Chapter 13
Racing up to Markas's house, I nearly slam into the rickety, slab door. I throw my arms out to catch myself, and after regaining my balance, I take a deep breath and give the wood a sharp rap. Before my hand knocks a second time, Mrs. Fenly swings out of the house, hastily shutting the door behind her. When she sees who her visitor is, a small, sad smile appears on her thin face.
"Lynnetta… You ought to be at school, dear," she utters calmly.
My hand reaches into my dress and pulls out the small, hidden ration.
"Here. Beans," I say, as I push the parcel into her bony fingers.
With a purse of her lips, she takes them.
"Thank you, Lynnetta. Thank you very much. But you should to go back to school now."
"Please, Mrs Fenly. I want to see him. I want to help."
Her gaze drops down to the satchel of beans for a few moments before she begins her careful reply.
"Lynnetta, this is a very kind gift. You need to go back to school now. You cannot come inside. I will not allow it."
A small cough echos from behind the door, causing my chest to tighten.
Sorrow washes over Mrs. Fenly's face as she repeats her stand once more.
"I appreciate your gift, but please do not steal any more of your mother's food for us. Go back to school. Thank you."
With her closing gratitude, she whisks herself back into her home, swiftly closing and locking the door, not allowing me a glance inside. Unsure of what to do next, I stand in the same spot, listening to Markas's coughs intertwine with the reassuring shushings of his mother. I noiselessly stay there until I notice a slight change in the sun, no longer directly above me, that signals school will be out soon. Begrudgingly, I make my return to the schoolyard, and head to the backside of the school to wait for the last bell of the day to ring. A small rock provides me with a place to sit and ponder, while a sparse tree above it offers a hint of shade.
There is nothing else that I can think of to help. Nothing else I can think of but the rasping that I know will haunt my dreams. How bad might he be? Is the blood already coming up, like it did for Mr. Lawson? My speculations demand more knowledge… there must be a way to find out further information, hopefully something that could fix this mess. But where can I go for answers?
The bell clangs, interrupting my thoughts. As my fellow classmates file out the front door, I seamlessly slip amongst them.
"Lynetta! Here I am!", my mother calls over the mass of adolescents. She will never be subtle about walking her perfectly capable sixteen year old daughter home from school. I know deep down that I deserve my punishment for deceiving my parents, but the snickers and pointed fingers of the other students in my direction still sting.
Once I reach her, she takes hold of my hand, as if I am still a young child. The ridicule continues, but my mother seems not to notice. The walk home is uneventful, and when we arrive at our house, I run up the stairs to my room immediately.
A tear leaks out as I frantically open up my schoolbooks, searching for one that might give me some hints about Markas's condition. I, of course, am assuming that he has consumption, but do not know much about the illness except what I witnessed with the Lawson family. My math and history books offer nothing, and I doubt that my current reading assignment, a non-fictional account of a war survivor from District Twelve, will be much help either, although I flip through it regardless. Having no luck so far, I begin to search the small library of books that belong to my mother on the shelf downstairs, but neither a glossary of textiles or an heirloom cookbook covered in dust will provide me with the answers I seek. Finally, I give up for the night, relaxing on my bed and attempting to solve my arithmetic homework. Tomorrow will be another day, and I will surely figure out something then.
"The three most important items of safety gear in the mines, in order, are a helmet, work gloves, and goggles. First, we will go over the helmet, which was invented by..."
My mind drifts away from the lecture as my eyes skim the books stacked tightly against the wall under the windows. The frustration at the lack of materials available to me begins swell, transferring from my mind to my impatient body. My pencil taps wildly on my desk, and I resist the compulsion to throw it at the boy sitting in front of me. As I anticipated, the teacher gives me a piercing glare. I drop my hands to my lap, helplessness consuming me. Feeling lost, I take another glance around the classroom, when someone catches my eye. Clara Tenderling.
I scribble out a message on my notebook, tear it out, fold it up, and write her name on top. As discretely as possible, I slide the paper into the hand of the shy, brunette girl sitting to my right. She looks up at me, wide-eyed, and then back down at the note. With a deep breath, she closes her eyes and passes it on to the next student. I have a feeling this is the first rule she's ever broken. Oh well, there is a first time for everything. Eventually, Clara receives my question, and throws a quick nod in my direction when the teacher's back is turned. My pulse quickens. I might actually get some answers now. It baffles me that I did not think of Clara before. Of course a healer's apprentice would have more information than a District Twelve textbook. We still are not really friends, but medical information seems like the kind of thing that acquaintances could discuss. Hypothetical conversations play out in my head until the bell rings to release us for lunch at last.
As everyone disperses to eat, I make my way over to Clara. She finishes politely telling her friends that she will meet up with them shortly, and then focuses her attention on me. We sit down at her desk, and she looks at me questioningly.
"What's up? You seem worried," she asks.
"Clara, someone I care about is sick."
Her brows furrow, a puzzled expression appearing on her face.
"If someone is sick, Lynn, you should take them to my father. We'll do the best we can. Is that really all you wanted to talk about?"
I pause a moment before answering. Should I really be speaking about such private matters with a girl I barely know? And what if she told her parents? Would they tell mine? Still, if I don't ask Clara now, I may never know what I so desperately need to know, and I may lose any chance I have to save Markas. Any risk is worth that reward.
"Uhm, no. I'm sure they have been to see the healer... it's just... what can you tell me about consumption?"
The confusion on Clara's face disappears, and with the change comes a look of grief.
"Oh. Well, the only known cure for it is in the Capitol, leaving chances of a fatality fairly high. I'm so sorry, Lynn. Who is it?"
I consider telling her the truth, but only for a moment. No, she can't have him. She can't know. She would never understand what it's like to love someone like him anyways.
"I just, I need to know more about it. All of the symptoms. All of the possibilities."
Taking my hint at diversion, she respectfully continues feeding me her information.
"Symptoms includes fever, weight loss, and prolonged coughing. It is caused by bacteria growing in the lungs. A healthy person can often be around someone with consumption and not catch it, as long as they avoid the bodily fluids that come from the patient. Lastly, depending on their overall health, the patient can have anywhere from two weeks to twenty years with the condition after symptoms start to show."
I slowly nod in response to her facts, losing myself in thought. I'm speechless for so long that Clara ends up leaving to find her companions, giving my shoulder a squeeze as she goes.
Twenty years. Markas could live at least another twenty years with the disease. He only started exhibiting symptoms within the past few months. If I can save up enough money... if I can find a way to buy the cure from the Capitol... I can save him. I can save Markas.