Chapter Seven

Donovan wasn't sure how long he spent in feverish dreams. Sometimes he was a child running through city streets and sometimes he was with the Guard putting down a food riot or raiding a rich man's home. Sometimes he dreamed he was wandering the desert. There were moments of pain, when it seemed people were cutting and poking him. Other times he imagined an old woman sat by his side, murmuring to herself as she counted off the rows on her knitting. Through it all, hands held various drinks to his lips, some sweet, some bitter, some simply foul.

Finally there came a day when the lights didn't jump and shimmer, and noises weren't always one room over. A vague sweet smell hung in the air, accompanied by a soft rustling that made him open his eyes slowly, wary of what he might see. It was Amalia, stripping the shucks from ears of corn and making ristras by the light of an oil lamp. Donovan was aware that time had passed, but wasn't sure how much. "Hi. I've been out of it awhile, I guess."

Amalia dropped the knotted ears of corn and placed the back of a hand on his forehead. Her eyebrows flickered but she gave no other sign of emotion. "You're fever is gone. Are you really conscious this time or are you going to start babbling again about shooting hoarders?"

Donovan sank into the pillows, not particularly penitent, but embarrassed that he had worried his benefactors. "Sorry. I had the strangest dreams."

"You sure did." She tossed her half-string of corn into a basket with the unshucked ears. "I'll get Carina. She'll be glad to know her patient is coherent again."

It was a long while before Donovan heard Carina's light footsteps in the hall. She burst into the room, carrying an electric lantern which she set on the table by the oil lamp, brightening the area by the bed, but making the shadows in the corners even darker and crazier than they had been before. “Are you back with us now?"

"I guess so," he answered as she pulled down the quilt and ran her hands over his bandaged shoulder, then over his thigh.

Carina sat in Amalia's vacated chair. "Do you have any idea how sick you were? Your wounds got infected. Septicemia set in. Blood poisoning. Left untreated, it would've killed you."

"What did you do?"

"I traded for some antibiotics from the reservation. They can sometimes get things the towns can't, and as a veterinarian, I'm allowed to buy or barter for medicines, when they're available."

"Thank you. I know you could've traded for something a lot more valuable."

"What's more valuable than a friend and farm hand?"

He smiled shyly. "I don't know how good I'll be at farming."

"It takes a long time to really understand your land and animals, but Amalia and I will teach you. That is, if you still want to learn."

"I do," Donovan said, picking at the quilt. "Amalia would probably prefer I not bother her, though."

"I wouldn't be too sure of anything with her. That tough girl act is how she keeps from getting hurt again. Just because she doesn't want you to get close doesn't mean she doesn't care. She saved your life."

Donovan frowned. "I thought you did. You're the one who got the medicine."

"Yes, but it was Amalia who made sure you didn't die before I got home. She cleaned your wounds and came to the reservation to find me. Grandma Peterson stayed with you."

"The old lady? I thought she was part of my dream."

"She might as well be. She spends most of her time in a back room on the Peterson ranch, knitting and making candles with the wax from their honeycombs, but Amalia talked her into coming over here. First time the poor thing has been off the Peterson ranch in over a year."

"I guess Amalia can be persuasive when she wants to be."

"You sound skeptical, but she's very talented. There was a time when she would've had a great future."

"So why—"

"So many things changed when the oil got expensive. I guess you've always lived like this, so how would you know?" She stood and stretched. "But here I am talking about serious things when you need to be resting. I’ll get you some water and your medicine."

"What about food?" Donovan hadn't realized he was hungry, but now that he said it, his stomach rumbled.

"Are you hungry? That's a good sign. I'll fix you something to eat."

"Thank you. And if Amalia is out there, tell her--"

"No. I think she'd rather believe you don't know what she did for you."

"I don't understand."

"She'd rather not receive any tribute for simply doing what's right. Trust me on this, okay?"

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