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Chapter 5

Elizabeth sat riveted to Jack's still frame, unable to tear her eyes away. Her ears registered sounds, but she did not recognize their origins. She willed Jack with every ounce of her soul to take another breath, no matter how shallow. Anxious, precious seconds of life ticked by, his chest did not rise until, all at once he gave a great sputtering cough.

"Elizabeth?" A female voice, low and dulcet interrupted her silent vigil. She recognized the long, aggressive strides of the midwife, Kate Heung, as she led the team of rescuers around the jutting rocks. Startled, Elizabeth tore her eyes away to greet familiar faces as breathless and bewildered men filed around the rocks. Last to approach was her former first mate Tai Heung, who brought up the rear of the caravan with his fingers tightly wound around the hilt of his sword. He expected an attack; she knew the grim expressions of her first mate's scarred face to infer his discomfort.

"Your son didn't give me much to go on--said that the man was dying on the beach!" Kate Heung's firm voice called her back to her senses. Relief eased into the tightness of Elizabeth's cheeks and jaw. Kate Heung was a skilled midwife and an artisan in her craft. If there was any one capable of healing Jack's wounds, it was Kate.

"Yes, the man has been shot. The wound is infected from what I can tell, but I'm no doctor. He's been between worlds, but he's still alive," Elizabeth informed the older woman, who had swept off her cloak with an official air and had handed it to her husband without missing a step.

"Where is William?" Elizabeth questioned tensely, not wishing for him to be out of her sight. There was a stir among the men Tai Heung had brought with him from his restaurant and to her relief; William's curious face appeared between his two body guards.

"Blimey, that's a lot of blood," he whispered in awe, seeing the blood drenched sheet in the full light of the dawn's early rays for the first time. Kate shifted to Jack's shoulder and leaned over his chest to scrutinize the wound.

"Bright boy you have. He's weak from the blood loss. The wound…," Kate raised her finger and without a flinch dug her finger into the tender, inflamed flesh that encircled the gaping hole.

"Is very deep…" She clicked her tongue at the shameful state the man was in. He'd been wounded at least three days prior, and it had been left to fester. From what she'd seen, someone had made a half-hearted attempt to remove the shot, but had only engendered a wound that ran deeper into the tissue. Kate continued to examine, muttering to herself as she took stock of the wound from all corners. The clinical prodding of her fingers elicited a response from Jack in the form of a wail.

"So he is alive; I was beginning to wonder if our trip was wasted..." The midwife's chuckle was shared by none; those members of the troop who hadn't recoiled for fear from his cry were repulsed by the gallows humor.

"Wouldn't it be better to get him to warmer quarters?" Elizabeth suggested as she studied Kate's dour expression. Her pert mouth became a thin grim line as she determined the best course of action. The man was closer to the realm of death than the land of the living; it was better to leave him on the beach to a peaceful expiration amongst the solid rocks and the gush of the sea.

Kate hesitated averting her gaze from Elizabeth's beseeching eyes, wide and dark with fear for the man's life. The man's wound was severe and she admittedly lacked the expertise to remove the deeply seeded shot.

"Surely you of all people can help him," Elizabeth countered shrilly to the very pregnant pause that answered her question. Hesitantly, Kate turned her gaze to her husband's face, searching the lines and scars for the answers she sought.

Sensing her eyes, he turned his gaze away from the sea and scoured the dying man for the first time. His cheek muscles twitched, imperceptibly; the scars that lined his face from a childhood injury tensed. He was a stoic man who managed to keep his sentiments a mystery to those around him and sometimes, even himself. Only the fluttering of his lids and the parting of his lips directed her attention. Tai's eyes registered astonishment as he looked between his kneeling Captain and the man who lay prostrate on the ground. Aha! Kate's sharp eyes missed nothing of her husband's changing expressions. He knew the man; Tai's eyes drifted from his wife's face to the grief stricken Captain, who stood between them with her shoulders poised for defeat.

"You know him?" Kate questioned her husband and Elizabeth. Both started, taken unawares by her observations of their telling behaviors. She was met with a staunch stare of silence from Elizabeth; Tai was more forthcoming.

"This man is Jack Sparrow. We fought with him in the battle; it was through his honor that we stand here today. His father would mourn his loss." Her husband's voice was soft, and even though the tone was gentle, there was a dash of misgivings that included his glances to Elizabeth Turner.

"His father is…," she heard Elizabeth start to explain, but Kate was quick to interrupt her.

"Captain Teague, I've heard the name Jack Sparrow before." Her decision was made, seemingly without her. Tai wished to help the man, but whether it was out of loyalty to his Captain, or respect to Jack Sparrow remained to be seen. The tales she had heard of the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow painted a more fantastical, if not more sordid portrait of the man.

"Wrap him up in the sheet. Take care not to jar him. If any more blood seeps from his lungs we'll have a right pretty mess beyond the dead body." Tai motioned to the three men who had stood as silent soldiers at his side. They were his most trusted troops, they'd ensured his survival in every battle; they were the men to bring him into Shipwreck Cove and into her life in the same method they intended to remove Jack Sparrow from the beach. Chinese phrases were uttered; an improvised stretcher was created from fragments, beams, planks and bits of rope were lashed together.

With a grunt, the four men shouldered their burden, their faces scrunched with the determination to ferry the dead man to a chance for life.

"There must be some hope then, if you are willing to move him?" Elizabeth questioned, her expression brightening with child-like naivety. Kate shook her head; a surge of bitterness and a hint of contempt for a woman who had much still to learn about the subtleties of death.

"The man is already dead. I thought it more merciful to allow him dignity in his demise and a warm bed in which to breathe his final breath. There is nothing for me to do but to ease his great agony." Kate's wrist was seized by Elizabeth; she was spun around to face her husband's Captain, whose youthful skin had dissolved to the color of ash.

"Tell me there is some small hope, I beg you." She pleaded in earnest, a low whisper that trembled at the wind's disturbance. Kate's feet had ever been planted in the realm of truth; she never lied to her patients or those that surrounded their bedsides.

"There is but one hope, and it lies in the stuttering hands of our esteemed surgeon, Billy the Butcher…" Kate's displeasure and obvious disdain for the man seeped from the dull, monotone calm of her voice.

"I will make all haste to fetch him and we can only pray that as it is early still, he will only be partially inebriated. I will take your son with me…" Elizabeth frowned at the thought of Will chasing after a wayward and drunken surgeon.

"For your protection?" Elizabeth countered suspiciously, not relishing the thought of her impressionable boy being dragged into the seedier taverns of the city.

"No. I intend to drop him to stay with Nell Maloney before I fetch Billy. No use in introducing your son to all manner of vice and sin in the course of one evening. Surgery is not for the faint hearted, and is most certainly not for the lad to see…" Eager to stay with her charge, Kate ran down the beach with long strides after the men carrying the stretcher.

"Take him to Mrs. Turner's house, men. Careful there; you're causing him pain…," the voice disappeared amongst the rocks; Elizabeth stood alone on the beach, staring after the retreating stretcher and soldering men. To her eyes, it appeared they were pall bearers carrying a despicably make-shift coffin.

"Billy the Butcher…then there is not the slightest chance of hope." Her resignation alarmed her; it was inevitable that they should always part on enigmatic terms—'pirate' was ever his final, mocking salutation.

Something small slipped into her hand, and Elizabeth tore her eyes away from the retreating rescue party to gaze around her. William, who had observed the scene but had spoken not a single syllable, had slipped a consolatory gift into her hand.

"There was only one bottle. I saved it for you," Will murmured with a grim half-smile and with eyes that loved and accepted her mysterious behavior with unblinking fealty. Elizabeth lifted the blown glass bottle of rum to her tired eyes for closer study. Her free hand grappled for his and if it were not too great a show of emotion, she would have kissed it over and over in her gratitude. In his youthful spirit she drew the courage she found she lacked; there was still hope if there was but one fool left to fight for it.

"Master Turner," Kate's rich voice summoned; she'd paused at a distant rock to wait for him to follow. Elizabeth felt the warmth of his hand slip from hers and with a gust of wind he was gone, leaving her to stand alone and it almost seemed the breaking of the waves had taken on its old-familiar sound again: A faint echo of goodbye.