Despite the fact he drove his father's car as fast as it would go, what Jem always remembered most about that trip to Charlottetown was how interminable it seemed, with Faith lying in the backseat, pale and unconscious, and Gilbert tending to her silently, looking anxious and grim. Never before had Charlottetown seemed so far away, had Jem thought of Glen St. Mary as such an isolated country village, or had the dirt road seemed so bumpy and treacherous. Though it was actually a bright and clear morning, the road reminded Jem of a dark and dangerous maze, leading them through vast areas of nothingness before finally taking them to their destination. And for the entire duration of the trip, worry gnawed at Jem, ate away at him, pulled him into its hopeless grip. This worry, this terror, grew stronger whenever he looked back at his wife to see her so motionless and white that she seemed almost dead.
The enormity of what happened, and what might happen still, only dawned on him when he found himself in the waiting area with nothing to do but sit and wait with a palpitating heart for news that might change his life forever. Upon arriving at the hospital, Faith and Dr. Blythe, who had called the hospital before leaving Ingleside, were whisked immediately into an examining room, and Jem was left alone in the waiting area until his mother and the Merediths arrived twenty minutes later. Too distraught to speak, Jem wished he were a doctor instead of a medical student, at least then he'd have the small consolation of being at his wife's side and knowing what her condition was, rather than being left in the waiting area to feel helpless and fear the unthinkable.
Pacing the floor distractedly, Jem tried not to think about the possibility of losing Faith, but every time he pushed the thought from his mind, it insidiously crept back in until it overwhelmed both his mind and heart, bringing feelings of helplessness and despair. Having her taken from him now would be the cruelest irony possible, after Faith had spent four years worrying about the possibility of losing him. During Faith's bout with influenza a year earlier, Jem thought he finally knew the agony his wife had suffered, but he hadn't. Not until now, when he was living it a second time, did it occur to him that Faith had lived with such fear every day, not knowing from one moment to the next if she was a widow or not. Society's belief that men were the stronger gender was ludicrous, Jem thought. Living with the unknown and the unthinkable possibilities of what might be took far more courage than facing reality, no matter how horrible it might be.
A desperate panic engulfed him when considered all the small wonders that might be lost to him forever: of never again gazing into Faith's sparkling brown eyes which always seemed to be lit from her soul; of never again hearing her melodic laugh that wafted gently through the air much like the song of a nightingale; of never again sharing her hopes and dreams in which he played a pivotal role; of never again kissing her sensuous lips and feeling the satisfaction of her kissing him in return; of never again feeling his heart flutter with excitement when she walked into a room, delighting him with her presence.
How devoid of joy and happiness and meaning his life would be without Faith! Without Faith, all he would have would be his work, and while medicine was a noble profession, one that would allow him to serve humanity and atone for the lives he had been forced to take in battle, having nothing but medicine his life would mean an empty and ultimately unfulfilling existence. Without Faith and the future they had planned, his life would be like a still ocean, one without the exhilaration of the rippling waves. Without Faith, he would be a wingless seagull unable to fly joyously and effortlessly above the water and sand to experience all the beauty and excitement life has to offer. Without Faith, he would merely exist; he would not actually live.
"Jem, come over here and sit down," Anne said gently, wishing fervently that she could offer some comfort to her son. "Wearing out the floor isn't going to do Faith any good."
"If only I knew what was going on in there," Jem said impatiently as he sat down next to his mother. "Why doesn't Dad come out and tell us something?"
"He will as soon as there's something to tell," Anne said, thinking to herself that it was a good sign Gilbert was still with Faith. That meant Gilbert and the other doctors still thought there was something that could be done for her.
Anne put her hand in her son's, and looked sympathetically at John and Rosemary Meredith, who were sitting on the small sofa opposite of where she and Jem sat. Rev. Meredith looked pale and grave, while Rosemary appeared pensive and tense. Her heart ached for them, for Anne remembered the endless hours she spent in the hospital when Walter had typhoid, and how silence only made the waiting more painful. What these three frantically worried people needed to do was to share their happy memories of Faith, and Anne took upon herself to see they did just that.
"Jem, while we're waiting for news, why don't you tell us about your wedding? What happened in London that made you and Faith decide to elope?" she said.
John and Rosemary both looked to Jem with interest.
"Yes," said John, welcoming the distraction from his thoughts. "It must have been quite exciting."
"And very romantic," added Rosemary.
Jem smiled weakly at his parents-in-law, noticing for the first time since their arrival that they were as anxious as he was. How could he be so oblivious to their anguish?
"It was," he said softly, as thoughts of Faith and London temporarily pushed aside thoughts of the present crisis.