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He raised his eyes and lowered them again almost before she could see them. But she got a glimpse, long enough to note the indifference. He didn’t even care. That was the bitterest thing of all.
“He’s a Duggan.” The elder man pushed away the plate, the food barely touched. “I’m done.”
“Then I’ll see to your dressing.” She removed the plate, setting it by the door, where Mercy watched, her eyes flashing with excitement.
Sybil lowered the gray blanket to reveal a wound in the man’s left side. His belly was indeed badly swollen. The dressings Linette had placed there a short time ago were blood soaked. Sybil removed them gingerly. Blood oozed from the round hole. She quickly placed pads of clean dressing on it and kept her hand firmly pressed to the area.
But warm moisture soon reached her palm.
“It’s not good, is it?” Mr. Duggan said.
Her face must have given away her distress.
When she didn’t answer, he asked another question. “How long do you think I have?” He turned to his son. “Brand?”
For the first time since he’d thanked her for the food she’d brought, Brand spoke. “Pa, you’re tough. A little gunshot ain’t going to finish you.”
Pa’s smile was regretful, knowing. “Boy, it ain’t the bullet that will do me in. It’s the rest.” He patted his distended stomach. “Like Cyrus says, we eat well ’nough. But still I lose weight. Haven’t hardly got energy enough to spit.” He closed his eyes as if too weary to continue.
Brand had been eating his food, both hands holding the fork and going from plate to mouth. Now he shoved away the plate. “Pa, you should stop this life.”
“Son, this life is gonna stop me.”
Brand leaned forward, ignoring the others in the room. “Pa, repent for your sins. Make your peace with God.”
“You figure God would forgive an old outlaw like me?”
“God’s no respecter of persons.”
Sybil observed the pair while pressing her hand to the wound in the hopes of stopping the bleeding. She didn’t want to give Mr. Duggan hope. But she knew God offered hope and mercy and forgiveness. The knowledge twisted through her. Sometimes she didn’t understand God’s mercy. It was so undeserved.
Then her heart smote her. She might not be an outlaw, but she didn’t deserve God’s mercy any more than they.
Mr. Duggan shifted his gaze to her. “Is that right, miss? Do you think He’ll forgive me after all I done?”
Sybil wanted to say he would burn in hell, but didn’t God say He forgives all sins? Even the sinner on the cross beside Him? She had to answer Brand’s father honestly despite her reluctance.
“Mr. Duggan, I believe God forgives. Didn’t He say, ‘Father, forgive them?’ about the men who killed him?” Now, why had she added that?
Mr. Duggan closed his eyes. “I’ll think on it.”
“Pa!” Brand surged to his feet and leaned over the bed, bringing Slim crashing to his feet.
Brand darted a glance at the foreman, then concentrated on his father. “Pa, isn’t that what you always told Ma? And then you continued on with your outlawing. Don’t do it again.”
The older man shifted his gaze to Sybil. “Will God forgive my son, too?”
She allowed her gaze to rest on Brand, whose attention was riveted on his father, then she drew her attention back to his pa. “God is merciful.” More than she thought any of them deserved.
“You be sure and tell him.” The older man closed his eyes.
“Pa.” Brand shook him. “Don’t keep putting it off.”
But the old man did not open his eyes.
“He’s sleeping,” Sybil said.
Brand sank back in his chair, his hands hanging between his knees, his head bent. “He’s getting weaker. I fear...” He didn’t finish.
She applied a fresh dressing to the wound and pulled the blanket over Mr. Duggan, then gathered up the bandages and dishes and headed for the door. Mercy joined her as she left the room.
Sybil had hoped for an excuse from Brand for his behavior, an explanation...something that made sense. She hadn’t found it. Perhaps because there wasn’t one.
