Page 43 of His Wounded Heart

“I’ll be gentle with him. But we don’t know what the situation is, and I’m not letting you go in until I’ve checked things out, so you stay here.”

I pull out my pistol and she squeaks. “Put that away,” she yelps.

“Stay outside,” I order.

I take two steps into the house, and call out their names. Nothing. Dammit, it is just as cold in the house as it is outside.

The kitchen is a mess. I see three cans of soup that are partially opened, and a soup pan that’s tipped over with what looks like pea soup dripping onto the floor. But there isn’t a trace of a fire in the fireplace. I touch the ashes, and they’re stone cold.

“Mr. and Mrs. Randolph, I’m a friend of Bernie Faulks. He sent me to check on you. Are you in the bedroom? Do you need help? Can I come in?”

“Bernie sent you?” a man’s voice calls out weakly.

“Yes. Do you need help?”

“It’s my wife. Violet. I think she needs help.”

I go to the half-opened bedroom door and looked in. The couple are in bed together. I think all the blankets in Sevier County are on top of them. The man is sitting up against the headboard with the silver-haired woman’s head resting against his chest. Even from where I’m standing I can hear her labored breathing. I put my pistol back in my pocket.

“How long has she been like this Luther?”

He looks up at me with rheumy eyes. “A long time.”

Damn, he is totally out of it. Violet must do all of the caretaking.

She coughs and her entire body shakes. Luther puts his hand over her mouth. “Don’t cough Violet. You need to stop coughing.”

“Luther, I need you to get her some water, can you do that?” I ask.

He gives me a vacant stare.

“Luther,” I say louder. “Can you get some water for Violet?”

Trenda touches my waist. “Simon, I can get the water.”

I turn my head a little so I can look at her. “First, you should have stayed where I put you, but now that you’re here, I need Luther to leave the room so I can check on Violet,” I whisper.

Trenda moves past me and goes to Luther.

“Luther, do you remember me? I’m Trenda Avery.”

“Wanda?”

“No, Sir. I’m her daughter Trenda. Can you help me make soup for Violet?” She holds out her hand for him to take it.

He shakes his head and burrows closer to his wife. “I don’t like Wanda.”

Trenda crouches down next to the bed. “I’m Trenda. I’m a friend of Bernie’s. I made cookies and he brought them to you, remember?”

I watch as Luther focuses on her. “You have cookies?”

Trenda turns to me, a question in her eye. I nod.

“Yes, we brought cookies. I need you to come out in the parlor and I’ll get you some cookies, okay?”

He takes her hand and climbs out of bed. He is wearing a pair of long johns.

“Do you have a coat, Luther?”