Fic: 'Stormalong' (7/8 - J/E - 'R')
Chapter seven, finally, and the last one will be up by Monday. Many thanks, to hereswith for her beta expertise.
~ Stormalong ~
Chapter One: Errand
Chapter Two: Disaster
Chapter Three: Shadows
Chapter Four: Persuasion
Chapter Five: Trouble
Chapter Six: Complications
Chapter Seven: Darkness
"We should take him to the church," Elizabeth said, in a hollow voice. Panic and pain assailed her, but she pushed them away, even as she held her son close. This was not the time.
Jamie squirmed. "I want to go back to the Pearl. Mama-"
"Can't," said Jack harshly, rising. Elizabeth loosed Jamie and the boy turned to Jack, uncertainly. But Jack's face revealed what his voice did not, and he held out his hands. "Come along, lad." Jamie went to him, was lifted, and clung, monkey-like, whimpering something about the Pearl. Jack hushed him firmly, closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again and met Elizabeth's.
She rose, too, and nodded.
*
Jack carried Jamie all the long way to the church, and Elizabeth walked beside them, willing herself to calm. Barbossa, a thick, unwieldy featherbed over his shoulder, and Soeur Marguerite with a pile of clean blankets, were following behind. The bedding was from the captain's quarters on the Maid, a generosity that Elizabeth suspected had been inspired by a few words of Soeur Marguerite's.
Jamie was asleep when they reached the church, and Elizabeth thought it just as well. The building looked a place of fear in the harsh moonlight, shadows and stone blocking the stars. Inside was no better, the light of candles doing little to dispel the gloom, and occasional moans and other sounds of the afflicted disturbing the silence. The large, gruesomely detailed crucifix looming above the altar seemed ominous, not at all the comfort it was meant to be.
Jori came hurrying up to them. "Madame, not your son!"
"Yes," Elizabeth rasped. She clamped her teeth together.
"The alcove," said Jori, taking the little boy from Jack. Jamie did not wake, and Jori moved off, toward the place where Emile Pontchartrain had breathed his last. It was secluded, and quiet, and Elizabeth was grateful that it was available, that Jamie would be in a better situation than most, though she could not help wondering what had been the fate of the young woman who'd occupied it after Emile had passed. She didn't have the courage to ask just then, however.
There was an empty cot in the alcove. They quickly made up a soft bed, using the linens they'd brought.
Jori laid Jamie gently down, and Elizabeth's son stirred. Jori asked, "Do you have a nightshirt for him?" Barbossa pulled a bundle of worn linen from a capacious pocket, one of his own shirts. Jori nodded. "He'll be more comfortable in that. I'll go fetch a cup of the tisane. The sooner he begins taking it the more effective it will be."
Elizabeth winced, anticipating rebellion. Jamie had the finicky tastes of extreme youth at the best of times. He complained petulantly as they got him up, stripped him of his clothing and bundled him into the shirt, rolling the long sleeves up to his bony wrists, but then Jack sat down and pulled him onto his lap as Jori came back bearing the cup, and through much teasing and cajolery the two got Jamie to swallow nearly all of its contents. Everyone praised Jamie lavishly, and he managed a smile.
They tucked him in and he was soon asleep. Soeur Marguerite left with Jori to check on the other patients. Elizabeth laid a hand on Hector's arm. "Thank you."
He shrugged a shoulder. "I'll be back tomorrow. You'd best get some rest while ye can."
She nodded.
But though Jack found a mattress that wasn't in use, and there was a blanket to fold and use as a pillow and one to cover them as well, neither of them slept for a long time. They lay close and still, listening for any sound from Jamie. In the resulting silence, the accusing voices in Elizabeth's head were deafening. What did it matter that her motives had been pure? If she hadn't stayed, her son would still be safe at the Cove.
*
The following day was hard. Elizabeth and Jack took turns watching Jamie, and his condition grew worse by perceptible degrees. This was to be expected, as both Jori and Soeur Marguerite reminded her, but Elizabeth discovered by chance that two of the children Jamie had been playing with by the wharf had also taken ill and lay suffering in another part of the church. One of them had the same progression of symptoms as Jamie, but the other grew worse very rapidly and by late afternoon had lapsed into unconsciousness.
Elizabeth watched from the shadows as Father Anselm gave the child the last rites, but when the child's mother broke down, sobbing hysterically, Elizabeth drew back, sick with pity and dread. Then she heard a cry and, recognizing it as Jamie's, turned and saw him struggling vigorously to avoid the bitter cup Jack and Jori were trying to give him.
She had to get away, just for a few moments. That young mother could be herself, might well be herself in another day, or even hours. She hurried down the shadowed side aisle, ignoring greetings and calls for help alike, fairly running by the time she reached the church door, and slipping around the side of the edifice to take refuge in the garden-
Blinded by tears, she didn't see Barbossa until he'd caught her roughly by the shoulders. She cried out, startled and dismayed, and saw that he was not alone, Henri Pontchartrain stood there, too, looking horrified.
"Jamie?" Barbossa said sharply.
"No!" she managed to blurt, and then began to sob, and angrily push him away at the same time. Almost to her surprise, he let her go, but it was because Jack was there to catch her.
"What the devil?" demanded Jack, ignoring her protests. She gave it up, clinging and weeping like the pathetic creature she was, furious with herself, yet unable to do otherwise. Jamie! Oh, Jamie!
Barbossa and Jack began to argue.
"What the devil, aye!" said Barbossa. "Is the lad all right or not?"
"He's not so bad as all this, though he's like to get worse before he improves, they say. Bloody hell, Liz'beth, what ails you?"
"She's worn to a bone, is what! Any idiot can see that. She'll end by catchin' it herself if you don't take care."
"Me? "
"You! Turner left 'er in your charge, her and the boy, both, and here you've let her work herself to a frazzle and the boy's lying there sick as a dog."
"You bastard!" Jack hissed. "I can't make her sleep!"
"Aye, but you can. Take 'er back to the Pearl and bed her, dose her, whatever it takes."
Elizabeth's ire was roused at that, and she twisted around. "I will not-"
"You will, whatever it takes, missy," Barbossa repeated. "You're doin' no one good like this. I'll stay with the boy tonight. He knows me. And Henri here'll help."
"Oui, madame, " Henri put in, pleading. "Indeed, you are not yourself. We will send word, immediately, of course, if there is need."
"I can't! I-Jamie!" She broke away from Jack and headed back to the church, to her son, swiping at her wet cheeks with her palms, pulling the rag from her belt and blowing her nose.
The light of the afternoon sun streaked the lofty interior, now, and the church seemed far more the blessing it was meant to be than it had in the previous hours. And Jamie was asleep again, with Jori at his side.
The young man frowned, standing at her approach. Their approach. Jack, Barbossa, and Henri were following in her wake. She sat down beside Jamie, and laid her hand upon his burning brow. Behind her, the men discussed - argued - the situation, but she paid no heed until Soeur Marguerite came to her. Elizabeth looked up, and wondered as always at the strength in that slight frame, and the kindness in the tired eyes.
“Madame, they are right. You should rest. No, listen to me! Your son is easy enough now, but the test will come, perhaps as soon as tomorrow, and he will need all your strength. Go. He will be in good hands tonight, and you will be the better for it, as will he.”
There was nothing she could say in the face of such an argument.
*
“Drink this,” Jack said, holding out a tankard.
Elizabeth eyed him, warily.
But he had a tankard for himself, too, and his lips quirked. “No, there’s no laudanum in it. Just a bit of brandy. Cook made it special for you.”
She accepted it and sipped, cautiously, then closed her eyes in delight. One of her favorite things, a hot milk punch, and there was more than just a “bit” of brandy, along with some sugar and spices. She settled back against the pillows, and Jack disposed himself beside her.
They drank in companionable silence, and when she was finished he took her tankard and set it on the floor with his own, doused the single lamp, and turned to her. While the brandy wove its spell along her veins, he wove his own magic, slow and warm, the light of his gaze, his very whisper holding her fast, steadily pushing back the darkness and, finally, for a time, overwhelming it entirely.
*
Soeur Marguerite had been right. Over the next three days, Jamie's fever slowly mounted, until by the third he was tossing and delirious. Elizabeth allowed Father Anselm to give Jamie last rites, though she set her face and heart like stone, refusing to believe her darling would succumb.
Barbossa had looked in on them once a day, and she, Jack, and Henri Ponchartrain, who had taken a liking for Jamie, had shared out the sickbed watches. On the evening of that third day, however, none of them left Jamie's side, for the crisis was at hand.
Elizabeth prayed that night, and she thought perhaps Jack did, too. Henri said his rosary, several times, and then lapsed into a meditative silence. Barbossa paced, for a long while, like some caged thing, until Soeur Marguerite came to join the vigil and he sat awkwardly beside her on the stone bench against the wall and watched her fingers move over her own rosary beads.
It was near dawn when voices jerked Elizabeth from a doze. Jack and Jori were there by Jamie's cot, and she scrambled up, exclaiming, "What is it?", rousing Barbossa and Henri, who'd also fallen asleep.
And Jori turned with a smile. "Come look!"
She squeezed between Jack and Jori, hardly daring to believe… but it was true. Jamie lay pale and still, but there were beads of sweat along his hairline, and he took in deep, easy breaths as she watched.
"The fever's broken. He'll be all right," said Jack, softly, putting his arm about Elizabeth's waist. She nodded, tears of relief slipping down her cheeks.
*
Jamie was weak but almost himself when he woke, a few hours later, and was even able to take some warm milk and a few bites of the panada that the Pearl's cook had prepared especially for him when the happy news had reached the ship. Tai Huang visited, and told Elizabeth that Teague, who'd chafed at being banned from visiting Jamie, had given a whoop of delight, and danced a jig when he'd found out, and the townsmen he'd been haranguing for the last few days had applauded.
"The crews of the Empress and the Pearl extend their felicitations to you as well, Captain Swann," Tai Huang said, bowing.
"The Maid's crew, too, I'll be bound," said Barbossa, then turned to Jamie with a raised brow. "You had us in quite a pucker, imp."
Jamie smiled sleepily, his eyes drifting closed.
"Don't take it to heart, Hector," said Jack, patting his rival on the shoulder. "You can't help it if you're a dead bore."
Barbossa glared. "D'ye ever get weary o' flappin' that jaw?" He turned to the ladies and bowed. "I'll bid ye adieu, Yer Nibs. Soeur Marguerite, will ye take a turn in the garden with me afore I head back to me ship?"
Soeur Marguerite acquiesced, to Elizabeth's surprise, and the sight of the flamboyant and fierce Barbossa walking from the church with the composed little nun by his side made all of them smile.
But five minutes later, Tai Huang said, "Look!" and pointed to the church door. Barbossa was back - and Soeur Marguerite lay in his arms, her head lolling.
On to Chapter Eight