Page 53 of These Immortal Truths
Glare sharp, Shih’s lips curl in disgust. “Take him below. Let him sit in the dark, knowing that death will come for him before the sun sleeps.” She turns to Anna, appraising. When Anna doesn’t flinch away, she gestures to her quarters. “Come, Táohua. We have much to discuss.”
Anna follows, ignoring the sound of Gang’s shouted pleas behind her, and tries to calm the pacing of her heart. Surely, if she had planned to follow through with his suggestion of burying her, she wouldn’t have invited her into her cabin?
The moment the door closes, the captain gestures to Anna’s chest. “Let me see.” A demand, not a request. Anna knows better than to ignore the difference.
Taking a bracing breath, she lets the torn fabric fall to the side—her marked skin on full display. There is no fear in Shih’s expression, but Anna is quick to see that there is no sympathy either. She looks away, hands fisting at her sides, and waits for judgement.
After what feels like an eternity, Shih’s stare eases and she takes a seat in her favorite chair. Her elbows plant on the table, her fingers steepled. “Make the tea.”
Anna flushes, relieved and embarrassed, and ties the pieces of cloth at her neck to save most of her modesty before collecting the captain’s favorite tea blend and pot. They say nothing as the water heats. Nothing as the leaves steep. Anna pours the tea, only sitting after she’s invited to do so.
It is only after Shih takes her first sip, her silks whispering with every subtle movement, that she breaks the fragile silence. “How long have you carried those marks?”
A trick question. Anna gives her the most truthful answer she can. “Since my fifteenth summer.”
She nods, setting down her cup. “There was a girl I knew. She worked on the flower boats with me. She had a heart like yours.” Her eyes dip to Anna’s chest, as if seeing through the fabric. “When she turned thirteen, she had marks like yours, too.” Her gaze lifts. “I saw no evil in that girl, just as I see no evil in you.”
Anna releases a shaky breath, knuckles white as she clasps her hands in her lap. “It’s not leprosy. It doesn’t spread.”
“Leprosy,” Ching echoes, tasting the word. “We have another name for it.” Again, she glances at her covered chest. “But I believe you’re right. Still, you must know I can’t let you stay.”
“I know,” Anna murmurs, but she feels the disappointment, anyway. Her gaze travels to the window, knowing the ocean lies beyond it even though all she can see from her seat is sky. “I didn’t like the violence, I can’t—I’m not someone who can thrive in it—but the rest of it … the sea and the freedom. I liked this life,” she breathes. “I’ll miss it.”
The truth of it tastes both bitter and sweet.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
Her fear calls to him. A pinprick scream in the back of his skull that makes the blood in his veins run cold. When he gets there, when he sees him, he almost slips. He can’t meddle in the lives of men, but in that moment, he almost thinks it would be worth it..
LOUISIANA, UNITEDSTATES
1855
There are times when Anna’s hatred burns so brightly, it blisters.
As she presses a warm compress to the young woman’s breast, her dark skin feverishly hot beneath the damp cloth, Anna knows her fury will continue burning. It’s only the pain and tears glazing Jenny’s eyes, the faraway look of someone shutting themselves off from a world too painful, that makes Anna bite her tongue.
She can’t be older thanseventeen.
When she had arrived with the rest of the group, Anna was quick to notice the layered twin stains on the runaway’s shirt. A breast-feeding mother without a baby to feed. Anna knows better than to ask why her arms are empty.
She turns to the man looming like a reassuring shadow in the doorway with a small, regretful shake of her head. Gently, she coaxes the woman’s hand to the compress. “Can you hold that just there, Miss Jenny? I need to have a quick word with Mister Silas, and then I’m going to fetch you something for the pain, alright?”
Jenny nods, her answer a listless echo of words that have been forced on her for so long they’ve become more about survival than meaning. “Yes, ma’am.”
Anna swallows past the tightness in her throat and stands, meeting Silas at the door. In her kitchen, just ten feet away, Anna can hear the low murmur of Jenny’s brother and uncle speaking over their meager meal. Anna keeps her voice just as low. “Silas, she shouldn’t be traveling. Another two days without treatment could kill her.”
His umber brow knits, dark eyes glancing over her shoulder, into the bedroom, thoughtfully. He shakes his head. His hair has grown since she last saw him, the short strands have begun to curl tightly against his scalp. “We have to leave come sunrise—they’re not gonna make it if we don’t.”
Anna nods. In the last three years, she has learned not to question the schedules he makes. Whether it’s from gathered intelligence or purely instinctual, Silas has successfully guided too many souls to the next safe house for her to doubt him. “I hate to separate them, but I don’t see any other choice.”
“I reckon you’re right, Miss Lydia.”
Lydia. Yet another name for another life. Not for the first time, Anna almost wishes she gave him her true name when they first met. In all the work they’ve done together, Silas has fast become someone she considers a friend.
Together, they decide that Jenny will stay and recover and her family members will move on. Silas speaks to her softly at the bedside, promising to do what he can to reunite them once she’s fitenough to travel. Anna sees them off a few hours later, when the approaching sunrise turns the horizon more gray than black. Silas tips the brim of his hat the way he always does; a silent promise Anna has long interpreted as ‘see you soon’.
Anna dips her chin, an answering promise.
