Sampson.
He took the pouch and thimble and moved toward the cookstove.
She turned back to her satchel. She’d already spotted the cough syrup. Uncorking the bottle, she poured a generous dose into a spoon, then raised it to Ezekiel’s mouth. "Can you drink this?”
He parted his lips and swallowed the liquid with a grimace. The expression added a bit of life to his face, easing the weight on her chest a small bit.
What else could she do for him? A peppermint poultice for his chest?
Before she could move to prepare it, Ezekiel rested a hand on her arm. The weight of his touch made her pause, and she met his gentle gaze.
"It's all right, Miss Jess," he rasped out. "It's my time. The Lord's callin' me home."
"No." The word burst from her, her heart crying out. "You have to fight. I can help you get better, I know I can."
But even as she spoke, the words rang hollow. The truth of his condition settled like a boulder in her gut. He was dying, and there was nothing she could do to change that.
His hand tightened on her arm, drawing her eyes back to his face. "The Lord…numbered my days...afore I was born. Ain't nothin'…you can do…to change that.”
A sob welled in her throat. She captured his large, callused hand between hers as the tears she'd been holding back spilled free. "Please don't go. I can't lose you too."
Ezekiel had been her rock, her anchor, for so long. The one person she could always count on, who taught her about the Lord's love and showed it to her every single day. He'd been more a father to her than her own had ever seemed. The thought of facing this cold, hard world without his steadying presence...
She couldn't bear it. She dropped her forehead onto their joined hands as sobs took over. Ezekiel's other hand came to rest on her head, his fingers working through the messy strands that had escaped her braid in that soothing, paternal way he had. "Hush now," he rasped.
The calluses on Ezekiel's fingers caught in her hair as he stroked her head, but the familiar roughness only made her cry harder. This dear man had been such a comfort, such a light in the darkness of her life. Losing him felt like losing a part of herself.
Another hand rested on her shoulder. Gil must have moved around to her side, and now draped his arm across her back like a cloak to protect her against the storm inside her. He didn't say anything, just let his touch communicate his support, his presence.
As much as she couldn’t face the thought of losing Ezekiel, Gil would be here to help. And God too.
Maybe she should feel peace, but all she felt was the breaking of her heart.
Ezekiel’s hand lifted off her head, falling to rest on his blanket.
She straightened and wiped her wet cheeks with her sleeve. As she met Ezekiel's eyes again, peace shone there. The absolute certainty that he was going home to Jesus.
"I love you." She managed a broken whisper. "Thank you. For everything."
He gave a weak version of that dear, crooked smile. "Love you…too, Miss Jess. The Lord's…got His hand…on you. He'll be there…when I'm gone."
Fresh tears slid down her face, but she nodded. "I know."
Ezekiel looked to Gil then. "Take care of…our girl."
Gil’s arm tightened around her. "I will. I promise."
With his breath still wheezing with every small inhale, Ezekiel closed his eyes. "I'm tired."
"Sleep now. We'll be right here."
Though his breathing slowed and his hand went slack, she kept holding on. Memorizing the lines of his weathered face, the calluses on his fingers. This man who meant more to her than almost anyone.
Sobs built in her chest again, but she held them in so she wouldn’t disturb Ezekiel's peace.
Gil shifted beside her, drawing her closer so she could lean against him.
They stayed like that—Gil holding her, her gripping Ezekiel's hand—as the room grew heavy and still.
