By Cecelia Dowdy - titanicfanfiction dotcom
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Chapter 9
Jack shivered, moaning. Tensing, his body wracked with shards of pain, shooting from the tip of his toes, all the way to the top of his head. Liquid, burning heat streamed through his blood. He struggled to sit up. The cool wind blew against his heated skin and he swallowed, again reminded of his extreme thirst. He tried to move his leg, and white hot pain shot through his limb like a cannon. Screaming, he tensed.
"Lawd, have mercy." The loud female voice surrounded him. Jack groaned again, praying his pain would go away. "Pastor, what we gonna do? Look at this white man layin' in front of our church all beat up." Jack struggled to open his eyes, but, his lids were like heavy pieces of timber.
"Thelma, calm down." A male voice had responded, so Jack assumed the man was the pastor. "We need to help him." His smooth deep voice didn't have the same dialect as the woman. "It's what the Lord would want us to do."
"Huh? I ain't gettin' in trouble for helpin' some white man. What if they say we beat him up? What if he calls the police and has us arrested?"
"Thelma, stop it!" Exasperation filled the man's tone. Jack moaned again. "We need to help this old man. Can you stand up, old man?" Jack swallowed, pain sabotaging his body. He tried to stand and vivid torture shot up his leg. He screamed, before passing out again.
Moaning, Jack wiggled his sore toes, realizing he lay on a small cot. Swallowing, he winced. His thick tongue burned with thirst. "Water." His voice grated as if his throat had been rubbed with sand paper. His eyes reminded him of heavy bricks. Attempting to blink, he realized his eyes had swollen shut. Opening his eyes proved too painful, so he kept them closed.
"Thelma, get the young man some water." The pastor's clipped tone resonated in the room, and Jack wondered where he was. Were they inside the church? Strong arms supported his head, forcing his neck up while a cold tin cup pressed against his parched lips. He sipped, the cold liquid slid into his mouth and down his dry throat. Eager, he drank quickly, before the pastor spoke. "Don't drink too fast, take your time." Once he'd finished the water, his head dropped back onto the soft, bulky pillow. Fatigue weighed him down and he relaxed back on the small bed, falling asleep.
Later, whispers filled the room. He recognized the voice of the woman named Thelma. "Why was that white boy dressed like an old man?"
The pastor responded. "I don't know. We'll find out once he wakes up."
"Pastor, I still don't know if we've done the right thing. What if somebody's lookin' for him?"
"If somebody is looking for him then we'll let them know he's okay." The pastor lowered his voice. "Thelma, you've got to trust me about this. What if you were lying in a gutter, cut with a knife, beaten to a pulp? If somebody did that to you, wouldn't you want somebody to help you? We're being good Samaritans, here. The Lord wants us to take care of this young man, and that's what we're going to do."
"Well…okay. I guess I shouldn't have said all that stuff. I'm just scared about what might happen."
"Don't be scared. Let's pray."
Jack fell asleep again, his mind drifting. Again, he was aboard the Titanic. On the deck, he cradled Rose in his arms. While staring at the deep sea of water, mesmerized, he tilted her head, inviting her to share a mesmerizing kiss. Their lips locked, and he tasted the sweet nectar of her tongue, holding her tighter, loving her. His blood burning with passion, he ended the kiss, staring into the most exquisite green eyes he'd ever seen in his life.
Cal appeared, pushing Jack away, laughing. Cal slapped Rose, marring her snow-white skin. Jack screamed. "Stop!" He tried to stop Cal, but, a glass wall appeared, separating him from Cal and Rose. Pounding on the glass, he tried to shatter it, desperate to save Rose. "Rose!" Cal slapped Rose again, ripping the clothes from her perfect, beautiful body. Screaming, Rose scratched Cal's face with her sharp nails, before spitting in his face. Cal balled his hand into a fist, about to punch Rose in her cheek. Jack opened his mouth, screaming at the top of his lungs, "Stop, Cal!" He fisted the glass wall again, and it shattered into tiny pieces. Rushing toward Rose and Cal, the glass crunched beneath his battered shoes. He'd almost reached them, when their images disappeared. "Rose!"
The scent of chicken filled the room, and Jack groaned. The familiar voice of the pastor interrupted his dream. "Doctor, does he still have a fever? What's wrong with him?"
An unfamiliar male voice responded. "The fever's broken. That's why he's sweating right now." Jack soon realized drops of moisture dripped down his face.
The pastor spoke again. "Doctor, you think we need to give him some of this warm chicken broth?"
"Yes, he needs to eat so that he can heal."
The woman named Thelma spoke. "I'll give it to him." Her voice softened. "Young man, Pastor is going to help you hold your head up so that you can sip this chicken broth I made." The pastor assisted Jack, holding his head up with his strong, capable arms. Thelma held a spoon to Jack's lips, and he sipped the warm chicken-flavored broth. Once he'd eaten several spoons of broth, he dropped back onto the pillow, realizing his bladder was full.
Fisting the thin blanket in his hands, he struggled to sit up. "I've got to go."
A strong hand grabbed Jack's elbow. "Son, you need to rest." Jack recognized the voice of the pastor.
He shook his head, but, doing so, made his brain feel like it would explode. "No. I have to go to the privy."
"Ahh." The pastor continued to hold Jack's elbow. "Sit up really slow. The bathroom's not too far away."
"My eyes won't open."
He recognized the doctor's voice. "Young man, I'm the doctor. I've left a poultice to rub around your eyes to help the swelling." He paused. "You're still pretty drugged, so it'll be impossible for you to walk. The pastor and I will carry you to the privy."
Humiliation swept through Jack's soul as the pastor and the doctor carried him down a hallway. Jack realized their steps echoed. A few minutes later, after he'd gone to the privy, they laid him back on the bed. The doctor spoke. "I'm leaving now, but I'll be back to check on you later." Fatigue swept through him and he laid back onto the pillow, falling asleep.
Sunlight, warm and inviting, shined on Jack's face. Grunting, he squeezed his fingers, shrugged his shoulders, realizing the pain in his body had lessened. Trying to open his eyes, he found the task impossible. A sticky substance coated his eyelids. Taking his index finger, he tried to wipe the stuff away from his eyes. "Somebody, help me."
Thelma's excited voice filled the room. "Pastor, he's awake."
The pastor responded, his deep voice bouncing off the walls. "Good. Thelma, use the stuff the doctor left to clean the poultice from his eyes." The pastor then addressed Jack. "Hold on, Son. We're trying to help you."
A strong, medicinal scent filled the air while Thelma wiped his lids with a moist towel. He assumed the towel had been dipped into some kind of liquid. Thelma's long, soft fingers tenderly cleaned his eyes, making Jack wonder if she were a nurse. Once she'd finished her ministrations, she spoke. "Okay, open your eyes."
Jack slowly opened his eyes, realizing he still couldn't open them all the way. Right now, his eyes were only half open and he stared into two chocolate brown faces. The woman named Thelma had smooth skin, the color of rich cocoa. The pastor appeared several years older than Thelma. A bit of gray sprinkled in his dark hair, and Jack realized if his father had lived, he'd probably be around the same age as the pastor. He blinked several times, regarding the little table in the corner, as well as the small china pitcher and the bowl resting on the table. A desk nested in the corner, covered with papers and pens. He noted a small closet at the side of the room. "Where am I?"
"You're at my church. This is my office, and sometimes I spend the night here in this room when I'm working late on a sermon. I'm Pastor Michael Brown, and this is my stepdaughter, Thelma. Thelma serves as the church nurse and my secretary."
"Thank you for helping me."
Thelma pulled up a chair, close to his bed, and the pastor pulled his chair closer, too. As Thelma leaned toward him, he noticed the slight scent of floral perfume. "You're welcome. Do you remember who beat you up?"
He shook his head. "No." He paused. "I mean, I don't know their names or anything."
"Can you tell us what happened, Son, and what's your name?"
"My name is Jack Dawson." Taking a deep breath, he told them the first thing that came to his mind. "I'm a Titanic survivor."
Thelma gasped, her pretty brown eyes widening. "My lawd! You were on the Titanic when it sank?"
Jack nodded, recalling that the male survivors appeared not to get much sympathy. He rushed to explain that the lifeboat had returned while he'd been half-frozen in the water. "I stayed in the infirmary for most of my trip back on the Carpathia. Rose took care of me." Struggling to recall the last few days, he relayed the events that had transpired since he'd arrived in New York, explaining why he'd been dressed as an old man. He also told of Cal and Rose's mother. "So, you see, I have to find Rose." He looked at the pastor, silently pleading with him. "I need to go to her rooming house."
Thelma asked a question. "Where's her rooming house?"
Jack blinked, struggling to remember. "I'm not sure." He paused, shaking his head, the movement causing him pain. He winced. "There's something important…I'm forgetting something."
Thelma patted Jack's arm, trying to comfort him. "The doctor said you might have some memory loss because you were hit in the head by those thugs."
He recalled his disturbing dream, breathing deeply. "I have to find Rose. Cal might hurt her."
Michael gave his opinion. "Jack, I'll try and help you find Rose, but, you have to remember, there are a lot of rooming houses in this area."
Jack gritted his teeth, angry. "You don't understand. She trusted me, and I've let her down. I can't hurt her like that. I have to go visit her. I love that woman, and I have to protect her." Exasperated, he rubbed his cheek, realizing he sported a bandage. "What happened to my cheek?"
Michael spoke in a low voice. "You don't remember what those hooligans did to you? They cut your face with a knife. The doctor stitched you up. He said that you shouldn't have a very bad scar." He paused running his hand over his closely-cropped hair. "You know, the Lord was looking out for you, Jack."
Sighing, Jack turned away from them, staring at the cream-colored wall. How was the Lord looking out for him? "My money's gone, isn't it?" He gritted the words out, angered that he now had to find a way to get some money to purchase his art supplies. How would he take care of Rose, now? How could they get married when he didn't even have a single penny in his pocket? Balling his hands into fists, he imagined punching each one of the robbers in the eye. He knew he could beat them up if they didn't all come at him at the same time. Blowing air through his lips, he struggled to rein in his temper.
Michael's quiet tone soon filled the room. "It won't do you any good being angry. Yes, your money is gone. But, the reason why I'd said the Lord was looking out for you was because you were wearing that thick makeup. The doctor said the cut could've been much worse if you hadn't had that makeup on."
Pushing the pastor's words from his mind, he glanced at both of them. "I want my money back." He needed to get back into the world, find a way to survive and he had to find Rose. He looked away from Thelma and Michael, using all his strength, he pushed himself off of the bed, determined to leave this room so that he could search for Rose. His legs wobbled like jelly and Michael caught him, saving him from hitting the floor. Tears flooded his eyes and determination to find Rose seared his soul like a scorching torch. Michael and Thelma forced him to lie back down.
Thelma's dark eyes sparkled with tears and pity. Jack winced. He didn't need her tears or pity. He needed to find Rose! He recalled the doctor telling him he'd been drugged, but, Jack realized he'd been sleeping for hours. There was no way that he was still doped up on medicine! Glaring at Michael and Thelma he voiced his question. "What's wrong with me? Why can't I stand up?"
Written by Cecelia Dowdy - Visit my website: titanicfanfiction dotcom
