Chapter 3

Jarrod headed for the kitchen and found Silas there, getting ready for the next morning. "Good evening, Silas," he said and handed Silas his coffee cup.

"Good evening, Mr. Jarrod," Silas said. "Would you like something to eat?"

Jarrod thought about it for a moment. A little food on his stomach might ease the hangover that would be coming in the morning, so long as he didn't eat too much. He said, "Maybe. Do you have anything left over from dinner?"

"Ham, fresh green beans, potatoes," Silas said.

Jarrod said, "Got a biscuit left over from breakfast?"

"Just one," Silas said.

"Put a little slice of ham on it for me."

Silas smiled and poured more coffee into the cup Jarrod had handed him. He gave the cup back to Jarrod, then made him the sandwich he'd asked for and gave it to him.

Jarrod smiled. "That'll do the trick. Thank you, Silas."

"My pleasure, Mr. Jarrod," Silas said.

Jarrod wandered out the back door to the verandah to take in his late snack. It had been a hot day but was settling down now that the sun was good and gone some time ago. Jarrod found a column to lean against and ate his sandwich slowly. He kept thinking about Medlar, about what they had said to each other. He hoped he had done the man some good but wondered if Medlar would even remember it in the morning. He wondered if he himself might find some nugget in that conversation that he could remember and keep.

Even if what it was was the awful feeling that his brothers pitied him.

He caught a familiar scent in the air and smiled. "You caught me taking my sandwich under the stars," Jarrod said.

Behind him, Victoria came closer. "I can't say I blame you. It's turned into a beautiful night."

"Yes, it has," Jarrod said.

"How did you do at poker?"

"Well, I'm not broke. Heath took most of the pots."

"He and Nick mentioned this man you met in the game," Victoria said. "They said he touched a nerve for you."

Jarrod took a drink of coffee. "I talked to him a bit more after Nick and Heath left. In the jail."

"Jail?"

"Fred picked him up for being drunk on the street."

Victoria wondered if he was going to say more about the talk he'd had with this man, but he didn't. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not yet," Jarrod said.

She hesitated before she said, "It's been a tough journey for you, I know."

"Well," Jarrod said.

Victoria tried another tack. "I expect you'll have a hangover in the morning."

"Maybe," Jarrod said with a little laugh but raised the remainder of his sandwich. "Maybe this will make things a bit easier."

"Just make sure you get enough rest. I hope you know, Jarrod," Victoria said. Then she hesitated, looking for the right words. "I hope you know how proud I am of you for fighting your way back the way you have."

Jarrod had a flash of an unhappy feeling. Was it pity he was seeing in her eyes? Wasn't pride really just another shade of pity? He felt embarrassed and ashamed, but he smiled. "I might be doing more crawling than fighting."

"But I think you're going in the right direction, even if it's slowly."

Jarrod didn't say anything. That was not uncommon for him, when he didn't want to talk, to just stay silent.

Victoria touched his arm. "When you're ready," she said, and she went back inside.

Jarrod didn't watch her go. He just stayed there.

Victoria went back into the library, where her other children were still gathered. She hadn't said where she was going when she went out, but they all knew where it was.

"He wouldn't talk, huh?" Nick said.

"No, not really," Victoria said and sat down beside Audra on the sofa. "Only to say he talked some more with your Mr. Medlar in the jail. The sheriff picked him up for being drunk."

"What did they talk about?" Heath asked.

Victoria shook her head. "Jarrod wouldn't say."

"He gets tight as a drum sometimes," Nick said.

"And a lot lately," Audra said, looking up at her brothers. She might have added and he's not the only one. Nobody around here was talking very much about what had happened when Beth was killed. Audra was away when it happened. No one was really explaining things to her, but so far she hadn't pushed it.

"Jarrod still has a lot of things to work through," Victoria said. "Something about his talk with Mr. Medlar touched something in him. I don't know what. But maybe in the long run, it was something that will help."

"I hope so," Nick said. "Because sometimes I just want to crack him open myself."

"That's not gonna help," Heath said.

"He'll open up when he's ready, if he ever gets ready," Victoria said. "In the meantime, if we're patient, he might just come around by himself. He always was that way. He always had to ruminate himself through his problems by himself, even when he was a little boy."

"He's not a little boy anymore," Nick said. "He can't go around feeling sorry for himself forever."

Audra happened to catch something out of the corner of her eye. There was a shadow from outside, on the curtain at the French door. It moved as soon as she looked at it.

She knew it was Jarrod. He often took long walks alone at night these days. He was probably going off on another one. But this time, he had heard what they said about him, and she was the only one who noticed.

Outside, Jarrod walked away into the darkness, thinking about Medlar, thinking about pity, thinking about what he had just heard inside the house. Thinking about what he could do with everything that had happened tonight. Had something happened that he should talk about? If so, what? What could he say? How could he explain that being pitied was the worst?

Or should he just wait for Nick to "crack him open?" No. Talking to Medlar had helped, somehow. He just didn't know how yet. The fight back his mother had mentioned wasn't anywhere near over. Maybe it was just starting. Maybe that's what Medlar had given him – a new weapon to fight with. A new enemy to fight. A way to start talking to his brothers without Nick cracking him open.

Pity was the worst. Jarrod stopped in the middle of the yard and took a deep breath. Pity was the enemy – pity from others, pity from himself. Fight the pity, he decided. Starting right now. Accept no more pity, from anyone, especially not from himself. That was part of the way out of this – refuse to let pity have its way. Never surrender. Never.

But how to start that fight? He turned around and looked toward the house. He could see Nick and Heath moving around the pool table, their outlines against the curtains on the French door. How to start? Medlar had taught him how to start. Medlar had taught him more than "pity was the worst."

Jarrod went back to the house and went into the library through the French door, startling everyone. He closed the door behind him and stopped there, next to the desk. Everyone was looking at him. They did not look away.

"Jarrod, is everything all right?" Victoria asked.

Jarrod nodded. "I have something to say. I don't think I've said it properly enough, or if I've even said it at all, and I don't know if it's going to come out right now." He leveled his gaze at his brothers, apologetic, sorrowful. "I'm sorry for what you had to do in Rimfire. I'm sorry you had to make me stop killing Hyatt. I'm grateful you did it, but I'm sorry for making you have to do it. I haven't paid any attention to what that had to do to you but I'm sorry I did it to you. Just – don't pity me. I'm contemptible but I'm not pitiful. And I'll do better. I'll do better."

With that, Jarrod turned and went right back out again. All three of his siblings started for the door, but Victoria said, "No."

It stopped them.

"Let him be," she said, smiling a little. "Let him just – deal with that. Let him be."

They looked at each other, and they took her advice. But each one saw that she was smiling, and inwardly, if not outwardly, they smiled too.

The End