JACK FELL DOWN
by Sidney McCabe
© 2000
EPILOGUE
Smooth, elegant hands shook uncontrollably as they soaked the rag in the bowl of cool water. Emma Townsend sat at her daughter's bedside, tears threatening her dark eyes however much she tried to fight them back. She squeezed the cloth out and began to stroke Jack's fevered skin: face, neck, hands.
Jack was sleeping deeply now. The fitful drowsiness of earlier was gone, and she seemed at last to have some peace. Emma couldn't stop her tears. "Darling." Emma felt her husband's hands on her shoulders as he came up from behind her. She managed to look up at her husband, barely able to see him through the cloudiness in her eyes. "Yes, dear?" she managed to choke out.
Her husband's handsome, ruddy face mirrored her own grief. "Darling, she's well. She's pulling through. You heard the doctor: she'll be all right." For a moment Emma didn't say anything. She doused the rag in the water again, silently wringing out the excess, and began her ministrations once more. The coolness seemed to finally ease Jack's raging fever, her skin fading to a lighter shade of pink. At last Emma said, "Yes, she's well, and I thank God for that. But Ken -- oh, Ken, the baby --"
A shadow fell over Kenneth's eyes. "I know. Darling, I know." He held onto his wife a moment longer, and then sat down in the rocking chair placed by Jack's bedside and watched them both, the two most important people in his life.
They were quiet, the only sound in the room their daughter's labored breathing. Neither said so, but each knew they were thinking of their own lost children, the four miscarriages Emma had suffered through before Geoffrey and Jillian had left Jill with them. Their daughter, the light of their lives. She *was* theirs, no matter what anyone might say otherwise. Just because they had not created her didn't mean they didn't love her as deeply as if they had.
Jack stirred. Her lips formed a word that was now familiar to them,
but no sound escaped.
Kenneth looked at his wife. "She keeps calling for him."
Emma nodded. "What I wouldn't give to be able to bring him here."
"I've often thought I'd like to meet the boy. She speaks of him so
highly, yet so honestly, I believe he'd be worth knowing. Of course, I
had to get over my initial desire to have him horse-whipped."
They smiled softly at each other. Like any good father, Kenneth had been
outraged at the news that his daughter was pregnant, and with the child
of a gunslinging American cowboy, no less. He couldn't honestly say that
he *approved*, and Lord knew their neighbors cast skeptical eyes, but
eventually Kenneth had been won over by Jack's descriptions of James Hickok
and his character, by the obvious love and respect in his daughter's eyes,
and finally, by the appealing thought of being a grandfather. His wife
had come to the same conclusion much sooner: their daughter's circumstances
were
similar to Geoffrey and Jillian's save one detail -- she and Jimmy had
love, where Geoffrey and Jillian had not. It could turn out to be the
most important difference of all.
Especially now, Emma reflected. Now that the new life their love had created
was gone, lost to them. Emma had prayed and prayed that her daughter would
never know the anguish of losing a child too soon, but it was not to be.
She knew that when Jack finally awoke, cognizant at last, all the love
in the world could never ease the hurt she would feel, if she didn't have
the man she loved by her side.
"Em?" Kenneth's query was gentle, loving.
"Just thinking about our poor girl."
Kenneth reached for her hand, stilled beside their daughter. "At
least we haven't lost *her* as well. At least we've still got our little
Jilly."
"Yes," Emma agreed. "And a long road ahead of us."
"Do you think there's any way we can send for the boy?"
"Ken, you know better than that. There's a war on."
"Jim Green says it'll be over by Christmastime."
"Darling, Jim's being a bit too optimistic, perhaps. After all, isn't
he from the South?"
"South Carolina."
"And Dennis Tripp --
"The 'London Times' reporter?"
"Yes. He says *all* the Americans are predicting Christmastime, but
that there's no way anyone can tell at this point."
"Well, we've got to do *something*. The boy deserves to *know* about
this."
"We can't do anything without Jilly's permission." Emma was
firm on this subject and Kenneth knew there was no arguing with her.
He sighed. "Bloody war."
Emma reached to the bedside table and picked up the two unopened letters
that lay there. She looked at them, at the small, flowing writing of Louise
McCloud, the shaky, uncertain writing of J. B. Hickok. She longed to read
them, not to invade her daughter's privacy, but to learn more of her daughter's
friends. Since her return Jack had received a letter from Louise and one
from Rachel Dunne, and she had read them aloud to her parents, love and
affection heavy in her voice. Emma knew that Jack had said nothing of
her pregnancy to anyone back in Sweetwater, determined instead to sail
back to America once it was confirmed by the doctor. He had warned against
traveling in her condition, but Jack was nothing if she was not stubborn.
What they hadn't realized was that Dr Wright had been emphasizing Jack's
condition in particular. She was a small, delicate young woman for all
her strength and resilience, and he saw something in her physical state
that alarmed him. Her body wasn't ready yet to carry a child, and rebelled
at the changes being inflicted upon it. As Jack had begun readying herself
for the return journey she had been seized with excruciating pain low
in her belly, pain that terrified her. And now she lay in her bed, her
beautiful dream of motherhood no longer a reality.
At least for now, and no longer, Emma hoped. Louise's first letter
lay open on the table as well, and Emma skimmed over it, fragments of
each paragraph leaping out, catching her eye: '...arrived back in Sweetwater,
everyone was so happy to see us, but so sad that you weren't with us...Jimmy
wanders around looking lost and lonely, and when you
look into his eyes he's not quite there anymore, somehow. As if a part
of him left with you on that ship...days are full and happy, but we can't
wait to see you again...Teaspoon speaks of you often...I hope you are
glad to be back home in England, and that your mother and father are as
happy to have you around as we were...Come back soon, Jack.'
"She had a good life there," Emma said. Her husband nodded in
agreement.
She continued thoughtfully, "Would you be willing for her to go back,
Ken?"
Kenneth didn't have to consider for very long. He answered, "When
she left, I didn't know how to make it through each day. You were there,
Em -- I was a nervous wreck, impossible to live with. My little girl,
in America, by herself. I felt like I was receiving some sort of punishment
for something I didn't even realize I'd done. If you had asked me that
question before now, Em, I would have said no, unequivocally. But now..."
his voice trailed off.
"Now I know that I could never keep her from anything that made her
so happy. I think life there was good to her, not just good *for* her.
Those people love her as much as we do. Yes, I'd be willing for her to
go back." Emma clasped her husband's hands and bowed her head to
kiss them. Outside, the night storm raged around the house. The sky was
dark gray, torrents of rain pelting the rooftops, the wind howling as
if in sympathetic torment with the family inside. Across the ocean and
the vast stretches of land, James Hickok felt the ache of separation.
Within the two-story brownstone, Emma and Kenneth Townsend waited for
their daughter to awaken.
Chapter 1 ¤ Chapter 2 ¤ Chapter 3 ¤ Chapter 4 ¤ Chapter 5 ¤ Chapter 6 ¤ Chapter 7 ¤ Chapter 8 ¤ Chapter 9 ¤ Chapter 10 ¤ Chapter 11 ¤ Chapter 12 ¤ Chapter 13 ¤ Chapter 14 ¤ Chapter 15 ¤ Chapter 16 ¤ Chapter 17 ¤ Chapter 18 ¤ Chapter 19 ¤ Chapter 20 ¤ Chapter 21 ¤ Epilogue ¤