by Nathan Jones
Jane shivered and reached up to brush at the icy tear that had dripped onto her chin, then reached up further to feel at his face. Her gloved hand felt warm, and with a start Lewis realized there were tears that had frosted in the bitter cold, sticking to his skin.
This wasn't weather to cry in. Or sit outside in for that matter. And his dad needed this ice pack. His son may have failed to get him the medicine he needed, but he could still fill a towel with some snow to slap on the broken rib that had shattered his will.
Sighing, he knelt and gathered up some powder, just enough that he could still fully wrap the towel around it and bunch the ends. Then he started for the door.
Before he could open it Jane caught his arm, looking up at him. “I don't know what to say to you,” she said, sounding miserable and frustrated. “I don't know what to do.”
Lewis pulled her into a quick hug, tensing slightly as the noise of his dad coughing followed by panting screams reached his ears through the door. “Neither do I,” he whispered.
He pushed open the door and slipped inside after his wife, closing it quickly behind them. Mary's tear-streaked face greeted him from the doorway to his room, clutching the roll of duct tape in her hands. Lewis couldn't meet her gaze as he slipped through to hand Langstrom the makeshift ice pack.
If he had the choice to make again, he knew he'd give out the medicine to his friends and fellow volunteers when and where it was needed. It may not be the right choice, but without knowing the future he didn't see how he could've done anything but what he did. He could try to tell himself that for good or ill that decision was in the past, and dwelling on it couldn't change what was happening now.
But he'd carry the weight of it for the rest of his life, and he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to forgive himself.
At Langstrom's direction Eva gently eased Lucas forward and pressed the ice pack to the injured area on his back, providing some relief with cold. They all waited, Terry and Langstrom quietly tossing medical jargon at each other that Lewis only vaguely understood. Probably as much to fill the silence as to discuss the injury and how it related to Lucas's condition. They were infrequently interrupted by more coughing/screaming fits, and Lewis wanted to run each time.
After about fifteen minutes Langstrom had her remove the pack, and with another clean cloth and rubbing alcohol from his bag wiped the area clean and dry. Then he prepared to tape the rib.
Even knowing the necessity of it, Lewis still winced slightly as the surgeon laid strips of duct tape directly on Lucas's skin, horizontally across his back and around the side to the front of his chest, as well as diagonally over one shoulder and down along the spine just behind the shoulder blade.
“Shouldn't you go all the way around?” Lewis asked. He thought of movies where tightly wrapped strips of cloth completely covered the injured person's chest.
Terry answered for the busy surgeon. “A full wrap would prevent the lungs from expanding. Deep breathing is hard for a patient suffering from Pertussis, but it's important he breathe as deeply as he can.”
“Even with a broken rib?” Eva asked worriedly.
“Even then,” Langstrom replied. “As much as the pain allows.” He applied one last strip of tape, carefully smoothed them all to make sure they'd stuck, then backed away. “You mentioned when you hurt the other two ribs that lying flat is difficult. Let's prop you fully upright and find a way to support your head on either side for when you sleep.”
Lucas nodded and started to speak, then abruptly began the unbroken series of soft, wheezing coughs that were a prelude to the more intense coughing fits. The expression of fear and resignation on his face as he finally sucked in a breath after almost ten seconds, then began violently coughing hard enough to hunch over, was one of the most terrible Lewis had ever seen.
Although he could barely see through his tears he still looked away, gut wrenching, as his dad once again gave strangled cries of pain through his coughing. The tape didn't seem to have helped at all.
The cries abruptly stopped, and he turned to see his dad twitching violently, then slumping bonelessly against his wife as he blacked out, eyes rolled back until only the whites showed. A couple seconds later he came to, jerked upright, and sucked in a sobbing breath as he screamed in pain again.
His screams cut off into panting, desperate breaths, broken by wrenching moans. “I can't,” he begged. “Dear God, I can't do this. Please make it stop.”
Lewis looked at Terry and Langstrom, and from the frustrated and hopeless expressions on their faces knew there was nothing they could do.
“If there were any painkillers I'd give them to you in a heartbeat, Lucas,” Terry said quietly. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” Lewis flinched at that and felt a new surge of guilt.
Lucas barely seemed to hear. “Months of this,” he mumbled. “I'm not sure I can last a day. I'd rather be dead.”
“Don't say that!” his wife said fiercely, gripping his hand so tight her knuckles were white. “We'll get through this.”
Lewis looked away as his dad started crying again. “I'll go ask around for medicine again,” he mumbled, backing out of the room. Nobody spoke as he fled out the door.
It was the middle of the night, he'd already canvassed the whole town searching for anyone who had anything that could help, and in the cold and dark the best he was going to accomplish was to make himself sick too. He'd go back inside soon, although he wasn't sure how he'd bear it, but for now he'd just needed to escape.
He huddled down against the wall of the house, the snow soft beneath him, and stared at nothing. A few minutes later Langstrom and Terry emerged, splitting off to return to their homes. Either they didn't see him in the dark or they were giving him some space, but either way he was left alone to try to come to terms with what was coming.
His dad wasn't going to die. He couldn't.
Chapter Nineteen
Nature
It seemed like a miracle when Lucas went the whole day without coughing. He even managed to sleep, waking frequently to take great gulps of water before sinking down into unconsciousness again.
Lewis didn't know if some protective instinct was keeping his dad's body from coughing, to prevent doing further injury to the rib and causing more unbearable agony. Or maybe it was just luck. Either way he was fervently thankful all the same.
He spent the reprieve scouring the town again, desperate to find someone, anyone, who had medicine. Anything that could help with pain, or ease coughing, or even an inhaler or something that might help clear his dad's airways to make breathing easier and reduce the frequency of coughing fits.
There was nothing. What little the town had had been “donated” to the military, or used up by this point with no chance to replace any of it. If any individuals had private stores they weren't saying, and although Lewis had numerous debts he could call in if he wanted, nobody seemed willing or able to help him like he'd helped them.
That wasn't how he wanted to think, but in his despair and frustration it was hard not to. As night fell he trudged back home, hoping and praying that his dad was still enjoying this reprieve, able to rest and hopefully benefit from some miraculous recovery.
But there was no miracle, and the reprieve had been short-lived. Lewis returned to the sound of coughing, his dad's obvious agony throughout the fit, and it hit him like a bullet to the heart. Even knowing it was irrational he'd tried to fool himself into believing that the coughs would suddenly and permanently stop.
His mom rushed out of the sickroom when she heard the door open as Lewis came in. Her face was lined and haggard, her shoulders hunched. She looked as if she'd aged a decade, and he was suddenly worried that the stress she was under would cause her to fall ill, too. If not with whooping cough then with something else.
“You have something,” she said, more a plea than a question. “Please, tell me you have something.”
He shook his head woodenly, unable to speak his failure. His mom's shoulders slumped even
more, and she dropped onto the end of his and Jane's bed and collapsed into exhausted, despairing weeping.
His dad had refused to eat after the new broken rib, since even soup was bringing on coughing fits. And their hopes that a day of rest and healing might've done some good were quickly dashed as those fits came on more frequent and severe than they ever had before. That night was the worst yet.
The next morning the Smiths came over to be with them during this most difficult of times. Eva, Mary, Aunt Clair, and Linda huddled into a weeping ball, while George and Trev came to rest a hand on Lewis's shoulder, then stand with him silently.
After a short time of mutual comfort Lucas, speaking in a weak, whispery voice, called from the next room that he'd like to speak to each of them in turn. He obviously intended it as his final farewell and last bit of fatherly, brotherly, and unclely advice.
No one wanted to acknowledge that that's what he was doing, but when he called for his sister to come in she went, shutting the door behind her at his request.
To Lewis it already felt like a funeral as they waited, his loved ones crying going in and crying coming out. His aunt, his mom, Mary, Trev, Linda, Jim, George, even Jane. It seemed like his dad meant for him to wait til last.
When Lewis was finally called in he came to sit on the bed beside his dad, resting a hand on his leg. Neither of them said anything, sitting like that for a while, and then his dad sucked in a slight breath. “Out with it,” he said, barely audible.
Lewis blinked. “What?”
“You're carrying weight around you shouldn't be. Out with it.”
He blinked again, but this time it was from sudden tears burning in his eyes. “I had the medicine to help you,” he whispered. “I gave it all away when we were fighting the blockheads, and now you have to go through this. It's not fair. After everything you've done for us, for the town, you should be able to catch a break.”
“Mercy is a human trait,” his dad whispered, face pale from the effort of talking and not coughing. “Nature doesn't have mercy. It doesn't matter what's fair, it matters what is.”
“Maybe I shouldn't have mercy, either,” Lewis said bitterly. “I could've eased your suffering, made you better.”
His dad sucked in a shallow, tentative breath. “Don't ever regret mercy. Nature might punish you for it rather than reward you, but that doesn't change your choice. You live each day as best you can, learning from the past, preparing for the future. But don't ever let regret of the past or fear of the future poison your actions.” A weak hand drifted over to grip his shoulder. “You saved lives with that medicine, you know you did.”
“And let you suffer this.” Lewis tried, but against his will the tears finally flowed. He reached out to grab his dad's hand with both of his, holding it tight. “I'm so sorry.”
“I'm sorry too,” his dad said with a wan smile. “It's kind of hard not to regret what would help me at the moment. But I don't regret that you gave it to our friends when they needed it, and I don't want you to regret it either. Not for my sake.”
They sat in silence for a while, as his dad's breathing got more strained. It caught, his shoulders shaking as he visibly forced back a cough, and then the coughs escaped anyway in their soft, suffocating fit of several seconds. Then his dad sucked in a sharp breath and hunched forward as the real fit began, punctuated by cries of pain from his broken rib.
Lewis held his dad steady as his eyes rolled back in his head in his momentary blackout, looking away from the wrenching sight. Then his dad sucked in a sharp gasping breath and settled back against his pillows, tears leaking from his eyes as he composed himself from the fit.
“There's things I need to say, son,” he said quietly. “I'll probably be dead soon.” He looked as if he might laugh, then froze with the terrified realization that laughing would bring the coughing. “To be honest, it's not the worst prospect right now.”
“Don't say that!” Lewis said, anger appearing out of nowhere to war with his grief.
His dad sent a cautious hand out to rest on his, careful not to move any part of his torso. He opened his mouth to speak, then froze as if waiting out a potential coughing fit. His breath came in short, shallow gasps.
Finally it seemed to pass. “I've always been able to count on you to accept reality, even if it's not pleasant,” he said gravely. “You know I can't go on long like this. I'm dying. When I'm gone the family will need you.”
“I know,” Lewis said quietly. “But you'll be with us for decades yet, and right now we need you. As bad as this is, I know you can make it.”
The hand over his gripped his fingers with surprising strength. “Reality, son. I wish I could be there to help you. I certainly don't intend to give up, tempting as the idea is. But it's going to happen, and you need to be prepared for it. Ready to be there for Eva and Mary, and even Clair and her family if it comes to it. And somehow in all that you'll need to take care of Jane and build a future for all the children I hope you'll ha-”
The last word was cut off by another fit of wheezing graduating to violent cough/screaming. Lewis held his dad through it again, wishing there was something, anything he could do.
Knowing there was something he could've done, if he'd been more selfish. Whatever his dad said otherwise.
“I'm proud of you, son,” his dad gasped when the coughing finally ended. “Be strong. All the weight rests on you, and if you crumble so will they. I know you can handle it, which is why I can die in peace.”
“Please don't talk about it,” Lewis begged.
There was a long, pained pause. “All right. There's always hope, and I'll hold to that. Just as long as I know you're prepared for reality.”
Only there was little hope, and they both knew it.
* * * * *
Over the next few days his dad's condition worsened even further.
It wasn't any specific symptom, just accumulated pain and stress from the nonstop trauma making it impossible to fight the illness. Not just physically but mentally as well, as his will to even try drained away. He didn't eat, didn't sleep, drank endless gulps of water that seemed to do no good, all the while suffering more and more coughing fits. The coughing grew less and less intense, but that was because he was weakening with alarming swiftness, not as any sign of improving health. He began soiling himself during fits.
Four nights after his dad broke that final rib, Lewis's own exhausted sleep was interrupted by the alarming sound of silence.
Part of him hoped it was another reprieve from the coughing, that his dad was finally getting the rest he needed, but he knew it wasn't. The silence was too complete, the terrible sound of one less person breathing in the small space.
Then his mom began crying, deep, heart-wrenching sobs of pure grief, and his fears were confirmed. Lewis led Jane and Mary into the other room and huddled beside the bed, gathering their mom into a quiet embrace as their world changed.
He felt numb, unable to think or feel. But he knew that, like the fatal broken rib that had ultimately killed his dad, it was a numbness that was masking terrible pain.
* * * * *
In spite of the deep snow and bitter cold hundreds of people braved the conditions to attend the funeral.
It had been more than three weeks since Lucas fell ill, and Terry assured them there was no longer a threat of spreading the disease. With that assurance Lewis and his family were surrounded by sympathetic friends and neighbors, who expressed their sincere condolences for a man they'd genuinely loved and respected.
Lewis did his best to respond to everyone, but the ceremony and burial passed in a numb haze. He wished his dad was still alive, and his loss tore a hole deep inside him. But at the same time a treacherous part of his mind felt relief in knowing that his dad's horrific suffering, which would've continued for who knew how long and likely still would've ended this way, was mercifully over.
They buried him in a spot along the eastern slope overlooking the town. There were no shortage of willin
g hands wielding shovels, and even though the ground was frozen near the surface and rocky all the way down, by the time the ceremony began they had a deep, well squared hole.
Matt spoke, and Aunt Clair. Lewis sprinkled the first shovelful, followed by a long line of friends and family, then Trev and Rick finished filling in the hole. By that point the wind had picked up, blowing the snow up the hillside at them and chilling everyone. One by one people trudged home, their desire to pay respects defeated by nature's assault, until only the family was left.
Lewis wasn't ready to go just yet, but he could see his mom and Mary shivering as they held each other in mutual comfort. Trev looked as if he'd step in to suggest they head home at any moment, and Aunt Clair and Uncle George were quietly neatening up the gravesite in preparation for their departure.
So he gathered his family in his arms and gently turned them towards their cabin, the others falling in around them. His aunt, Linda, and Deb bustled ahead to make hot chocolate from a powdered mix for them, and they spent the rest of the day in the Smith cabin quietly adjusting to a new reality.
Lewis just wanted to go home and lose himself in reloading work as an escape, but the rational part of him realized that could quickly become an unhealthy obsession if he let it. He was responsible for his family now, which meant he had to be the steady one. So he sat with everyone speaking quietly of his dad's life, forcing himself to stay present.
The future looked bleak at the moment, but although it didn't seem like it at the moment he knew it would get better.
* * * * *
Sam had insisted on attending the funeral. In response Matt had insisted on bringing a chair for her to rest on.
Even so, the walk and sitting in the cold and wind had taken a lot out of her, and she was half drowsing on their bed with the blankets pulled up around her head and over her face so only her mouth was visible.
