“I’m not sure he’s going to make it,” John heard Joseph say in the front room.
Who is Joseph talking about? Who is he talking to? What day is this?
“You shouldn’t talk so loud,” a voice scolded. “What if he hears you?”
“I wish that were true,” Joseph said, lowering his tone, “but I’m afraid he hasn’t been able to make much sense of any of us. The poor boy keeps asking for his father’s watch. We put it in his hands, but he never remembers that he’s got it. It’s a shame. Sometimes he recognizes me and sometimes he doesn’t.”
“Has anyone written his father to tell him of the situation?” the voice asked.
“We’ve been holding off, hoping John will pull through,” Joseph said. “His family has had so much tragedy in the past few years. We wanted to spare his father any unnecessary worry.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” the voice said.
“He’s in pretty rough shape,” Joseph said. “He’s been coughing a lot and has lost a fair amount of blood. We’ve been doing our best to keep him alive, but I don’t know. I just don’t know. It’s been a bad year. Prayers are all we have left.”
Then John heard a little girl’s voice. He tried to identify it but couldn’t quite manage it. “If anyone can get better, John will.”
John? Why are they saying my name? What do they mean that prayers are all they have left? What’s going on? They’re talking about me! I’m the one who’s ill, the one they don’t think will live. These voices are speaking about my survival!
“Yes, Annie,” Joseph said, you’re right. If anyone can pull through, it’s John. So don’t worry.”
Annie ...? Now it all makes sense. I remember. I’m sick with consumption. It’s been going on for days, maybe weeks. The pain, the heat, the blood, the coughing. My mind is a blur and the days have all melted together. I’m so tired of being sick, tired of coughing, tired of blood, tired of lying in this bed ...
“If he takes a turn for the better, let me know. I’d like to see him.”
John recognized Miss Wells’s voice.
“Certainly,” Joseph said. “We’ll keep you informed. And, of course, we’ll be sure to call for you if he improves.”
John heard the front door close as someone, obviously Miss Wells, left. A few moments later Joseph walked into his bedroom, parted the curtains, and asked, not really expecting an answer, “John, how are you today?”
“Joseph,” John whispered, “please tell me this terrible affliction is over with!”
Joseph’s face split into a grin. “Ah, lad, it’s good to hear your voice. You look a great deal better today, boy. I won’t lie to you. It’s been touch and go these many days. You’re very fortunate to be talking this morning. Very fortunate indeed. You’ve had Mrs. Manuel running off her feet tending to you. She’s obviously a good nurse, though.”
John smiled weakly, “If nothing else, at least I know where I am today. I guess that’s a start.”
“Yes, that’s certainly a good sign.”
“How long have I been in bed? It feels like forever.”
“It’s been several weeks now. But I must say, you really are looking much better this morning.”
Weeks in bed! Had Joseph finished the last touches on the schooner himself? And what about Mishbee? John felt a wave of panic! He had worked so hard to communicate with twigs and gestures and now he had missed his meeting with Mishbee. Had she come to the pond weeks ago only to discover his failure to show up?
John had to do something. He couldn’t afford to lie in bed one second longer. He had to find Mishbee again.
“Well, then, I have to get up now,” he announced to Joseph. “I have to go on a trip. Where’s my watch?” He fumbled around, searching for his precious timepiece.
Joseph shook his head. “It’s right here beside the bed. You’ve been asking for it all during your illness.” He laughed. “I don’t think you’ll be going on any trips today. In fact, you won’t be going anywhere for at least a couple of more weeks. You’re lucky to be alive, and if you want to stay that way, you have to rest. No trips for you just now, my boy.”
At that moment Elizabeth strode into the room. “Trips? My goodness, John. You and your trips. When will you ever learn?”
Surrendering weakly to this wise advice, John lay back in bed. It was true. He was in no shape to travel. He had missed Mishbee already, and whether he showed up today or two weeks from now, she probably wouldn’t be there, anyway.
John managed to sit up for a few minutes that day and was able to eat a little. For the most part, though, he stared out the window at the ocean for long periods of time, which was all he had the strength to do. Each day, however, he became a little stronger. He began walking around the house somewhat and helped with chores as much as possible. Eventually, he started to feel guilty about not spending time at the shipyard, even though he knew Joseph could easily survive a few weeks without his help.
Several days later he heard a familiar voice. “John, John, look what I brought you.” Young Annie came bounding in with a fistful of flowers to put on the table beside John’s bed.
“Well, look who’s here,” John said, pleased.
“It’s me.”
“A ray of sunshine,” John said, smiling.
Annie laughed at his comment. “See these flowers, John? They’re everlasting daisies. And these plants here, they’re called boy’s love. I love the smell of boy’s love.” She stuck her face in the middle of the fragrant plants and inhaled deeply. The fresh, woody aroma filled the room.
“So they are, Annie. What have you been up to these past few weeks? Have you been a help at home?”
“Of course! I’m always a help. I’ve been working in the garden with my sister, and I’m still busy picking raspberries. Here, I brought you some. My father says that berries always help keep your strength up.”
“Why, thank you very much. Just put them with the flowers.”
Annie dumped a heap of runny raspberries on the table. John looked at the unappetizing pile and figured he would dispose of them when she left.
“You scared me, John. I overheard my father and one of his friends talking about you one night. They said you were as good as dead. But they were wrong, weren’t they?”
“Yes, Annie. Luckily for me, they were wrong.”
She grinned impishly. “Do you think you could take me out in your boat when you get better?”
“Maybe in a while. We’ll have to see about that, missy.”
Their conversation was interrupted by another familiar voice. “Why, John, you’re looking good this morning,” Allen said heartily as he entered the bedroom. “It’s so good to see you talking again.” Allen shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then cleared his throat. “I must say, you certainly keep giving me the frights, this consumption business being one of them, of course. But I’ll never forget that time when I lost you in the bush, either. I thought you’d been killed by one of those savages.”
Allen was referring to the time John first met Mishbee. Suddenly, John was angry. How could his friend say this? How dare he? John took as deep a breath as he possibly could without hurting himself and bit his tongue. Allen had lost a brother to the Red Indians. He just didn’t know any better. But even with that knowledge, John’s anger wouldn’t go away. Mishbee wasn’t a savage. She was a person — a living, breathing person. Emotion welled up uncontrollably within his weak body.
“Allen,” John began tactfully, “I’m still very tired. Do you mind letting me get some rest now?”
“That’s the proper thing. You do that. Come on there, little Miss Annie. We’ll come back another day. Get yourself better now, John.”
It was good to see Annie and Allen, but John was relieved that he didn’t have to listen to Allen anymore. Seeing that he wouldn’t be building any schooners today or travelling to look for Mishbee, John decided to write a letter to his sister:
To my dearest sister,
I hope all is well with you. I deeply regret that I couldn’t attend your wedding but know you were a radiant bride, one a brother would be especially proud of. I’m relieved that you found someone as wonderful as George. He’s a good man, and I know he’ll be good to my big sister. Please give him my best.
I miss you, Ruth. Much has happened to me in the past few weeks, and I don’t know where to begin. I must say that I’m pleased to be alive. Unfortunately, I became plagued with consumption. If it hadn’t been for the dear attentions of Mrs. Manuel, I probably wouldn’t have survived the ordeal. So many people have fallen victim to this dreadful disease on this island. It is so hard to keep death’s hand from your door.
It looks as though I’m on the mend now. Bed rest is still required in order for my lungs to heal fully. I’ll miss being at the shipyard working on the schooners. But there will be time enough for that in the near future.
I’ve met many interesting people in this new land. Some I’ve told you about and others I choose to keep secret. But there is one thing I’ve learned. There is misunderstanding and intolerance in both the New and the Old Worlds. This infirmity knows no boundary, and I feel the effects of it even here.
I truly hope to come home to visit next year. The sights and sounds of England elude me, and that causes me sadness. Give my regards to Father.
Affectionately,
John
John read over his letter one more time, folded it, then sealed it in an envelope. Soon this correspondence would cross the vast ocean and be read by his loving sister, a thought that cheered him up greatly.