Chapter 12

Chapter 12

"I'm going to try again. It's one thing not being able to remember my own name, but I'll be damned if I'm going to forget how to walk," John said, shuffling down the bed, as Katie looked on nervously.

"I don't think it's a very good idea, John. You heard what Doctor Reardon said. It's going to take a while before you're strong enough to walk again."

But John was determined to try. He had already made one unsuccessful attempt at walking earlier that morning. Neither Katie or any of the orderlies had been around, and he had needed to use the chamber pot.

Wanting to preserve his privacy, he had attempted to reach out to draw the screen across him, not wishing to be watched by any of the others in the ward. Finding himself unable to reach, he had swiveled himself around, placing his good leg onto the floor and trying to take his weight, using the bedside table to support himself. It hadn't ended well.

"And if I don't try, I won't be able to do it when the time comes for me to do it," he said.

He knew his logic was flawed, and he knew it wasn't a sensible idea, but sheer pig-headedness overruled his reasoning, and nothing Katie could say would stop him from trying.

"At least let me help you stand. I can support you," she said, but John shook his head.

"And are you going to be there to support me when I have to leave the clinic and make my own way in the world? No, if I do it, I do it on my own," he said. He gritted his teeth, knowing he was about inflict a painful experience on himself.

"All right… but I'm going to hold out my arms to catch you if you fall."

John laughed. Katie was a slight, petite woman, and he was a tall, well-built frame of a man. If he fell, she had about as much chance of catching him as he did of taking flight.

"Just let me try, Katie. You're very kind, but I want to try it myself," he said. Gritting his teeth once again, John attempted to stand.

He was successful at first, the lift from his hands raising him up as he put his weight onto his good leg. But the moment the weight shifted, he let out a cry as pain shot through his broken leg, causing him to stumble and fall. With a crash, he landed on the floor, sprawled at Katie's feet. The nurse let out a cry, trying to lift him, even as he groaned in agony.

"I told you… oh, can someone help? Doctor Reardon?" Katie called out, for there was no question of her being able to lift him.

Footsteps now came hurrying, but as John looked up from the floor, he was surprised to see not Doctor Reardon but Nurse Culden. She had an anxious look on her face, and in a moment, she had her arms around him and was lifting him up just as she had done on the day of the accident.

"What were you doing?" she exclaimed as she helped John back onto the bed.

He felt embarrassed and foolish for having tried to do something he knew himself incapable of. He could only imagine what she was thinking—that he was pathetic and incapable, and that he would never make a full recovery.

"I just wanted to try, that's all," he said as she looked down at him sympathetically.

"A broken leg takes a lot longer than a few days to heal. You won't be walking on it for some time. And you'll be lucky if you haven't caused yourself more damage," Tara said. She pulled the blankets over him, smiling at him even as she looked somewhat exasperated.

John knew he had been a fool, and now he could think only of having set his recovery back by his own stubbornness. As he had said to Katie, it was one thing not to remember his own name, but to not be able to walk…

"Am I going to be a cripple for the rest of my life?" he asked.

"It's a broken leg, John. Bones heal. But you've got to let them. If you keep breaking the heal, you'll never recover. Then you will be a cripple for the rest of your life," she said.

Her words were spoken with a matter-of-fact conviction, and as John grimaced at the pain in his leg, he knew she was right.

"All right. No more acrobatics," he agreed, glancing at Katie, who raised her eyebrows.

"I told you not to, John. If you need something, call for us. But I'm going home now. I'm exhausted; it's been a long night. I'm off work tomorrow, but I'll see you when I'm next here," she said.

"I'm not going anywhere," John said, and Katie laughed.

"Good," she replied, and with that, she said goodbye.

John was left alone with Tara. He felt embarrassed by his inability both to remember and to walk. What sort of man was he?

"I'm just good for nothing, aren't I?" he said.

Tara placed her hand on his and smiled. "No, you're not. You'll recover. But it's going to take time and patience," she said. "Rome wasn't built in a day. Did anything come of writing down our conversation? Did it help?"

John explained what he had told Doctor Reardon—how he had remembered a moment frozen in time, the writing of a letter. But as for who it was to and what he was writing, that remained a mystery.

"I just feel certain there was a reason for me being on the trail through the pass. Well… that's a foolish thing to say, I know—of course there was a reason. But I feel certain I was coming to see someone, and maybe it's connected to the letter I was writing," he said, though, as ever, his mind felt clouded, and he felt frustration at not being able to join the moments together and make sense of them.

"But that's progress, isn't it? You've remembered something from before your accident. That's fantastic. You should be proud of yourself. One memory can lead to another, and another," she said, smiling at him.

"Why, just the other day, I was thinking about my father—how he always used to trip over my cat, Maisy. I was smiling about it, and I suddenly remembered the day my mother and I went to collect Maisy from the Johnson ranch. I was only eight years old, and I'd completely forgotten how we chose her out of a litter of eight. She was the only one with black spots on her coat."

John smiled. He was looking up into Tara's eyes and hardly hearing what she was saying, so caught up was he in just how pretty she looked. Her long brown hair framed her face, and those pretty, smiling eyes looked down at him with such care as to melt his heart.

Her skin was so soft, and she had the slightest dimple in her chin. Everything about her was perfect, and John could hardly take his eyes off her, even as he knew it wasn't right to stare like this.

"I suppose you're right. Perhaps I'll remember something else because I remembered that. Maybe I've got a cat back home," he said, and Tara laughed.

"Maybe you've got a whole farm," she said.

"Or maybe I'm nothing special," he replied, his mood turning suddenly despondent.

What was the point in thinking her pretty? Tara had her mail-order groom from the East, and no doubt he remembered everything about his past and could walk on both his legs without falling over. Compared to a man like that, John was nothing.

But Tara squeezed his hand and shook her head. "Everyone's special in their own way. That's what I always think when I meet a new patient for the first time: This person's special, and that means I have to treat them so."

"You're certainly a very special person, Nurse Culden, that's for certain."

Tara blushed. "Well, that's very kind of you to say, John. I try to do my best for all my patients. I've still got lots to learn, of course. Now, why don't I fetch you some chamomile tea? It'll help you sleep."

But John was wary of sleep. If he closed his eyes, he would only experience that same dream over again. He knew it by heart now. It was an inevitability, one he had no control over and no say in how it passed.

The masked man would be there, pointing the pistol, and John would be forced to empty his pockets and stand with his hands up against the tree. He would debate what to do, knowing the danger he was in, weighing the risks. Then he would turn, ready to spring on the man as the pistol discharged. But upon waking, John would find he had no further answers to his questions, and nothing to add to the memory he wasn't even sure was real.

"I don't want to sleep," John said, sighing, though he felt exhausted.

He had been purposefully keeping himself awake, trying not to fall asleep, even as he knew it would be inevitable in the end. He couldn't avoid it, but the dream would be waiting for him.

"Are you still having the same dream?" Tara asked.

"The same dream, and the same lack of answers," he replied.

"Then I'll sit with you, if you like. It's quiet on the ward. It seems like most of the others are asleep, too. Doctor Reardon's seeing to the home rounds today. I'll make you some chamomile tea, then sit with you while you sleep."

John was taken aback by her kindness. "I can't ask you to do that. You've got your duties to see to," he said, but Tara shook her head.

" You're my duty. I'm a nurse. I look after people. It's my job," she said, and she would hear no further protest as she went off to make the tea, returning a short while later with a teapot and cup.

The scent of the tea was soothing, and as John took a sip, he could feel sleep washing over him. Tara sat at his side, smiling at him as he yawned.

"It's really very kind of you, Tara… Nurse Culden," he said, blushing at his over-familiarity.

"Like I said, it's my job. Try to get some sleep. Perhaps the tea will help prevent the nightmare," she said, taking the cup from him.

John yawned again, his eyelids becoming heavy. He felt her hand slip into his. He squeezed it, and as the waking world turned into that of dreams, the comfort of her presence readied him to face whatever was to come.