunderous, prolonged wail. The sound startled the nearby birds, causing them to take flight, leaving him even more alone in the field. In his mind, the grievous howl fell just short of reaching heavenward, encapsulating all that Roy never said to his father and now, all that he would never get a chance to say.
Chapter Five
Cora became restless after lying in Roy Burns’ sleeping quarters for hours resting her ankle. She felt foolish for injuring herself so badly while she was in the middle of giving him a well-deserved scolding for deserting his father in his time of need. She was angry with herself for coming all this way just to let Pastor Burns down. Roy had made it clear that he had no intention of returning to Lakewood.
He didn’t seem to care much about his father at all, if his apathetic facial expression at the news of his father’s death was any indication. Of course, he had asked that question just before he went back to his work, about whether his father had been in pain. She wondered if that was morbid curiosity or a sign that somewhere inside of himself, he did care. She wanted to believe the latter, but all of his other reactions had pointed to the opposite.
Cora was not certain what exactly she had been expecting when she came here. Perhaps she had romanticized visions of the prodigal son who would weep with grief over the news of his father’s passing, and then rush home to do his duty and fill the shoes his father left behind.
But she should have known better. Roy Burns had left town for a reason—he didn’t care about his earthly father or God then, and it seemed that he cared even less now. Being away from his father’s influence for so long had hardened him, and these living conditions certainly didn’t help.
She couldn’t believe that Roy had left the comfort and security of his father’s home to live in these filthy quarters among such godless men. She shuddered at the memory of them looking her up and down when she first arrived and announced she was here to see Roy Burns. They had made her feel uncomfortable with their whispers and nudging each other, and she was sure they were saying inappropriate things about her.
At least when Roy arrived, he had not engaged in that behavior. He actually provided a strange relief, making her feel safe among those other ranch hands.
As Cora continued to reflect in the quiet solitude, she started to think that maybe Roy hadn’t been as influenced by the environment of Wheats Ridge as she originally assumed. She had heard the other ranch hands through the thin, wooden walls while they were working outside—if one could even call what they were doing ‘working.’ They were cursing and taking the Lord’s name in vain, passing a flask of liquor between them while they worked, and discussing scandalous escapades out in town. But Cora never heard Roy’s voice involved in any of these vile conversations.
Perhaps Roy had retained some of his father’s influence after all, and there was hope that he might have a change of heart and that he would come home and, after some time and adjustment, would take his father’s place as pastor. This God-forsaken environment could only contribute further to Roy’s backslide.
Roy’s behavior toward her when she injured her foot was another contradiction to the preconceived notions she had arrived here with. Though his outer appearance was rugged and rather unkempt, he had cared for her the way only a perfect gentleman would. Even when she had stubbornly resisted his help, he didn’t leave her side until she was safely off her injured foot. She felt warm, tingly feelings inside her chest thinking about his strong arm around her waist, supporting her when her own body had failed her, and his gentle touch when he tended to her ankle, pressing the cool cloth to her inflamed joint with tender care.
All of these contradictions made her head spin. How could someone hard-hearted, who callously rejected his own father, be so kind and gentle with someone who may as well be a stranger?
One thing was for certain: Roy Burns was a puzzling mystery, indeed.
Beginning to ache from lying in one position for so long and growing impatient waiting for Roy to return now that it was late afternoon, Cora took it upon herself to regain her independence by attempting to walk on her leg again. She gripped the iron headboard with her left hand and pulled herself to a standing position with all the weight on her good foot.
