Chapter Text
Thomas Barkley gripped his boy's left arm and levered him upright again after having spent a few intense and unpleasant minutes over Tom's knee. The man then rose to his own feet, shaking out the sting in his right hand a bit. He studied his upset fifteen-year-old, manfully trying to catch his breath. The boy was clearly embarrassed that he hadn't been able to control either his tears or his yelps, and now looked so young and forlorn in his cotton nightshirt and bare feet.
Tom sighed, dug out his handkerchief and handed it to the boy. "Settle down, son," he said quietly. "Take a few good, deep breaths."
"… S-sorry…" The boy hiccupped, wincing in discomfort, fighting to regain his self-control. The youngster was no stranger to pain; Lord knows he'd been on the receiving end of enough of it in his short life, and had taken beatings far worse than this without giving anyone the satisfaction of seeing him cry. But this time... this time, he didn't know why, but he hadn't been able to distance himself emotionally from what was happening. That fact had both surprised and upset him...badly. He couldn't understand it; he'd fought hard for years to keep from ever showing weakness or fear as he knew, from painful experience, it created the potential for repeated attacks. He couldn't understand why this confrontation with this man had thrown him so badly? Did this man's approval really mean so much to him?
He tried to look up respectfully at his father, but an unexpected wave of fiery throbbing made him strangle a groan and squeeze his eyes shut, shifting his feet to try to ease the fierce sting. The old bear sure has a good right arm ... boy howdy, this hurts! He struggled to neither slip into a fresh round of tears nor give in and rub his throbbing hind end; doing either would destroy his pride, utterly and completely.
Tom waited patiently as the youngster settled himself, gravely accepted back the now-damp handkerchief, then put his hands gently on the boy's shoulders.
"Are you prepared to listen to me now, Heath?"
Sorrowfully, the boy sniffed hard and nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Good. Sit down." Tom firmly gestured toward the edge of the bed, making Heath nearly groan in dismay. But he obeyed, wincing and fidgeting, as Tom himself turned his chair, sat down and faced his boy. "We're going to have a meeting of the minds, young fella, and forge a strong connection between this," he said firmly, tapping Heath's forehead, "and this," he intoned, reaching around and gently patting the boy's hip, "so that the next time you get it into your head to disobey me, you'll remember exactly what the consequences are and how they feel. Are we clear?"
Glumly, Heath nodded.
"Now, then. Can you tell me why I punished you, Heath?"
The boy swallowed, flushing. "I… I reckon…" uneasily the boy looked at his father, "because I disobeyed the rule of not taking off without telling anybody."
Tom nodded. "Yes, that's correct, your disobedience is one of the reasons," he agreed calmly. "What else?"
Heath fidgeted uncomfortably. "I reckon borrowing Sheik without askin' is on that list, too," he muttered softly, thinking of the Arabian stallion who'd run like the wind for him.
"Yes, that's true as well. You outright defied me after I told you that you were too young and too inexperienced to handle Sheik without supervision," Tom nodded. Apparently, I was wrong on that account, but for the moment, let's just not even go there… "What else?"
Golly, but it sure is hard to think straight when your backside's on fire. Confused and hurting, Heath looked at his father. "I..I…" He shrugged, miserably.
"How do you think your stepmother and I felt when we didn't know where you were for three long days?" Tom demanded.
Oh. Heath sighed, studying his toes. "Mrs. Bar… I mean, Mother said you were worried."
"Worried doesn't even come close," Tom said sternly. He reached out and using his first two fingers, he tipped the youngster's chin up. When the blue eyes looked away, he firmly used one of those fingers to tap the boy's chin and made Heath look at him. "We were scared, Heath. What you did was thoughtless and disrespectful to the family that loves you. Anything could have happened to you… you could have been lost, or hurt, in trouble, hungry, sick, scared… anything could have happened to you!" He released the youngster's chin, but continued to gaze at him sternly.
Uneasily, the boy tugged on an ear, feeling wretched. I didn't think they'd really miss me that bad… Heath gulped hard against the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I never meant for you or Mrs. Barkley to be…. " Heath swallowed helplessly, angry at himself to feel his eyes welling again with frustrated tears. "I just.. I… "
Tom frowned a little, sensing that there was something more going on here than just disobedience or adolescent cussedness. And there's that 'Mrs. Barkley,' again. Damn, I thought we'd finally got past that.
Tom thought about the difficult session that afternoon in his study when Heath finally turned up again after being missing. The boy had been taciturn and quiet, far more than usual, for several days, and obviously not sleeping well. Then, three mornings ago Nick had stormed into the house before breakfast, demanding at the top of his lungs to know where both Heath and Sheik were.
At first, Victoria and Tom feared the youngster had run away from home… the home that had only been his for a few months, since his mother had died the previous fall. Nick and Tom, and a day later Jarrod after having rushed home from San Francisco after receiving Victoria's frantic telegram, had scoured the countryside for the boy, with no luck. It had never occurred to Tom he might have gone back to Strawberry, the dying little mining town where his mother and Rachel Caufield, almost a second mother, were buried and where Hannah James, the kind but simple black woman who'd cared so dearly for Leah and her boy, still lived.
"He's not a thief, Tom, you know he isn't," she'd chided him when hot-headed Nick accused his younger half-brother of stealing the valuable animal. Victoria had wisely noted that most of the boy's belongings were still in his room. It certainly didn't look as though he'd bolted for good, Tom had worried, but if not, then where in tarnation was he?!
Once he'd finally come home, Tom's fear for his newest child finally gave way to relief that he was safe, and then to anger. Furious, he'd gripped him by the nape of the neck and marched him, wincing, into his study to stand before him in front of the fireplace. Heath had been just as reticent to share the 'whys' of his little escapade then as he was right now. The boy had stood straight and tall, tried to be polite and respectful, but stubbornly wouldn't budge to offer any explanations.
Victoria had hurried in having heard Heath's voice, checking him over to make sure he was all right, until Tom had sternly barked at her to 'sit down, Vic, and stop spoiling him! He's not hurt… not yet, at least!'
"I'll tell you, boy, I'm getting damned sick and tired of trying to convince you that you're as much our son as Jarrod, or Nick or Gene. Well, since you're plainly begging for proof, I'm going to give it to you, in no uncertain terms!"
As Tom gazed now down at Heath, he thought of Victoria's words earlier.
After Tom had sternly sent Heath to his room to change into his nightshirt and wait there for his punishment, Victoria had reminded him that this young one was very different from his other four…
"Remember, he's not one to talk through his problems, like Jarrod, or shout and blow off steam like Nick. He's not even going to cry or chatter his way through it like either Audra or Gene," she'd said seriously. "You're going to have be patient and let him feel safe enough to share with you. I know that's hard for you, Tom, but if you don't, you'll never get anywhere with Heath. We'll lose him."
Now, up here in his room, the boy's unhappiness was closer to the surface, and Tom could tell the roots of all of this signaled something more, something deeper than just being upset from his punishment or feeling guilty for his disobedience. Tom tipped his head to the side for a moment, watching Heath stare stubbornly at the floor and fidget, unable to find a comfortable position on his sore tail.
Tom sighed, glancing at the clock on the mantel, thinking: he and Heath had to come to an understanding, so like it or not, he was in this for the long haul. Tom nodded firmly to himself, his decision made. "Here," he said, getting up from his chair, "turn over on your belly, son."
Startled, Heath's head snapped up and he looked up at his father. "Huh? What?" he stammered, a little scared, wondering what was going to happen to him now.
"Stretch out on your belly," Tom said firmly, pulling the chair around so that he could sit beside his son, and talk to him. Plunking a pillow down next to his son's head, he ordered. "And put your head down here."
Uneasily, Heath did as he was told, sliding his arms under his pillow, and resting his head, his muscles tight and rigid, though he was grateful as all get out to take the pressure off his aching backside.
Tom leaned back and crossed his legs, taking out his pipe, and going through the ritual of getting it filled and lit. Through it all, Heath eyed him warily, wondering what was coming next. Once the pipe was going, Tom leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, thinking.
"Sounds to me like there's more going on here than you've shared with your mother and me," Tom finally said softly. "We can't help you, son, if you don't tell us what's going on in that noggin of yours." The man reached out stroked his son's blond hair, so much like his own had been at that age. "Talk to me, Heath. Tell me why you felt so strongly that you had to go to Strawberry. We are gonna have to start trusting each other, son."
Heath shrugged. "I just…" he swallowed and closed his eyes, hesitating.
But Tom, for once in his life, was patient and just waited quietly. After a few moments, he reached over and gently rubbed his boy's tight shoulder. He could feel the youngster finally, slowly, begin to relax a little. He could almost see the wheels turning in Heath's mind as he struggled with whether or not to share what was troubling him so, and what it was that could have pushed this normally polite and well-behaved boy to be 'defiant, disobedient and disrespectful,' something that all of the Barkley children had been taught were the big punishable offenses. Learning how Tom and Victoria had raised their children to understand the nuances of what Jarrod had, years ago, dubbed "The Three D's" was still very new to Heath: he needed some help in navigating the shoals and eddies of how this family worked, because Heath was by no means a disrespectful youngster - his mother would never have permitted it! He was trying so hard to understand what was expected of him and how to find his place in this family and to go suddenly from only child to middle child of five had been hard. Still was.
"I won't do it again, sir, I promise," Heath muttered softly, eyes closed, resting his forehead on the pillow… anything to get out of having to talk about it.
Tom smiled to himself and allowed that smile to be heard in his voice. "Well, I certainly hope not, because if you ever did, I'd have to teach you what my belt, and not just my hand, feels like connecting with your bare backside. I don't know about you, but I'd rather not have to do that. Trust me, you wouldn't enjoy it."
Heath squirmed uncomfortably. "I reckon seein' as how I didn't much enjoy your hand, I ain't in no hurry to have a lesson from you and a strap," Heath declared softly, his voice heartfelt. "But I really do promise. I won't ever take off again without permission, or lettin' someone know, honest. You punished me; can't we just move on now?" Hopeful eyes glanced sideways at his father.
"Nope," Tom answered the boy, tenderly, but shaking his head. "Help me understand why it happened this time."
Struggling, Heath sighed in frustration. He just ain't gonna let it go! "I already talked about it to Nick," he muttered a little crossly, levering himself up on his elbows, only to be met with Tom's strong hand on the back of his head, gently pushing him back down.
Nick?! Good Lord, of all the least likely sob sisters! Tom almost chuckled. "Stay put, young man, and lay your head back down. We're not finished here," he said calmly but firmly. "So, you talked about it with your older brother. How did that come about?"
Stubbornly, Heath squeezed shut his eyes, clamping his mouth shut. After a few minutes of silent standoff, Tom reached over to gently but firmly pat Heath's rear end, making the boy suck in air between his teeth and squirm uncomfortably. "Heath Morgan Barkley, you're a very stubborn and determined young fella. It might interest you to know you get that trait from me. So, trust me, boy: you will never be able to wait me out. I wrote the book on Barkley stubborn." Once he felt sure that Heath had got the message, Tom leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, waiting patiently and puffing on his pipe.
He smiled slightly to finally hear a frustrated sigh.
"Nick gets t'shoutin' at me and I get mad," Heath admitted, reluctantly. "Then I end up saying more than I prob'ly should. But... well, we finally got some things straightened out between us."
Ah…. Makes sense, thought Tom, smiling to himself. Communication through challenge... pure Nick Barkley. "So… Nick found the right words to get your dander up, eh?"
"Yes, sir," Heath grunted, grudgingly.
"Well, then," said Tom, kindly, "if you've managed to share with your big brother what was behind this slip in your behavior and he understood…?" With a slight questioning tone of voice, Tom was able to query whether or not Nick had, indeed, been understanding. Heath sighed and nodded. "Good, I'm glad to hear it. Well then, can't you trust that I would understand, too, son? I promise to listen." He reached over and rubbed his son's back gently for a moment. "I will always listen, Heath. Can't say there won't be times I'll be angry with you, or the choices you've made, but I'll always listen and hear your side."
Heath sighed again, unhappily, and gave in. "I was… havin' nightmares," he said softly. Tom had to stay very quiet and listen intently.
"I kept having bad dreams about … about Hannah," the boy whispered. "I was … so scared somethin' was wrong. I can't explain it, but… well, I was downright sure somethin' bad was goin' on… that she was hurt, or in trouble." He swallowed hard, then nervously peered sideways at Tom. "Sheik's the fastest on the ranch. I just borrowed him to check on her and make sure…she…." He swallowed, unable to continue.
Tom's heart ached for the boy, finally seeing where this had all come from. Oh, Heath… my poor child…
"I just had to be sure she was all right," the boy said stubbornly, sniffling and drawing the sleeve of his nightshirt across his eyes.
"I think I can understand that," said Tom gently. "And was she?"
"Yes, sir," he answered softly, glancing at his father. First Nick, and now Father... both sound like they really cared. "She was fine. And, boy howdy, she sure gave me what-for about leavin' without telling nobody where I went." He sighed. Grownups sure seemed to all be pretty much cut from the same cloth, whether rich or poor, black or white.
Tom smiled to himself; he remembered Hannah. A kinder, gentler soul never existed; the boy must've really riled her to earn that kind of response! "I think you might have been… well, might have just been missing her real bad, son," said Tom gently, leaning forward again, hunkering over so that he was a bit closer to his son's head. "Feeling a bit homesick, perhaps."
Heath grunted. "That's what Nick said," he muttered into his pillow.
Tom chuckled. "Well, once in a great while, your pigheaded older brother does get it right," he smiled. He tipped his head to the side, looking down at his middle child. "But you put yourself through a lot of meaningless pain, son, by not coming to me or to Victoria."
Heath rolled his head a little and looked up at his father. "Sir?"
"Your stepmother and I love you, Heath," he said seriously, squeezing his son's shoulder gently. "We would never, ever, not allow you see Hannah if you felt a strong need to, you know that, don't you?"
Heath shrugged and shifted uncomfortably again. "Nick says I should just forget about Strawberry."
Tom shook his head. "Nicholas is lucky to have never had something like Strawberry as part of his history," said Tom calmly. "You're not Nick. And he isn't you. Heath, Hannah is dearly important to you, and I would no sooner ask you to forget her than I would ask you to forget your mother. I want you to be able to feel as though you can talk about them. Rachel, too."
Heath tried to roll onto his back, winced, immediately thought better of it and rolled back onto his stomach again. "I don't want to hurt… her," he finally said, very softly.
"Who?" Tom frowned, then dawn broke. "You mean Victoria?"
The youngster nodded almost imperceptibly.
"Son, you won't hurt her by remembering your mama. Your stepmother's got a loving heart as big as this valley. She would never, ever want or expect you to forget your mama." Tom patted the boy's shoulder tenderly again. "And she loves you dearly, son," he said very softly. "In her mind, you're her child, just as much as the others. She's told you that, hasn't she?"
Heath nodded, and was quiet for a moment, thinking all of this over.
Tom wondered if they'd got as far as they were going to get tonight. For the most part, he was pleased with how this conversation had traveled thus far, and sat back, satisfied, finishing his pipe.
Then Heath broadsided him.
"Father… why didn't you ever go back?" Those blue eyes, the same shade of blue as Audra's…as Jarrod's… the exact shade of his own. Those blue eyes that observed everything going on around him, gathering information, were staring right into his own, steadfast, inexorable...giving no quarter.
Tom's breath hitched in his chest, and he closed his eyes. Well, damn, Vic, you were right… this one is a thinker…
"Oh, Heath…" Tom rubbed his forehead, then looked at him, at Leah's boy. He sighed and gently leaned down to kiss his son's head, resting his forehead for a moment against the boy's hair. "This is real hard for me… " he admitted, then shook his head. Squaring his shoulders, Tom figured that if anyone beyond his beloved Victoria deserved to know, it was this boy. He had to try. If you want him to be honest with you, you got to be the same with him, Barkley…
"I… Well, you know I dearly love Victoria, and your brothers and sister."
The boy said nothing but nodded.
"Well, Victoria and I had been through a very sad time. She had a miscarriage… you know, lost a baby before it was born, and neither of us really knew how to handle it. Instead of leaning on each other for comfort, we… oh I don't know, we just took our sadness and our pain and our anger out on each other and for a while we drifted apart. I don't know, and I swear to God I hope I never have to find out, if losing a child that's been born to you is much different, but losing a child before there's any promise of who they would be, what their little personality would be like… " Tom's voice broke, and Heath saw Father shudder and waited, listening with compassion.
Tom sighed, and leaned forward again, arms on his thighs. "I've got no excuse, Heath. Your mother deserved better. She was a lovely, kind and gentle person. And I was hurting, bad." He swallowed. "She.. well, she just deserved better than that, is all. I loved her… for herself. Not the way I love Victoria, but I loved her as herself, as Leah, a kind, loving soul. For that short time, I was able to forget my pain and my responsibilities, and just… be." Tom swallowed hard, remembering that bittersweet, awful, magical time.
The room was darkening now as evening began to fall, and Heath angled himself to look up at the way the lamplight danced across his father's face. Without the full light, in shadows like this, Heath felt as though his father looked… I dunno…younger, maybe? Maybe the way Mama saw him all those years ago… "I reckon I can understand, Father," he said softly. "People sometimes just don't think things through when they're hurtin'."
Tom smiled sadly. "Truer words were never spoken, son."
Heath turned on his side, propping his head up on his hand, thinking.
Tom shook his head, and sighed, shrugging his shoulders. "But I'd made a promise, a vow, and I had two small boys to go home to, as well as a wife I loved. I had to stop being selfish and grow up, face some hard truths about my own stubborn pride."
Thomas Barkley hauled in a deep breath, then, and faced his son squarely, humbled and ashamed. "I had absolutely no idea about you, son. None. If I had ever gone back…" Tom closed his eyes, shook his head and sighed deeply again. "I'm so sorry for the pain I caused her, and you."
Heath studied him then, and a hard lump that had lived in his heart for many years shifted a bit. Took courage to do that, the youngster thought. Well, whatever else he might be, he ain't no coward.
Tom looked down at his son, noting the troubled look on the boy's face. "You need a haircut," he observed, pushing back Heath's hair once again, causing the boy to gaze up at him with those beautiful eyes as blue as a summer sky. God, almighty, but the good Lord does have a wicked sense of humor… leave it to this one to look the most like me, he thought, shaking his head in wonder. "You have to believe me when I say if I'd known you existed, Heath, I'd never have left you or your mother to suffer. I can't say I know exactly what I could have done that wouldn't have caused her pain, but I would never…." He choked slightly, and shrugged again, helplessly.
"Caused her pain?" Heath asked, frowning, not understanding.
Tom smiled sadly at his boy. "If I'd known you existed, son, do you really think I could have ever left you in Strawberry? I could never have not brought you here to live with your brothers and sister. And what do you think that would have done to Leah?"
Startled, Heath pondered that, his blond brows furrowed in thought.
"We can't go back and change the past, Heath," Tom said finally. "All we can do is trust that the good Lord brought us together now for a reason. I love you very much. So do Jarrod, Nick, Audra and Gene… and Victoria. You're a Barkley, as much a part of this family as any of the rest. As much my son as the rest of 'em. I don't know what else I have to do to make that plain. Please, son…let us love you."
Heath nodded, thoughtfully. Then he managed that crooked little smile, the smile that lit up any room he was in… Tom's own smile. And Tom felt his heart melt as he saw Heath finally fully relax.
"Shove over," his father said gruffly, shooing Heath over a bit and climbing onto the bed with him, one arm behind his head and the other around his son's shoulders.
For a long time, Tom and Heath were silent, Heath on his side resting his head on his father's shoulder, listening to that strong heartbeat, each of them thinking about the sweet, gentle woman with the strong faith, big heart and tender touch. Together, they stared out the window at the orange, pink and gold sunset until, finally, Heath fell asleep.
He was safe, and he was home.