He had no idea how long he’d been in a state like this. Maybe three days; maybe a week. With groggy eyes, he glanced down at his arms. His shirtsleeves were dirty and stained but rolled up past his elbow, exposing his sores. With all the strength he had, he inspected his hands. Those, too, were covered in smallpox, some of them bloody from his scratching. Sometimes he couldn’t stop himself. Only time would tell if he would survive now that the rash fully ravaged him.
Ideas and questions pushed against his mind, and he wished he could speak with Ann. But he hadn’t been able to stay lucid for more than a few moments at a time. The more days that passed, the weaker he grew, and the more he doubted.
He hadn’t listened to God soon enough, and this was his punishment.
He was nearly certain the Lord above had given up hope for him, and Will himself was ready to give up too.
He was too tired, too weak. It was too late.
He said his last prayer. Please God, don’t let me die. Help me to know you hear me.
The never-ending pain consumed him again and everything turned black.
Ann brushed a few errant pieces of hair from her face before pulling her needle through the fabric across her lap with more force than it required to sew the two pieces of canvas together. There were several women gathered on the open deck with her, but Ann had made a point to stay on the fringe of the group with the breeze to her favor. They were all dutifully sewing the wagon covers for the next part of the journey, even without a guarantee they’d make it to port.
Elizabeth slid off a barrel nearby and pulled a little stool closer to Ann.
“Don’t get too close to me,” Ann said. She wasn’t sick, but she’d been exposed to so much disease, she knew she might be at risk of exposing others.
“I’m not going to get sick,” Elizabeth replied.
“You can’t know that for certain.”
“Perhaps, but I can’t imagine any sickness lingering with such a breeze.” Elizabeth gave Ann a hopeful glance. “This wind reallyissomething.”
Ann surveyed the deck. Sailors scurried through the yards and rigging, as white, full sails dotted the sky on each of the three huge masts. She wasn’t a sailor, but she could feel the increased speed of the ship.
“Yes, thank you for the way you gathered everyone.” Ann smiled, grateful for their intimate little conversation. “And thank you for giving me an excuse to come above deck for a bit. Sometimes being among all the sick gets to me. I can’t say my sewing will keep out as much water as yours does, but it feels good to be here.”
Elizabeth’s beautiful light-blue eyes met her own. “It’s hard work down there, isn’t it?”
Ann didn’t want to recount the horrors of the sick bay, watching people struggle for their life. So she just nodded.
“There’s something else on your mind, too, isn’t there?”
Ann glanced away. Elizabeth was the most perceptive friend she’d ever had.
“You are worried about Mr. Boyd?”
Ann pursed her lips and stared out at the sea.
“It was rather obvious, you know, the way he preferred you. And then, of course, when he started dancing with you—didn’t need you tosayanything for me to sniff that one out.” Elizabeth swirled her needle around.
“Elizabeth,” Ann shook her head and mimed a shushing gesture. Elizabeth’s face filled with expectation. Ann dropped her voice low. “As per the captain’s orders, the sailors are not to let themselves be distracted by any woman on board.”
Elizabeth leaned toward her and whispered, “Ah, but has the captain said that you can’t fall for one of his sailors?”
“Not exactly,” Ann admitted.
“So youdoprefer him.”
Ann bit her lip. “Guilty, I’m afraid.” She couldn’t keep the sadness from her voice. “It doesn’t matter now. He’s so sick he sometimes doesn’t even speak or open his eyes.”
Elizabeth looked down and drew a deep breath. “What agony.”
From behind them, a voice chimed in. “I’d say we need him back, don’t you think?” The sound of another person interjecting into their hushed conversation shocked her. Ann whipped around to see Mrs. Brower, her huge bundle of canvas tucked under one arm, coming to their small corner of the ship.
Elizabeth’s gaze shot toward Ann’s, an apology in her eyes. “Did you ... um ... hear our earlier conversation, Mrs. Brower?”
