Page 54 of These Immortal Truths
I’ll be here.
Jenny gets worse before she gets better.
The fever climbs higher than her medicine can control. Jenny’s dreams become a plague even when she’s awake. She calls for the son that isn’t with her, apologies spilling from her lips faster than Anna can console her. Sickness brings out people’s darkest regrets. In Jenny’s state, it’s impossible to make out the details, but Anna has suspicions. It only makes the pain in her heart double, more determined than ever to make sure Jenny’s sacrifices weren’t made in vain—to make sure she lives to see a dawn after living a nightmare.
Anna’s medicinal stores were already scarce; whatever cures hide in Louisiana’s swamps and marshes are unknown to her. As she replaces the damp rags placed over Jenny’s flushed body with cool, fresh ones, Anna thinks of Eira. Wonders where she is and what wisdom she could offer. Not for the first time, she wishes she had a way to contact her.
On the fifth day, the fever finally breaks. Jenny doesn’t wake until the sixth. Silas has returned, successful in leading the young girl’s brother and uncle to the next safe house. When Jenny’s eyes open, it is the sound of Silas’ harmonica that hums through the bedroom walls, the notes long and smooth.
Anna allows herself a breath of relief when she sees Jenny’s glassy eyes moving thoughtfully over the room. Confused, but cognitive. “You gave us quite the scare,” she says softly. “Why don’t we sit you up and get some water in you?”
Jenny stares at her for several beats, before giving a weak nod.Anna helps lift her into a sitting position before handing her a chipped wooden cup filled with water.
Anna settles back into the bedside chair while Jenny drinks. The cup is empty in seconds. Anna refills it from the pitcher on the nightstand. “Try taking small sips at a time.”
Again, Jenny nods, but doesn’t speak. It’s only after a few careful sips that her lips part around words. “My brother likes to play,” she croaks, voice dredged in gravel while her eyes stare through the wall separating them from the rest of the cabin. “But he wasn’t ever that good.”
Anna offers a weak smile. “Mister Silas saw them off safely. Just as he’ll take you once you’ve gained your strength.”
Jenny’s lower lip trembles, eyes glassy. “I don’t think I have more of that to give.”
A twinging pain blossoms over Anna’s heart. She remembers a field under the stars with the smell of her home burning lingering in the air. She remembers the way she fell apart; the way Khiran held the pieces of her together.
She knows Jenny has suffered far worse in less time.
“You will,” Anna promises. “You’re strong, and you’re brave. You wouldn’t have come this far if you were not.”
Shaking her head, Jenny stares into her cup. “I’m not. Uncle Jack and Bo have always been talking about running and finding themselves freedom. They’re out here chasing a better life for themselves. Me? I’m not running toward anything, I’m just running. Because I’m scared of what’s sure to happen again if I stay. Ain’t nothing brave about that.”
Anna doesn’t believe that for a second, but she can tell by the tear that slips down the young woman’s cheek—the way she can’t seem to look up from her lap—that Jennydoes. Anna lays a pale hand over Jenny’s rich one; waits for their eyes to meet.
“You ran to protect yourself. If that doesn’t show bravery, it at the very least proves you’re a survivor.” She squeezes her hand, hoping Jenny feels the truth in her words. “There is no shame in wanting to live your life for yourself.”
Silas stays for two weeks.
It’s twice as long as usual, but Anna is happy for the extra time. Together, they share meals and music—he has been attempting to teach her how to play the old banjo she inherited with the cabin for the past six months.
He has had frighteningly little success.
Music is something Anna has always had an appreciation for, but she never held an interest in anything besides listening. Catching the hint of a smile playing at the corners of Jenny’s mouth, Anna’s convinced it’s probably better that way. Still, Silas is the picture of patience despite having to repeatedly get her back on rhythm. She doesn’t have the heart to remind him that she doesn’t have any.
Jenny doesn’t say much during that time. Anna isn’t sure if it’s her nature, but she suspects it has more to do with her mind being elsewhere. Sometimes Anna will catch her looking out at nothing, the borrowed shawl pulled tight over her shoulders and looking so far away she might be somewhere else entirely. Anna doesn’t ask where her mind goes (she thinks she may already know).
The night Silas packs his bag and bids them goodbye, Jenny is well enough for him to promise passage when he returns with more escaped souls in tow. She seems more numb to the news than relieved. Anna stands at her side as they watch Silas disappear into the bayou’s embrace, his footsteps quieter than any man she’s ever known. Together, they stay on the front porch until evening turns to night; an arm’s length apart and a world away.
Anna is not used to being saved.
Barring a few incidents over the centuries when Khiran came toher aid, she is usually giving help more often than receiving it. So when she hears the blade of the shovel cut into the patch of earth behind her, when she sees the long twisting body of a snake twisting in the dirt, it takes her a moment to understand what she’s seeing. The brown, triangular shaped head stares back at her, its jaw reflexively biting at the air despite being separated from its body.
A copperhead. Anna doubts it could have pierced her skin, but she’s treated enough of their victims to know the pain that would have awaited her should its fangs have met their mark.
Jenny’s eyes meet hers, her hands choking the handle of the shovel. “You walked right by it.”
The wood Anna had been gathering for the stove feels heavy in her arms. “Thank you.”
Pulling the tip of the shovel from the earth, Jenny uses the blade to fling the serpent’s head into a nearby patch of swamp. Its body still writhes, curling and twisting in the dirt. When Jenny picks it up by the neck, it twines weakly around her wrist like a meaty vine. She nods mutely, umber eyes flicking up only briefly. “You have a skinnin’ knife?”
“Top drawer, left side of the stove,” Anna answers softly, glancing at her arm. In the dappled sunlight, the brown and tan scales look almost copper against Jenny’s dark skin. “I’ll get the fire going.”
