PART XI

The Best Laid Plans

Alex

John hit the ground in a heap of dust and fileted meat before either of us could reach him. No one moved to help save for a young man in green with long limbs and a clumsy agileness. Together, we hoisted John to his feet and dragged him from the post to my kitchen, parting the crowd of spectators as we did so. The physician had already cleared a space on the table where he gestured for us to lay him.

"On his stomach. That's it."

There was an assortment of viles on the windowsill, all of different sizes and colors. A pot of something potent and herbal boiled over the fire. Upon closer inspection, I noticed that there were strips of cloth in there too. The physician held a bottle of brandy in his hand, but whether it was for himself or for medical purposes, I wasn't entirely sure. He took a swig and held it out to me.

"You're shaking," he said, remnants of adrenaline no doubt, though I hadn't noticed until he'd pointed it out. I'd never been much for drinking, not for sport and most certainly not as a stress reliever. Still, I took the bottle from him with thanks. Not wanting to be rude, I offered it to our helper too, but he shook his head and politely excused himself.

"Thanks for your help," I said. "I don't know if I would've gotten him back here without you." The boy nodded, chancing a glance at John on the table and the physician who had started cleaning the dirt out of his wounds.

"I do hope he recovers," he said before showing himself out. Pocahontas mumbled something as he passed. She was standing off to the side, just over the threshold with her arms folded across her chest. I wanted to say something, but there was a warm sensation in my stomach and a buzzing in my head as the alcohol started to take effect.

John didn't stir under the physician's careful hands. He laid there, motionless, which would have been a lot less concerning if we could see him breathing. Pocahontas was the first to say something. Before anyone could protest, she crept up to John's side and placed two fingers on his neck, feeling for something.

"He's waning," she said.

"Of course he is," the physician replied. "He's lost a lot of blood." Having extracted as much of the dirt as he could by hand, he crossed the room and bent down over the pot on the fire. He stirred its contents, inspecting them carefully before removing the cloth within.

There's a bottle of eucalyptus on the windowsill," he said. "It's the only non-liquid with leaves."

"I know what it is," Pocahontas snapped which surprised the doctor way more than me. If there was one thing she knew besides diplomacy, it was the land and all that it had to offer. I'd seen it myself over the last few weeks, and John had confirmed it. When the doctor recovered, he told her to uncork the vile and hold it under John's nose. She was way ahead of him though, and John jerked at the smell.

"Shh," she whispered, pushing the hair from his eyes. "You're safe," she assured him. "Everything is going to be alright."

The physician and I exchanged a look as he whimpered under her hand. Bringing the boiled cloth to the table, he told John what he was about to do and offered him opium in case he didn't want to be awake for it. John's eyes rolled open and closed, but other than that, he gave no reply. The doctor looked at Pocahontas who was still stroking John's head.

"The purple vial," he said. "See if you can get him to take it." She did as she was told, unscrewing the top and bringing the contents to John's mouth.

"Swallow this," she said coaxing it down his throat. I couldn't be certain of course, but it was almost as if she'd done this before, the hysteria of the last thirty minutes seeming to have left her. Perhaps it was knowing that he had lived or having something to do. Whatever the reason, I was grateful for her presence and even more for her reaction at the post. If there were any doubt that she and John were together (or at the very least that she cared for him) it was long gone now. I had a flash of the smile on Argall's face as he watched her, undoubtedly pleased with the punishment that he was inflicting. He believed us, and as vile and deceitful as it was, it was also the only thing that mattered.

000

Pocahontas

Alex and I took turns watching John for the rest of the day and through the night. The opium had a near immediate effect, but it didn't stop him from feeling everything. When the medicine man poured the rest of the alcohol over his back, he let out a terrifying cry and shook with such force that I thought he was going to fling himself off the table.

"Hold him," the medicine man said, but even in a drug induced haze, the strength of him was still too much for me. Alex had to help. When the alcohol had settled, I wiped up the excess and watched as the medicine man dressed John's wounds. He draped the boiled cloth along his back and told us to keep him on his front. He had other patients to attend to, but he'd be back in a few hours to check on him and change the bandages. The second time he changed them, he showed us how to boil the cloth so that we could do it ourselves.

"Do this one more time tonight and again tomorrow morning," he said. "If he doesn't want to eat, that's alright, but he should get plenty of water. If you can get him to take some broth, even better."

We stood in the hallway just outside the kitchen, John's sleeping form resting in the background, albeit fitfully.

"And for the pain?" Alex asked.

"Opium," the medicine man replied, producing another purple vial from the bag that he carried. "Only if he really needs it though and not the whole thing or it could halt his breathing." He placed it in my palm, and I nodded, turning the capsule over in my hands.

"We have this too," I remarked, but it wasn't just medicinal; it was for ceremonial purposes too. I remembered the elders that used to smoke it and shuddered at the memory of the smell- like incense but mustier and rotting. I couldn't imagine it tasted very good either.

"It doesn't," the medicine man confirmed, "but at least he'll be able to sleep." And he did. Mostly. Sunset was when he started to stir again. Alex made some broth for dinner just as the medicine man had suggested, but when I offered it to him, he refused.

"Water then?" He grunted something that could have only been a yes because he didn't push it away. I reached for the ladle that Alex had laid out for that exact purpose and scooped as much as I could from the pot at my feet. When I brought it to his lips, he drank willingly. His lips were cracked and peeling.

"More?" I asked. He grunted again, nodding slightly. I watched as he drained a second ladle and then a third.

"Thank you," he mouthed. Then he put his cheek on the table and fell back asleep. Eventually I drifted off too. When I woke, the sun had long since set, and Alex was shaking my shoulder. The room was filled with an orange glow, and there was a small fire fluttering in the hearth.

"Pocahontas, you should go upstairs for a few hours," he said. "I can handle this." I didn't really want to leave him, but I also didn't have the strength to argue.

"You'll come get me if anything happens?" I asked.

"Of course," he promised. But Alex didn't come get me. In fact, he let me sleep through the entire next morning and into the afternoon. When I came back downstairs, it was to the sound of sobbing.

"He keeps asking for Sarah," Alex said. "I gave him some opium, but I think it only made him worse."

Indeed. The bandages were soaked with sweat, and he was shaking again. The violent movement must have ripped his lashes because there were spurts of blood pooling to the surface too.

"Go get the medicine man," I said. To John I whispered, "It's okay. I'm right here." His eyes flashed open, but they were glassy and unseeing.

"Sarah?" he asked. My heart constricted in my chest, but I forced a smile and shook my head. If it was any comfort, then...

"Yes," I said, wiping a stray tear from his cheek. "I'm right here." The trembling seemed to stop then, and he clamored for my hand which I handed over immediately. He pressed my fingers to his lips and then my palm against his cheek like a protective covering. I tried not to think too much about the last time I'd done something like this, so when Alex came back with the medicine man, I was relieved to have something else to focus on.

"Did you give him anymore opium?" the medicine man asked.

"No," I said. "Al- We- we think it might be making him worse."

He lifted one of the bandages to inspect what was underneath before removing them altogether. Sure enough, the flesh had split back open in places, but it wasn't just blood that was seeping out. There was a white, gooey substance along the wounds as well.

"Damn it," the medicine man muttered. "I need another pot of water on the fire and any alcohol you have."

"Will wine do?" Alex asked.

"Anything." While Alex dug around in the cupboards, I leaned over the creamy fluid for a better look.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Inflammation," the medicine man replied. Alex had found the wine and set it on the windowsill with the rest of the supplies. Our faces must have betrayed our lack of understanding.

"Fever," he clarified, which made sense considering John's warped sense of reality.

"Oh the opium is definitely contributing to that," he said as he worked. "Hold this for me, will you? Yes, just like that." I slid my hand out from under John's long enough to hold a bandage while the medicine man doused it with church wine.

"You're not going to pour it on his back again?" I asked.

"Not this time," he replied. "I need him to sit with it a little bit longer to kill the inflammation."

I watched as he sifted through the contents of his bag and produced a thick, leather patch which he handed to me too.

"Have him bight down on this," he instructed. "What I'm about to do next will hurt a bit."

"What about the opium?" I asked. The medicine man shook his head.

"Don't give him anymore until later this afternoon and only if he really needs it."

"I'm sorry," I whispered, bending down to John's head and offering him the piece of leather. His entire face seemed to droop, but he took it between his teeth without incident.

"Ready?" the medicine man asked. John made a low, guttural sound. I nodded, smoothing his hair back.

000

The next few days all blurred together. Alex and I took turns changing John's dressing and trying to persuade him to eat. The bulk of him seemed to be withering away at an alarming rate, though the medicine man assured us that a lack of appetite was normal, especially with everything he had to process. By the third day, we'd relocated him to Alex's bedroom on the same floor. A couple days later I came in to find him sitting up with both legs draped over the side of the bed. The cloth bandages still clung to his skin, but they were beginning to sag from his movements.

He didn't look up at my entrance, so I hovered by the door. His expression was blank and incredibly far away as if he were watching something only he could see. Not wanting to startle him, I approached with caution, easing my way into his line of vision.

"Pocahontas," he said, which was more of a relief than I'd expected it to be. The fever appeared to be gone, the opium worn off, and his sense of awareness back to where it should be. He gestured for me to come closer. His skin looked translucent and thin stretched over sunken cheeks and angled bones. Dark, half moons seemed to weigh down his eyes, and despite all of the sleep that he'd had, he didn't appear to have gotten any rest. One hand was resting on his thigh as I lowered myself next to him.

"I'm sorry I called you Sarah," he said. I was surprised he remembered that, but I assured him it was fine.

"No," he said, shaking his head with a startling amount of force. "It's not- I'm not..." There was water welling in his eyes, but he pushed it away with his hand.

"I know," I said. I knew exactly what it was to be unwell and exactly what it was to lose someone too. I suppose that's why I was so vehemently opposed to losing John Rolfe- of his own accord or at the hands of someone like Argall. It was a long time before we said anything more, but it was also enough just to sit there with someone who knew. Eventually, John turned to me and said,

"Alex told me that you agreed to the marriage." The conversation was serious, but my eyebrows gave an involuntary raise. I smiled.

"You two are on a first name basis now?"

"After what he told Argall, I can call him whatever I want." I didn't mean to laugh, but it tumbled out before I could stop it. John smiled too, but only slightly, and stopped the second I said that Alex had just been trying to help.

"Well he didn't, did he? And now…"

Don't get me wrong. It wasn't an ideal situation by any means, not for him and not for me either, but it was a whole lot better than whatever Argall had been prepared to do on the beach. I watched as John took a deep breath and pulled himself closer to the edge of the bed so that his feet touched the floor. I hoped he wasn't trying to stand.

"Argall was going to kill you," I reminded him, wondering at what point I should call for Alex. If he did go down, I wasn't strong enough to catch him, much less pull him back up by myself. John stopped what he was doing and looked at me then. His cold, dark eyes were simultaneously sharp with conviction and devoid of emotion as he looked me dead in the eye and said,

"Maybe he should have."

I had told Alex not to believe him, that he didn't really mean what he was saying. Now I wasn't so sure.

"You don't mean that," I said to which John chuckled,

"Oh but I do." It wasn't the words; it was the laugh, and though I knew it was more of a dark afterthought than an intentional jab, it still hurt to hear. I took a deep breath and then blew it out like I was blowing on a bee sting.

"I'm sorry," he said after a while. "I know that's not what you wanted to hear."

"Then why would you say that?"

"Because," he replied, "if you're still even thinking about marrying me, you deserve to know." He sighed and started picking at the bed sheets. "I'm not… I'm not well and haven't been for a very long time."

Everybody grieves, I thought, but he must have been reading my mind because he shook his head and said, "No, not like this."

I watched as he put his head in his hands, wanting so badly to comfort him with my own. I didn't though. These particular wounds were not mine to soothe, but I would sit in the silence and listen as he grieved. It wasn't much, but I knew from experience that it was all anyone could do.

I don't know how long we sat there before there was a crash at the front door, and Alex stumbled into the door frame. His hair was disheveled, and his cheeks were red like he'd just run the whole length of the settlement. He put his hands on his knees, gasping for breath. I jumped to my feet.

"What is it?" I asked, but Alex was still gulping for air, unable to speak.

"Ar- Argal," he finally choked. John and I exchanged a look. Neither of us said anything.

"He- he said he's l-looking forward to the- the wedding n-next month."

My stomach dropped. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see John's face fall too.

"I'm sorry," John said as if he couldn't possibly have heard right. "Next month?"

Alex's eyes were fixed to the floor, his entire expression dismayed and incredibly far away. He heaved a breath and nodded in reply. In the silence that followed, the air grew steadily thicker until it was smoldering with anxiety and an insatiable heat. My gaze flashed to the window beside the bed, but when I moved to open it, Alex stood up straight and shook his head.

"Someone will hear us," he said, which wouldn't have been a problem if everyone had kept their voices down. Alex must have noticed it before I did because he hopped over the threshold and latched the door behind him. When I looked at John, he was clutching the edge of the mattress and trying to stand.

I put a hand on his shoulder to stop him, but he brushed it aside, his entire body inflamed to the touch and seething with contempt. A strand of sweat soaked hair fell in his face as he found his footing and pushed himself upward. The bandages strained with every movement, wilting at the edges until the ones most disturbed by his efforts began to slide down and away. The welts underneath were still swollen and angry. Resisting the urge to cover them, I focused on the line of John's jaw instead. He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and heaved himself into a standing position. His legs shook underneath him, but both of us knew better than to help. John grabbed the windowsill for support before yanking it open and turning back to face us.

"Let them," he heaved. "No one, not even the council, would disagree that a month is not enough time to get married."

"Initially it was two weeks," Alex replied. "I negotiated two more."

"Well aren't you just the hero of this whole thing."

"John-" I started, but he dismissed me with an eye roll and a wave. And then because he knew exactly what was going to say, he said:

"It was not up to him to save me." And then for good measure he added, "And it is most certainly not on you."

"Well it's not just about you anymore, is it?"

Alex, who having finally had enough, drew himself up to his full height and raised his voice. Both men stared at each other in livid silence. If John wasn't still hurt and Alex had chosen any other profession, this would've been the part where, in a wave of rage and male instinct, they both launched themselves across the room to settle the matter with blows. Sensing this, I inserted myself directly into their lines of vision and turned to Alex.

"What do you mean?"

Alex didn't take his eyes off John as he replied.

"I mean that John's life is not the only one at stake if this marriage doesn't go through on time." To me he said, "Even after everything at the post, Argall still suspects we lied."

"You did," said John, but neither of us acknowledged him as the gravity of the situation started to sink in. My insides were suddenly freezing, and the fear that was rising in my own eyes was reflected in Alex's as well.

"And if his suspicions are confirmed?"

Alex hung his head and sighed. When at last the words came, he looked at us both and replied:

"What he has for me and John is pretty obvious, but you…"

It was hard to imagine anything worse than death, but once my mind started rolling, the possibilities did too. One after another they flashed before my unseeing eyes: images of rape and slavery, bodily mutilation, public humiliation. The possibilities really were endless. And then there were John and Alex whose executions I would no doubt have to watch as well. So consumed was I by the horror of my imagination that I didn't even hear what Alex said. All I heard was John and his insistence that it wouldn't happen.

"Plan the wedding," he said. To me, he dropped his voice and reached out his hand. "Pocahontas, come here." The lines along his forehead had softened, replaced instead by a look so pleading and a tone so gentle that I went without question. With one arm still on the windowsill, he wrapped the other around my shoulders and whispered with all the conviction he could muster,

"Nothing is going to happen to you. I promise."

It was as if all the energy had been sapped from me then, and without even thinking, I pressed my forehead to his chest. His skin was warm and comforting against my own, and even though he was barely standing up himself, there was a solidness about him that radiated strength and sought to pull me under its protective covering. It occurred to me to resist, to extract myself from the vortex of our instincts- his to protect and mine to let him- even and especially at a time like this. I didn't though, and neither did he.

"And the baptism?" Alex asked. John tightened his grip on my shoulder but didn't say anything. I'd only heard the word once before, and it was on the beach with Argall. At the time, it sounded like a requirement for getting married. What it actually entailed, I had no idea. I was altogether unfamiliar with the customs of English weddings, but judging by John's reaction, I sensed that whatever it required was a nuisance at best and pain staking at worst. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower than I expected.

"Can we just… have a minute?" he asked.

"You and Pocahontas?"

"Me and you." To me he said, "Will you excuse us for a bit?" Knowing that they had a lot to talk about and that John had a lot to say, I nodded and slipped out from under his arm toward the door. Alex nodded as I passed but kept his eyes on John, refusing to meet my gaze. They waited until the door shut before they started yelling.