Rising from the midst of the happy hubbub, Michael stood and made his way to the water skin that hung from a branch near the entrance. He hesitated, however, when he saw Alex sitting against the wall, her arms trembling and her face ashen.
Caitlyn hovered over her mother. “Mom? Are you okay?”
Alex bared her teeth in an expression that was not a smile. “I’m f-fine.”
“You don’t look so good.”
Michael crossed to Alex’s side in broad strides, then knelt by her side and lifted her arm. The sheer lightness of the limb surprised him—she had lost an alarming amount of weight, though it was hard to tell how much in the long pants and long-sleeved shirt she wore.
He smiled up at Caitlyn. “Be a dear, would you, and see if you can find some fruit for your mum? I think I saw a bowl of bananas near the woman who has the twins.”
Alex glared at him. “I’m not hungry.”
“You need to eat.” Michael caught Caitlyn’s eye and gave her a “please humor me” look. When she reluctantly moved away, he frowned at Alexandra. “Why didn’t you tell me how far the symptoms had progressed?”
Her disease had not diminished the fire in her eyes. “I’m not your patient.”
“I’m not your doctor. I hoped I was your friend.”
She grimaced at the word. “Are we friends? Sometimes I think we are mortal combatants.”
“Then I must apologize for leading you astray.” Slipping his arm around her waist, Michael helped her to her feet. He had intended to walk her to her hammock, but once she found her balance, she pulled away.
“How long have you been experiencing tremors?”
She shrugged. “This is a fluke. The stress of the day, probably.” Tossing her head, she took a step forward, then swayed on her feet. “Oh.”
He caught her arms before she could fall. “Let me help you.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“You are the personification of stubbornness.” He spoke with a creditable attempt at coolness, marred only by the thickness in his voice. “You’re going to need my help and everyone else’s to get out of the jungle. Bancroft and I can fashion another travois if necessary, and—”
“Leave me alone, w-w-will you?” Her voice had gone ragged, torn by the threat of tears that now sprang to her eyes.
Floundering in an agonizing maelstrom of emotion, Michael pulled her into a darkened spot behind a hanging hammock, then placed his hands on her shoulders and forced her to look at him.
“Alex, I know you’re brave; Cait knows you’re brave. You don’t have to put on a front for either of us.”
Tears were rolling down her face, leaving dusty tracks over her sallow skin. “I . . . don’t . . . want her to know.”
“Good heavens, woman, the child is a budding genius! Do you really believe she can’t see how sick you are?”
He felt a sharp stab of regret as Alex’s face went slack.
“She knows, dear heart.” He whispered the words as he stroked her face, her tears burning his fingers. “We all know, and we want to help.”
“Oh, God!” She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, then slid between his hands to land in a heap on the ground. He followed her, kneeling in the dirt, and heard the words she spat into her hands: “There is no help for me. I’ve found no cure here.”
“Others did.” He waited, desperately hoping she would look up and understand the faith that lived in him and within these people. “Don’t you see? Caitlyn gave me the key this afternoon. She said God healed Shaman’s Wife, and in that moment I realized we were wrong to look for bacteria and proteins and biochemicals. We should have been looking for God.”
Her hands lowered then, but the look she gave him was anything but gentle.
“They were all cured,” he continued, pressing on before she could completely harden her heart, “when they climbed the tree in faith. The kapok didn’t hold the cure—God did. The tree is God’s gift to them, and their faith in him healed their diseases.”
“Faith?” she asked, her voice soft with disbelief. “And how on earth am I supposed to manufacture that?”