She was so still, I thought she was dead.
“She is in a coma,” the doctor said. “There was a commotion to the brain and for some reason she wound up like this. The bullet grazed her head and then her head hit the floor. We know little about the working of the brain.”
“Will she come out of this?” I asked softly.
He was slow to answer. “I don’t know. From what I’ve read it could last for days or for years. I’m going to leave you alone with her for a while. You stay seated and don’t be moving around. Talk to her; we don’t know but she might be able to hear you.”
With that the doctor and nurse left the room. Molly looked so helpless and frail laying there, not moving. I was scared; everything was out of my control, out of my hands. I started talking to her and praying to the Lord.
I didn’t stay seated in the chair, but went to my knees and put my hand on her arm. My world was laying there and I was helpless. I must have fallen asleep, and was wakened by the movement of a hand on my head. I thought it must be the nurse coming in to check on me, but then I heard “Miles,” spoken very faintly.
Jerking up my head, I looked at her. “Molly! Praise be to the Lord! You’re alive! You’re awake!”
The nurse must have heard my commotion for she came rushing into the room. “Easy, Mr. Forrest. Don’t touch her head. I’ll run for the doctor.”
I stayed on my knees and held her hand. Her eyes were partially opened and she whispered, “You’re all right? I was so scared when I saw you fall after being shot.” Then her eye-lids flickered.
“Excuse me,” the doctor had come in. “I need to get to her.”
I didn’t want to leave her side; reluctantly I got up and sat in the chair. He looked at her then opened her eye-lids to peer in them holding a candle in his hand.
“She actually talk to you?” he questioned.
“Yes.”
He looked down and saw that she was holding my hand and smiled. “Keep talking to her, but don’t try to waken her. She’ll come around in her own good time.”
It must have been a couple of hours later, I was still there, holding her hand, when I heard. “I’m thirsty.”
The nurse happened to be in the room. “Oh, Molly dear, just a second and I’ll bring you some water.”
We didn’t want to move her head, so the nurse spooned water into her mouth. She couldn’t seem to get enough. “Miles,” she actually turned her head some to look at me, “what happened?”
“Billy Denton shot you,” I replied.
“Billy? Why would he shoot me? And you, I saw he shot you and I remember you falling; you fired your shotgun at Mr. Billington.”
I sat there, waiting for the doctor, and told her all that had happened. The doctor came in and examined her again. “Can you move your head?” he asked.
She moved it around slowly. “What I really have is a terrible headache, and I’m so thirsty.”
“I think she can sit up,” the nurse went and helped the doctor move Molly into a more upright position. “Can you hold the glass?” he asked.
Molly grasped the glass when the nurse gave it to her and quickly drank the water emptying the glass. “I hate to ask, but by chance, is there any hot tea available? I think I’d like something hot to sip on.”
“By the way, Mr. Forrest, we had to move Mr. Billington on down to Santa Fe. We don’t have the hospital here that can deal with his injuries. I was able to remove his leg, but there are more extensive injuries…well, most likely he won’t survive the trip.”
My mind was clearing. “What about his valise?”
“You’ll have to ask the sheriff,” he paused. “You need to let her rest.”
He helped me up and walked me down to my room. I was more exhausted than I thought. Laying down the next thing I heard was the sound of footsteps walking down the hallway; the sound of spurs. I looked around the room for my gun. It was on a table a few steps away from the bed. I was moving toward the table as the door to my room opened…