Out of Darkness
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The sun was just dipping behind the tree tops as Ely Drake pulled his cart up outside a ramshackle farmhouse, about fifteen miles south east of Carlsbad. After the death of his father, from influenza, ten years previously, the then eleven year old Ely and his mother, Ida-May, had been left to try and make a living from the small farm. It hadn’t been easy. Ida-May, four months pregnant when her husband died, had delivered a still-born child five months later, after a potentially life-threatening breeched delivery, and, afterwards, had been too weak to do much of anything for several weeks, leaving the young Ely as ‘man of the household’ to do all of the manual work on the farm.
Grief, for her lost husband and infant son, had slowly turned Ida-May into a bitter, vindictive, woman who paid the young Ely little attention other than to bark orders at him and to beat him when those orders weren’t fulfilled adequately. Ely had been forced to drop out of school after his father’s death, and his Mother’s increasingly anti-social behaviour had gradually driven what few friends they had away, leaving them virtual recluses at their isolated farm. Ely’s lack of education, and physical clumsiness, caused his mother to label him ‘stupid’ stunting Ely’s emotional growth and leaving him with a mental age of far less than his physical years.
Ely jumped down off the cart and hurried inside the farmhouse.
“Ma?” he called, “Ma?”
A short, plump woman came in from the bedroom. Once a pretty, vivacious, young girl life had taken its toll on Ida-May Drake. Though still only in her early forties, it would have been easy to mistake her for someone twenty years older. Her dark brown hair was well streaked with grey, pulled back into an untidy bun at the back of her head, the severity of the style heightening the lines of grief and resentment on her once pretty face.
“What?” she barked, pulling her woollen shawl around her shoulders. Her pale grey eyes regarded Ely with an irritated expression.
“Ma, I got someone with me.” Ely told her, “I found him out on the road. Looks like he was attacked by someone. He’s beat up pretty bad.”
Ida-May looked at her son with contempt.
“What d’ya bring him here fer?” she barked, “We aint go no spare vittles to feed another mouth with, an’ whoever beat him might still be lookin’ fer him.” She shook her head, “We don’t need no more trouble bringin’ to our door.”
“Weren’t nobody else around.” said Ely, “I checked.”
Ida-May grunted in disgust.
“I was thinkin’,” ventured Ely, “if we fixed him up, he’d be able to help us around the farm, y’know… like before?”
Ida-May fixed him with a hard stare, and Ely lowered his gaze, knowing that was something he wasn’t supposed to talk about.
“You sure there weren’t nobody followin’ him?” Ida-May said now, her eyes narrowed in thought.
“I’m sure. I kept checkin’ behind me all the way back. Weren’t nobody followin’. He didn’t even have a horse with him. Seems like whoever beat him up musta left him fer dead.” Ely watched his mother as she paced about the kitchen before eventually moving to the sink and picking up a pan.
“Bring him in.” she said, beginning to pump water into the pan and then putting it on the stove to heat.
“Where’ll I put him?” asked Ely.
“He can have your bed, fer now.” Ida-May told him, drawing a petulant look from Ely, “You can sleep on the couch.” she instructed, “When he’s fixed up, y’can have yer bed back. I aint gonna put him down below if he needs nursin’. I cain’t be climbin’ up an’ down that ladder.” When Ely made no comment, she snapped, “Well, go and bring him in then.”
With a glower, Ely turned and went back outside to the cart, to find the injured man had lapsed into unconsciousness once more. Ely picked him up as though he weighed nothing and carried him inside the house and through to his bedroom, where Ida-May had pulled back the bedcovers in readiness for their patient.
Ely laid him on the bed while his mother fetched water and cloths from the kitchen. She laid them on a cupboard next to the bed and turned to regard the man in the bed, a scowl of irritation on her face.
“He aint got much meat on him.” she grumbled, “Don’t look like he’d be capable of a hard day’s work.”
Ely watched as his Mother removed Heyes’ jacket and bloodstained shirt and then unfastened his union suit to examine his injuries.
There were several cuts on his face and his bottom lip was split and his nose bloodied. Purple bruises were already starting to come out, on both his face and his torso, and his left eye was swollen shut. Ida-May wrung out a cloth and began to wipe the blood off his face and neck. There was a deep gash on the right hand side of his head, just above his right ear which, as soon as she dabbed it with the cloth, began to bleed profusely once more.
Ida-May cursed under her breath, reaching out for another cloth, which she folded it into a thick square and placed over the wound.
“Hold this here.” she barked at Ely, who moved to her side and pressed his fingers to the cloth while Ida-May disappeared back to the kitchen, returning a few moments later with a bandage which she wound across the injured man’s forehead and around the back of his head in order to secure the cloth over the wound. Heyes gave a soft moan, as she pulled the bandage tightly over the wound, but didn’t rouse.
“Looks like he’s got bruised ribs, maybe even be a couple broken.” said Ida-May, as she examined his abdomen. She shook her head, looking disgruntled, “If you were gonna bring somebody back here, ya might’ve picked someone who might be of some use to us an’ not one who’s gonna be laid up fer days, eatin’ us outta house an’ home.”
“He’ll be OK when he’s fixed up.” Ely said, hopefully, while his Mother pulled off the man’s boots, and pants, leaving him clad just in his underwear, before pulling up the bedcovers.
“That’s some crack on the head he took. He could be outta his senses for some while, an’ I can do without havin’ an extra mouth t’feed who cain’t earn his keep.” Ida-May said sourly, giving Ely a look that laid the blame at his feet.
She turned and picked up the bowl of bloodstained water, “You can keep an eye on him, ‘til supper time.” she instructed Ely before leaving the room without a backward glance.
When Ida-May called Ely to his supper, their patient was still unconscious.
After supper, Ely reluctantly made up a bed on the worn couch, which he pulled up nearer to the hearth, while his mother retired to her room with an instruction for him to “listen out” for their patient. Ely took no notice of this instruction however, and was fast asleep almost as soon as he’d settled into his makeshift bed.
* * *
“Ely!” His mother’s harsh voice roused him from sleep the next morning.
As he blinked open his eyes, his mother was pouring coffee at the table while she issued instructions for his day’s duties.
“Them seeds need to be finished a-plantin’, an’ the cow needs milkin’ an’ the eggs need collectin’ off the hens...”
“Ma...” bemoaned Ely, struggling up into a sitting position.
“Git up.” Ida-May snapped, banging a cup of coffee down on the side of the table nearest to him, “Sun’s been up almost two hours. Day’s half gone.”
Ely swung his feet to the floor and reached over to pick up the coffee.
“What about breakfast?” he asked, as he sipped the coffee.
“I aint got time fer cookin’ bacon an’ eggs if I gotta nurse him.” she jerked her head in the direction of the bedroom where their patient lay, “I’ll be makin’ some broth later, fer if he comes to his senses an’ is able to take some. Y’can have some of that ta hold ya over ‘til supper time.”
Ely glowered, having second thoughts about having brought the injured man here. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
“Up!” Ida-May instructed, snatching the blanket from off him and beginning to fold it up.
With a grunt of annoyance, Ely got up and headed off outside to the privy while Ida-May went into the bedroom to check on their patient.
He was restless this morning, she noticed, and, as she placed the back of her hand against his cheek, felt it warm.
He roused, slightly, at her touch, rolling his head in the direction of her hand and giving a soft moan.
“Hey, Mister?” Ida-May called out, “Mister? Can y’hear me?”
When he made no response, she gripped his shoulder and shook him.
“Mister?” she called again.
He groaned again and his eyelids flickered.
“Hey! Can y’hear me?” Ida-May repeated.
Heyes managed to open his unswollen eye, his disorientated gaze roaming about the room in confusion.
Presently, he focussed on Ida-May, standing at the side of the bed. He stared at her for several moments, obviously trying to work out if he knew her.
“Wh-where… am… I…? What… happened?” he croaked, his voice barely audible.
“Yer in my cabin.” Ida-May told him, “My son, Ely, found ya, out on the trail, beat half to death.”
Heyes frowned, his gaze drifting off Ida-May to some point behind her shoulder as he tried to recall some memory of the events that had brought him to this place.
“Is whoever did this to ya likely to come lookin’ fer ya?” Ida-May asked, anxiously.
“I… I don’t know…”
“Y’don’t know?” Ida-May repeated?
Heyes gave a small shake of his head, “I don’t know what happened…”
“What’s yer name?” asked Ida-May.
Heyes frowned again, before turning his frightened gaze back to her face, “I... I don’t know.” he said, in a panicked voice. “I... can’t remember…”
Ida-May eyed him, thoughtfully, for several moments, before saying, “Ya took a pretty hefty crack on yer skull, that’s probably why y’can’t remember.”
Heyes gave a vague nod, his fearful gaze sliding off her once more as he tried once again, unsuccessfully, to recall some memory of what had happened to him.
“Since ya cain’t remember yer name, I’m gonna call ya Jack, fer now.” Ida-May told him.
“Was I… with anyone?” Heyes asked presently.
“Nope.” Ida-May shook her head, “You was out on the trail, Ely said, without even a horse, an’ not a soul around fer miles. Looks like whoever worked y’over left ya fer dead.”
Heyes contemplated that, wondering who had attacked him, and why.
“You’d better git some rest.” Ida-May’s voice cut into his thoughts, “I’ll have some broth fer ya, later.”
“Thank you.” He shifted his grateful gaze in her direction, just in time to see her disappear out of the room without a backward glance.
* * *
Her patient was asleep when Ida-May entered the bedroom, at lunch time, with a bowl of hot broth.
“Hey, Jack!” she called, reaching out a hand to shake him awake.
The newly named Jack woke, with a start, looking confused once more as he looked around the room.
“I brought ya some broth.” Ida-May told him, “Can ya sit up?”
He attempted to manoeuvre himself into a semi-upright position, but gasped as pain shot through his head, ribs and abdomen as he tried to move.
“No.” he croaked.
Ida-May tutted, irritably. She placed the bowl of broth on the dresser and moved to pick up an old, wooden chair from in front of the window, and placed it at the side of the bed before sitting down and picking up the bowl of broth and commencing to spoon feed it to him.
“You’ve got bruised ribs, maybe even a couple cracked,” she told him, as she fed him the broth, “an’ I’d stay away from the mirror fer a while too.” she added matter-of-factly.
“My head hurts.” Heyes said, in between mouthfuls.
“I’m not surprised.” said Ida-May, “Whoever hit ya split yer skull wide open.”
He reached up a hand and tentatively touched the bandage covering the wound, wincing as the pressure of his fingers sent a stab of pain shooting through his head.
Ida-May spooned the last of the broth into his mouth and stood up.
“Thank you.” Muttered Heyes.
Ida-May made no comment, her mind seeming to be elsewhere as she left the room.
Heyes closed his eyes, or at least the eye that he could open, and tried to recall something of what might have happened to him, but his mind was a complete blank. He wondered who had attacked him, and why, and whether whoever it was believed he was dead, or would be searching for him.
He reached up and tentatively touched the side of his head once more, the area tender and painful even through the bandage. He had a pounding headache and his head felt muzzy, and his whole body ached but, now that he’d eaten the broth, he felt tired and, despite the aches and pains in his body, and his deliberations on how he’d come to end up in this predicament, was soon overcome by sleep once more.
The next time he woke it was almost dark in the room, and a large man was standing at the foot of the bed, watching him.
“Who are you?” he croaked, eying the man fearfully.
“I’m Ely. I’m the one that brung ya here. Don’t ya remember?”
Heyes gave a vague shake of his head, “No.”
“This is my room yer sleepin’ in.” Ely told him, in a tone that said what a huge favour he believed he was doing in letting him have his bed.
“I’m sorry… I didn’t know…”
Ely gave a dismissive shrug, “Ma says I can sleep on the couch ‘til you’re fixed up.”
“Thank you.”
“Ma told me to tell her when ya woke up, so you can git some supper. I’ll go tell her you’s awake now.”
Ely turned and left the room and, a few moments later, Ida-May entered, with a bowl of stew and a mug of coffee. She seated herself on the wooden chair by the bed and proceeded to spoon feed the stew to her patient.
“Ely says this is his room.” Heyes said, in between mouthfuls.
“Uh-huh.” Ida-May nodded.
“I don’t want to keep him from his bed. Is there somewhere else I can sleep?”
“We only got the two rooms.” Ida-May told him, brusquely, “Ely’ll be fine on the couch ‘til yer on your feet.”
“Thank you.” said Heyes, “You’ve been very kind.”
Ida-May made no reply, as she spooned the last of the stew into his mouth and then, picking up the mug of coffee, she placed her hand behind his head to raise him up enough to drink it. Heyes groaned, loudly, as pain shot through his head at the movement.
He took a few sips of the coffee before laying his head back down on the pillow.
“If there’s anything I can do to repay you… when I’m back on my feet, I’d be glad to. Just let me know. ” he muttered, closing his eye as dizziness engulfed him, making the room spin about him.
“I’ll think on it.” Ida-May picked up the bowl and mug and left the room, a small smile on her face.
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