Happy Wednesday, everyone! I hope the week is treating you fabulously. This is just about the half-way mark, so we've still got a couple major things left to happen in the upcoming chapters. Be prepared, my hyenas, be prepared. (Kidding, you guys are totally ostriches and not Nazi hyenas...)
Jessie waited until Jack had finished brushing down both mares, before following him into the house. Jack was torn between stifling under the constant attention—he just wanted to be with Crutchie and didn't need her around—and feeling thankful that he wouldn't have to go into the house and face the news of Crutchie's condition alone. She didn't say anything, having opted to remain silent after her initial question about his health and Jack appreciated that she didn't start with a litany of "he'll be fine" and "it's going to be okay"s. Because neither Jack nor Jessie, if they were being completely honest, knew if the boy would be okay.
JT stood near the door, his eyes bright and worried as he waited for Jack to come in. "How's Crutchie?" Jack asked the younger boy hoarsely.
"Syd's coming back with the doctor shortly. He'll be able to tell us for sure, but ma says he definitely broke his wrist and he has a fever. They, uh, don't know what he has though, but it's going to be okay because Dr. Cavanaugh is coming and he can fix it."
Jack wanted to shout at JT that he was wrong, that doctors couldn't fix everything. Doctors hadn't been able to save Crutchie from being stricken with polio all those years ago. Who was to say that they could save him now? And what if this was polio, resurfacing again? What if the vicious disease was rearing its awful, poisonous head and this time Crutchie wouldn't be so lucky? For, Jack knew that Crutchie had been lucky to only have been left a bum leg after the disease had ravished his childhood; polio, too often, left only the dead in its wake.
"—but, he's going to be fine. I just know it." JT was still talking, Jack realized. That boy could certainly chatter endlessly if he wanted to. "Crutchie's been through worse," JT finished, a strained grin on his face.
"Yeah, he's been through worse," Jack bit back, angry because he shouldn't have to go through this. Because Crutchie shouldn't have to go through this. "And he almost died because of it. Is that what you want?" Jack challenged. "Crutchie dead?"
JT paled. "N-no, I don't—He's not going to… Right?" JT stumbled over his words, worry and fear lodging into his throat uncomfortably.
"You don't have to yell at him," Jessie pointed out coldly. "It's not like it's JT's fault that your friend couldn't stay on a horse."
"This ain't Crutchie's fault," Jack said, turning on the redheaded girl. He had just been thankful that Jessie was kind enough to ask about Crutchie and now she was turning on him. It irked Jack that Jessie seemed to see Crutchie as less of a person, most likely because of his crippled leg. "It ain't Crutchie's fault," he ground out again.
"I'm not saying it is," she shot back. "I'm just saying it's not JT's." As Jessie turned away from Jack, she muttered, "It's not like we expected more of the crip, anyhow."
Jack barely resisted punching Jessie in her smug face. "He. Ain't. A. Crip," Jack hissed, his voice low and lethal. The only things saving Jessie from a sound beating were her gender and the fact that Jack still depended on Claude for food and shelter.
"Guys—" JT said, trying to break up what could easily devolve into a fight.
Jessie whipped around after Jack's words. "Really?" she queried, her voice cold and sardonic. "Because I was thinking the leg proved otherwise."
"You gotta stop seeing him as his leg; he's more than that, you know," Jack answered, his voice strangled with barely-restrained anger.
"I suppose he's his crutch, too?"
Jack's eyes lit with righteous fury and, blast everything, he was going to beat that cruel sarcasm right out of her. Only JT suddenly intercepting him kept Jack from throwing the first punch. "Don't you dare talk about him like that," Jack threatened, his voice nearly shaking with anger. He hated it when people only saw Crutchie as a cripple and he had promised the boy that it would be different in Santa Fe, that he could overcome all that prejudice out in the West. And, yet, here in their new home, Jessie was overflowing with blind prejudice.
Jessie wasn't an idiot and she recognized that her younger brother's warning hand on Jack's arm was the only thing keeping her from being pounded. Not that JT could hold him off if Jack really wanted to do damage; Jack was older and outweighed JT by a fair amount. "Whatever," she muttered, refusing to let Jack have the final say. She stalked off to her room, unwilling to admit that the ferocity with which Jack had glared at her had shaken her a little bit. "He's still just a crip," she whispered, once she was out of Jack's earshot.
"She just doesn't know Crutchie yet," JT reassured Jack, his hand still on the older boy's arm. "But once she gets to know him, she'll understand."
Jack jerked his arm from JT's grasp, shaking his head. "I promised Crutch he wouldn't have to deal with people like that here, that Santa Fe would be better than New York, but so far, it ain't. He's still bein' judged and he shouldn't have to be."
"It's just Jessie and she's stubborn. Ma, Pa, Syd, and I all know what Crutchie's like. I think she's still bitter about Gabriel losing his job to you."
"That doesn't mean she can just say things like that."
"I know," JT agreed, "but, it does at least partially explain her perspective. She's been worried that Pa will never accept Gabriel into this family—and rightly so because I don't think Pa trusts him—and so when Pa hired you on instead of Gabriel, I think she finally realized that Gabriel will never have a place here. So, now she's just bringing out all her heart-broken anger on you and Crutchie."
"You know, for a kid, you're pretty wise," Jack said, laughing bitterly.
JT grinned. "So I've been told."
"Now, don't get too cocky, or else—"
Jack was cut off as the front door was swung open and Syd quickly led a middle-aged, bespectacled man into the house. He was balding, the brown hair retreating from his high forehead. Dr. Cavanaugh, Jack correctly assumed. Syd glanced sympathetically at Jack, before showing Dr. Cavanaugh down the hallway to the JT and Crutchie's shared room. Jack immediately started after the doctor, needing to hear his diagnosis, needing to hear that Crutchie was going to be okay. Just as he reached the room, however, Syd came out and gently grabbed Jack's arm, pulling him away. "Not yet, Jack. Let Dr. Cavanaugh take a look at him. Then you can sit with Crutchie."
"I really should be with him," Jack said. Last time Crutchie had gotten sick, the newsies had all taken turns sitting by him, so that when he woke up, he had one of his brothers there with him. (Or, though no one wanted to admit it, if Crutchie passed on, he wouldn't be alone, having a brother by his side.) Now, Race and Romeo and Specs weren't around; Crutchie only had Jack to sit by his side while he struggled to heal. "I need to be there with him."
"Just wait a little longer. He's going to be okay," Syd reassured.
But, could no one hear how hollow those words were when Jack couldn't confirm their truth? "I just—" he began, but was cut off as Claude entered the room, followed by Dr. Cavanaugh. They had only been in there for a few minutes. Was that a good sign? Jack's stomach plummeted at the thought that there was no need for a doctor because the young cripple had already passed beyond the need of help, that the boy had died. Dr. Cavanaugh murmured something in Claude's ear, before taking his leave.
Claude's face was clearly wearied as he turned to his sons and Jack. "Dr. Cavanaugh diagnosed Crutchie with Scarlet Fever. He should be back on his feet in a few short days, after the fever has run its course. But, until that time, only Sue or I and Syd, if he cares to, will be sitting with Crutchie. Jack, you and JT are too susceptible to the fever for us to risk you entering that room. For the time being, JT, you can sleep on the floor of the living room."
"I—No," Jack said, shaking his head, "I need to be with him. Crutchie needs me to be there with him."
"He's going to be okay, but we can't have you in that same room. You could get just as sick," Claude cautioned. "Sue's with him right now."
Jack wanted to continue the argument, but he recognized that Claude was not going to back down with this. Maybe by tomorrow, Claude would have softened and Jack would be allowed to see his friend. "His wrist, though?" Jack asked, recalling the grotesque way the joint had been shattered backwards.
"I set it and the doctor made sure all the bones were correctly in place. He's going to be fine, Jack. There is no cause to worry."
"Do you think that I could see him tomorrow?"
"Maybe," Claude said, but it sounded more like a "no" to Jack.
Not that Jack ever took "no" for an answer.
Subterfuge was never one of Jack's strong suits. Sure, he had managed to sneak out of the Refuge that one time, but, honestly, that was more luck than actual skill. Not that he'd tell the other boys that, of course. So, the idea of sneaking down the hall to Crutchie's room seemed much more daunting to Jack than it probably should have been.
Getting up nearly an hour before dawn, Jack quietly pulled on a shirt and started making his way down the hallway. His bare feet snicked on the floor, each soft smack as loud as a gunshot to Jack's hyper-active ears. With each step, Jack's destination drew closer and his confidence soared. He was almost there. Just a few more doors...
"What are you doing?" Jack felt his heart jump up into the back of his throat and he instantly froze. For a brief moment, Jack was back in the Refuge and Snyder had just caught him escaping. "What are you doing, Jack?" The question was repeated and Jack realized that he recognized this voice and let out the breath he hadn't noticed he was holding. It wasn't Snyder. Just Jessie. Not that she was much better than the Spider.
"Nothing," Jack said, turning to face her. Jessie, Jack quickly realized, was wearing a dress. It was a light blue color with soft white lace accenting the sleeves and the hem of the dress. Jack had grown accustomed to seeing Jessie in pants and was thrown by the way the fabric was cinched tightly around her small waist and the soft contrast of her hair and the sky blue of the dress. "You're wearing a dress," Jack said dumbly. "I've never seen you in a dress."
"Fantastic observation," Jessie muttered sarcastically. "And you're supposed to be wearing a suit soon."
"Why?" Jack asked.
Jessie rolled her eyes. "We are all going to church. I'm pretty sure Pa is going to drag you along, too."
"But, I need—" Jack cut himself off, gesturing in Crutchie's room's direction.
Before Jessie could respond with what Jack assumed would be a sarcastic barb, Claude turned around the corner of the hallway, catching sight of Jack and Jessie. "Good, you're awake. Syd has an extra suit that you can wear," he told Jack, before adding. "Sue is going to stay here with Crutchie."
"I really don't need to go with you. I can stay here with Crutchie, if you need me to," Jack offered. "I wouldn't want Sue to miss, uh, church."
"It's okay. We don't want you getting sick."
Jack shrugged awkwardly. "I don't, uh, really need to go to church with you. I don't think I'd belong there."
"Nonsense," Claude reassured him. "You are welcome there."
"No, I mean that I, uh, church ain't ever really been a place for me to go to," Jack tried to explain. Sure, the nuns would come around every morning to pass out whatever meager breakfast they had for the newsies, but Jack had refused to ever go to the church they worshipped at. It wasn't that he had anything against religion or those that chose to believe in a Higher Being, it just wasn't for Jack. "It's not really my place."
"Come today and then if you still feel that way, you'll be free to stay home every week," Claude suggested.
With a short sigh—because he really did owe this man a lot and couldn't just outright oppose a fair deal such as what Claude was offering him—Jack nodded. "Okay. I'll go change." He could visit Crutchie after whatever church service he was being dragged along to; Crutchie would be fine until then. He had to be.
Jack tried to avoid yawning for the umpteenth time. His chin was pillowed on his fists, but that only made him want to close his eyes and go to sleep more. Jack sat up, attempting to inconspicuously stretch, but the movement caught Jessie's eye. She shot him a pointed look, before sitting forward, all prim and proper. Jack was nearly one hundred percent sure that she was only acting like that to make him feel even more ostracized and out of place. Her dress rustled with the movement, the sound loud and grating in the silence as a preacher stood up at the pulpit, flipping through a dog-eared copy of the Bible.
To Jack's left, JT's eyes were drooping shut, before shooting open quickly. When JT noticed that Jack was watching him, he mouthed something that Jack couldn't make out. Realizing that Jack didn't understand him, JT leaned over and whispered, "Not too much longer. I hope," he added with a lopsided grin.
Jack wanted to grin back, but the worry about Crutchie being left all alone—well, not really alone because Sue was there—without him pressed heavily on his mind. He opened his mouth to say… something. Jack wasn't really sure what he was planning on voicing, but at that moment the preacher began to talk. "Faith," the older man began, prompting Jack to roll his eyes. He was not looking forward to an hour long sermon on 'believe this and everything will be perfect and if it's not you just aren't trying hard enough.'
The preacher had thinning brown hair that had receded far enough that, from a certain angle, the man looked completely bald. He wasn't and he held to that fact—and his remaining hair—with as strong a conviction as his conviction to religion. The preacher's face was marred with a nose that would have been big on a much larger man, but the preacher was unfortunate enough to have never hit his growth spurt and the nose seemed monstrously huge on his small, pudgy face. All in all, Jack was not sure that an uglier man could exist. His voice, however, was smooth and comforting; the voice of a salesman who can convince even the most stubborn of customers that the product must be bought.
"Faith is an interesting term," the preacher began again, his voice low and honeyed. "Is it a noun or a verb? Don't worry, though. I don't plan on this being a grammar lesson." He laughed, his chuckles warm and inviting. The majority of the congregation laughed along with him and Jack felt as if he were witnessing a puppeteer playing with a room full of easily-controlled puppets. "I would just like to point out that while faith is often associated as a noun, an attribute of good people, it is probably more beneficial to view faith as a verb, a process that requires never-ceasing action on our part."
The preacher paused to take a breath and the congregation remained perfectly silent in the short space of time it took him to begin speaking again. "One of the best examples of faith found in the Bible is located in the book of St. Luke. As Jesus Christ is traveling, preaching to the people, a group of people come to him in behalf of a Roman centurion. Although, often during this time period, the Romans and the Jews were at odds with each other, this centurion had been kind to everyone and had even helped pay for the building of a synagogue for the Jews to worship in. So, when this centurion's dear servant was at death's door, he sent for Christ to come and heal the servant. When Christ came near, however, a messenger was sent to tell him that the centurion felt as if he was not worthy of Christ coming into his house and requested that He 'but say in a word' and believed that that would be all it would take for his servant to be healed.
"Miraculously, the servant was healed without Christ having to come near him at all, due to the centurion's great faith. In fact, Christ commented, 'I have not found so great faith… in Israel.'" The preacher paused in his sermon, taking the time to scan the congregation. Jack felt uncomfortable as the man's beady brown eyes gazed at him for a brief time, before continuing on through the crowd. "And isn't that a miracle in and of itself. That a man not even of the religion would have the greatest faith of all."
The preacher continued his sermon, but Jack found himself ignoring the man. He had found the story that the preacher had related to be interesting, but his thoughts kept wandering back to Crutchie. This wasn't like the time he had gotten pneumonia, Jack had to keep reminding himself. It wasn't. Crutchie had scarlet fever and Claude had said he'd be better in a couple of days. Jack could wait a couple of days and then everything would be back to normal.
Upon arriving home, Jack tried once more to visit Crutchie, but Sue would not grant him access to the sick room, much to Jack's irritation and displeasure. He was almost willing to pretend that he had been struck with the same illness, just to be able to spend time with Crutchie. Jack figured, however, that Sue would be able to tell he was faking. Or Dr. Cavanaugh. So, faking was out of the question.
JT informed Jack that his older brother, Clark and his wife, would be coming over for dinner, like they did every Sunday night, but Claude interrupted his son. "Not tonight, JT. Maybe next week."
Jack was thankful for that. He didn't feel up to socializing with anyone and finally just crawled into bed, ignoring Syd's suggestions to eat something. It was fine. Just a couple of days. Jack would repeat that until Crutchie was better, because it wouldn't be long. No, it would be like the blink of an eye. Jack would wake up one morning and Crutchie would be laughing and joking with JT and he'd tease Crutchie about always getting sick and maybe say something about his leg getting a little rusty, but everything would be okay because Crutchie would be okay.
Just a few days longer…
I totally recognize that this is not the most exciting of all chapters. That's what next week is for. :) So, as always, reviews are the best ever! Feel free to leave questions and comments. I try to respond to everyone individually. Seize the day, my ostriches!