Letters to Lissie

by Katy Rose15

After waiting for two years, Ben is finally able to fight in the war for independence, leaving behind a worried and smitten Felicity. As the years go by, they keep in touch through letters, sharing their hopes, dreams, and fears, growing up together though apart. They had always been close. Could a close friendship lead to something deeper?

20. Chapter 20

Again, sorry that took a while! Hopefully I'll be better about updating the next one, but with Thanksgiving and then the Christmas season (can you believe it?!), I'm not making any promises.

Chapter 19

April came, and with it came warmer weather. Dreams of the wedding were becoming realities, which was exciting and nerve wracking at the same time. Ben found himself practically running back and forth between Yorktown and Williamsburg nearly every other week. "What have I gotten myself into?" he would often think to himself. "Getting married shouldn't be this stressful!" When he told this to his mother one Sunday afternoon, she just laughed. "You have clearly never been through a wedding," she said. "And if you think you have it rough, think of Felicity; or her parents, really. Being the parents of the bride is no easy feat. Why, I can still remember your sister's wedding…"

"I know, I know," Ben interrupted. "It had you and Father running up and down and all around for months."

"How would you know?" asked William, appearing in the doorway, which was good for him. He had recently been bedridden with a high fever and sore throat and was now getting his strength back, "You weren't there to see it!" Ben turned to look at him. "Believe me, I've heard the story plenty of times," he said. "And I saw the very end of it."

"'Twas a lot of work," said Mrs. Davidson. "But all worth it in the end to see her so happy."

"Tis a good thing you had more sons than daughters," remarked William with a grin.

"Your child's wedding is your child's wedding," said his mother. "Son or daughter. And I will help with this wedding as much as I can, just as I did for Faith's."

"Still," said Ben. "I think I'll just try to have sons."

"Well," said Mrs. Davidson with a small smile. "You really don't have much control over that, dear. And when that child is born, whenever that will be, you will love him or her unconditionally, whether it's a boy or a girl." William whistled impishly. "Well well well," he said. "We're not even married yet and we're already thinking about babies." Ben raised an eyebrow. "I imagine that will come in the relatively near future," he said simply.

"If you and she can," said William.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

William shrugged. "Well, think about it," he said. "Not all couples can have children. Either the woman can't conceive or the man can't…cause her to conceive."

"William," said Mrs. Davidson in a warning tone. "That's enough."

"What?" her youngest son asked. But she had already left the room to go set the table for dinner. And Ben wasn't done with the conversation yet. "What are you implying?" he asked his brother. William held up his hands. "I'm not implying anything," he said. "I'm just saying it could happen. You never know."

"Well, I think I'm fine in that respect," said Ben. "And I think…assume that she is too."

"Have you ever tried?" asked William. Ben was now a thousand shades of red. "No!" he exclaimed. "God, no! Honestly William!"

"Well, then you don't know for sure," said William. "Look at the king and queen of France. They didn't have their first child until a good four years into their marriage!"

"That's because they didn't try until four years into their marriage," pointed out Ben. William grinned. "So you won't even try until that long?" he asked. Ben closed his eyes. "Can we please stop talking about this?" he asked. "Tis hardly proper, and it's downright rude."

"Oh dear!" gasped William sarcastically. "Is it now?"

"Quite," answered Ben.

"And since when do you care about what and what is not proper?" asked William. "Has thy love made thee effeminate?" Ben opened his eyes. "I'm not effeminate," he said defensively. "I'm just saying that it's not something to talk about."

"Really?" asked William. "You used to find it hysterical."

"When I was what, twelve? Thirteen?" said Ben. "I've grown up, Will, which is something you obviously have yet to do."

"Oh ho!" said William, grinning again. "And now we think we're sooo grown up because we're getting married!"

"Will you please stop using the royal we?" asked Ben. "And no, I don't."

"You certainly are acting like it," said William, now in not so much of a joking manner. "You've always acted like you are so much older than me."

"Five years," Ben pointed out. "That's quite a lapse."

"It doesn't seem to be with your Felicity," William snorted. "And she's even younger than I am!"

"By what, four months?" asked Ben. "And don't bring her into this. She may be your age, but she is much more mature than you are."

"Tell yourself that all you like," said William. "You're just saying that because you secretly know that she is too young for you." Now Ben was a bit taken aback. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Think about it," said William. "You're twenty-four, and she's only eighteen. That's a six year difference."

"Five and a half," Ben corrected. "And that's nothing compared to many couples. Why, there are plenty who are a good fifteen to twenty years apart!"

"Still," said William. "She is significantly younger."

"She once was," said Ben. "She's not anymore. Besides, if I married someone my own age, it would mean one of two things. She would either already be a widow, or she would be so revolting that no one else would marry her."

"Not if you had married younger," William pointed out.

"How could I?" Ben asked. "I was only concerned about staying alive a few years ago. Besides, I still had that apprenticeship to finish out. And on top of that, I didn't want to."

"So what's different now?" asked William. "You were so dead-set against it." Ben closed his eyes. "I told you," he said, growing exasperated. "I…I fell in love. Without meaning to."

"Because you fell in love," repeated William mockingly. "You are effeminate."

"I am not!" Ben protested. "It happens, Will. All right? It happens."

"Love," scoffed William. "There's no such thing, and you know it! A man doesn't love a woman, he just lusts after her." Ben felt his jaw drop. "How can you say that?" he asked.

"Because we all know it's true," said William. "It's just that nobody wants to admit it."

"Maybe for you," said Ben. "And your nineteen-year-old…desires."

"Desires?" repeated William. "I'm not the one getting married."

"What does one have to do with the other?" asked Ben.

"Everything in the world," said William. "Everyone knows what happens after a couple is married."

"There is far more to a marriage than that," said Ben firmly. "Far more." William raised an eyebrow. "Even for you?" he asked. "You who were always so dead-set against the very idea of marriage?"

"Of course," said Ben. "How can you even ask such a thing?"

"Well, I'm just wondering your motives for the sudden change of heart," said William. "Whether it's that or you're just trying to appease Mother and Father or even Mr. Merriman. Or you're hoping that she will come with a handsome dowry."

"Dowry?!" exclaimed Ben. "You think I asked her to marry me because her father has money?"

"Tis a common theme," said William simply.

"I couldn't care less about her father's money!" said Ben. "And besides, while they are well-off, he is hardly the king of France!"

"And what about Mother and Father?" asked William. "They've been pestering you about it for quite a while. Did you finally just give in and take the first girl you thought of?"

"Will you stop?" asked Ben, his voice rising. "My God, Will, I've told you why! And I'm not going to repeat it!"

"Oh, stop being so naïve, will you?" said William. "We all know that marriages are typically business deals. And you're trying to fool yourself into saying that you genuinely love her."

"I am not fooling myself!" Ben shouted, anger boiling deep within his soul. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm not fooling myself."

"I think you are," said William accusingly. "Honestly, the girl is even younger than I am! What do you see in her? And what would she see in you?" Ben opened his eyes, now hurt. "Well, why don't you ask her that?" he said. "I don't know what she sees in me, I really don't! But I know that I see something in her I've never seen in anyone before. Being with her…it's like coming home after a long trip. There's something comforting about her presence." William rolled his eyes. "God, listen to yourself!" he said. "You're not like this!"

"How do you know what I'm like and what I'm not like?" Ben demanded.

"Because I'm your brother!" said William. "I've known you since the day I was born!"

"Curse that day," muttered Ben. William's face suddenly looked like he had been punched in the stomach. "What?" he asked. Ben looked at him and felt bad for a second, then anger took over. "Curse the day you were born!" he said again. "Ever since that day you've caused me nothing but misery! When you were small, everyone fussed over you. You've always gotten the benefit of the doubt because you are the poor, innocent younger one. You're the baby of the family. Everyone loved Faith because she was the oldest and the only girl. Everyone loved you because you were the youngest. And where does that leave me? The forgotten middle one."

"Forgotten?" said William with an unkind laugh. "You're the firstborn son! You automatically are the favored one between us, and you've always gotten the perks that come with it! Between you and me, you were the first to read and write. To go to school. To have friends. To ride a horse. You were the one who got the apprenticeship. Who got to join the army. Who got to be brave and noble. And now you're getting married. Where does that leave me?"

"I got to do all of those things?" asked Ben. "I had to leave home at age fourteen! I had no idea what I was getting myself into. And as for the army, I was the one who 'got' to freeze and starve and almost die."

"But you chose that!" said William. "Have you any idea how everyone stressed while you were gone? I'm pretty sure Mother went to church at least every other day! I'm surprised they even remembered I was around sometimes."

"You know that's not true," said Ben. "How can anyone forget about you with that big mouth of yours?"

"I have to have one to be heard around here!" said William. "I'm good enough until you come along. Everyone has always favored you; you've always been the smarter one. The better-looking one. The braver one. Even the one with the better character! And now you're getting married. Do you think it will be such a big deal when I do someday? By the time mine comes around, it will be thrown together at the last second."

"No it won't," said Ben.

"Yes it will," said William. "I'm the last child and son. I've always been the third wheel. Everything about me has been."

"Well, try being the middle child!" said Ben. "And the quiet one, no less! If anyone was forgotten growing up, it was me. No one expected me to amount to much; it was always you."

"Well, look how that turned out!" shouted William. "Everyone loves you! You, the great soldier! You, the one getting married!"

"Can we stop going back to that?" Ben groaned.

"No!" said William. "Right now, that's all Mother and Father can think about! And then there's me, who has yet to get his life together. The whole thing makes me sick."

"What does?" asked Ben. "My getting married?"

"The whole thing!" repeated William. "Everyone is making such a big deal out of it, even bigger than Faith's! You yourself!"

"Me?" Ben asked.

"Yes, you!" exclaimed William. "I'm sick of always having to cower under your shadow! I'm sick of everyone making a big deal about you, and even worse, you don't even notice it! I'm sick being the youngest, and most of all, I'm sick of you and everyone else looking down on me!"

"Well, believe me, the feeling is mutual," retorted Ben. "All my life you've driven me crazy! You've ridiculed me, bothered me, and gotten in the way of everything! If I could, I would never see you again!"

"Then why don't you?" said William. "I'm not stopping you!"

"You are!" exclaimed Ben. "Because you'll never leave this house! You never leave me alone! You're like a mosquito, you know? One that never leaves! God, I wish you'd just leave! Go somewhere! Move far, far away and never come back!"

"If you want to get away from me, you'll have to be the one to leave," said William. "Because I'm not going anywhere."

"I wish you would," said Ben. "God, I wish you would!" Both brothers stared at each other a moment, neither saying a word. Then William said under his breath, "I hate you." Now Ben felt like the one who had been punched in the stomach. "What?" he asked softly.

"You heard me," said William. "I hate you, and I wish you had died. Sure would have made my life a lot easier." Ben stood there a moment, not quite sure what to say. "Really?" he barely whispered. William showed no remorse. "You've never been anything to me," he said. "Just a hindrance."

"And you're nothing but a pain!" exclaimed Ben. "You've always been a thorn in my side! And you wish I had died? I wish you had never been born in the first place. Now that would have made my life much easier." Silence fell between them again. Then Ben turned to the door. "Just…forget it," he said. "I don't want anything to do with you anymore."

"Good!" William snapped. "Goodbye and good riddance!" Ben shot him one last glare. "Just see if you ever know your nieces and nephews," he added bitterly. And with that, he slammed the door and left.

That night, Ben tossed and turned in bed. He couldn't get his brother's words out of his head. What had gotten into him anyway? He turned on his other side. He himself felt no remorse for what he had said. Well, why should he? William was the one who took things too far. And especially by bringing Felicity into it. Naturally, they had had quarrels before, but none like this. None where William had actually said he hated him and wished him dead, which did hurt. And especially since that had been said to him before. "Don't get yourself worked up about it," he told himself. "Besides, you said some pretty nasty things as well."

"Nothing he didn't deserve," said the devil on his left shoulder.

"Still," said the angel on his right shoulder. "You didn't have to press him when he brought up not being able to have children."

"He shouldn't have brought it up in the first place," said the devil.

"True," agreed the angel. "But you didn't have to continue it. Nor did you have to say it would have been better if he hadn't been born."

"And he shouldn't have said it would have been better if you were dead!" argued the devil. "Especially since you already heard that from Felicity once!"

"She didn't mean it," pointed out the angel. "And he didn't either."

"They're two different people," said the devil. "He shouldn't be forgiven unless he apologizes."

"Forgive him," said the angel. "He was angry." Ben shook his head to rid himself of his spiritual turmoil. This was ridiculous; he was not going to feel guilty for something his idiotic brother had said; he had done that far too many times. And it wasn't going to happen again.

Ben avoided his parents' house all week. He typically did anyway (except for Sundays), but this time he had a purpose. He was not about to run into William. Not even when his mother said that he was ill again. "Good!" Ben thought bitterly. "He deserves it!"

As the week went by, William got sicker and sicker. Yet Ben would still not see him. "I'm worried about him," Mrs. Davidson confided in him one afternoon as she helped him arrange some more furniture. "That awful sore throat is back, and he's got a high fever as well as a bit of a rash."

"Think it could be scarlet fever?" Ben asked.

"I don't think so," said his mother. "He had it as a child."

"I bet he's fine," said Ben nonchalantly, really not caring at all about William's current ailment.

"I don't know," Mrs. Davidson went on. "He's got these funny lumps on his skin, and he complains of a throbbing headache as well as joint pain."

"He's always sick," said Ben. "Honestly, I wouldn't worry."

"He's never been like this before, though," she said. "It does worry me."

"You worry if he gets a bruise on his knee," he said, growing slightly agitated. "I'm sure he's fine; he's just got a bad sore throat." Mrs. Davidson looked up at him. "I don't think you'd be saying that if you saw him," she said.

"Well, I won't be," he said. "So I guess I won't know." Now she frowned. "Ben-" she started to say in a warning tone.

"What?" he asked. "His ailments are none of my business."

"Tis more than an ailment, Ben," she said. "He's downright sick."

"Well, he'll get better," he said. She frowned again. "He's your brother," she said. "You should be worried."

"Well, I'm not," he replied. "He always gets sick, and he always ends up fine." She was quiet a moment. Then she asked, "Did something happen between you two?" Ben turned around to face her. "What do you mean by that?" he asked.

"Well, you seem to be purposely avoiding him," she said. "And you're being so cool towards any mention of him." Ben paused. For a minute, he considered telling her everything. All the arguments they had ever had, leading up to the most recent (and worst) one. William's hatred towards him. The hurt mixed with guilt mixed with anger he felt. Then he decided against it. It wasn't worth it. "Tis nothing of importance," he said. His mother looked skeptical. "Really?" she asked. "Are you sure there's nothing that's bothering you?"

"No," he lied. "Everything's fine." She still looked as though she didn't believe him, but she didn't persist. "Well, regardless," she said. "I think you should see him."

"Why?" he asked. "What has he done for me?" Mrs. Davidson gave him her infamous Glare, a look he had received many times as a child. "Benjamin, he is your brother!" she scolded. "How can you say such a thing?"

"That doesn't mean anything," he muttered, looking away. She took his face and tilted it toward her. "I am ashamed of you," she said. "How can you be so selfish? He would do the same for you!"

"I'm sure," he retorted sarcastically.

"He would, and you know it," she said firmly. "All that time you were so very sick when you first came home, he worried about you, and he tried to see you."

"That was years ago!" he said.

"Only two and a half," she pointed out. Ben looked away and said nothing. "At least see him," she went on. "He is your brother."

"I don't care," he said bitterly. Mrs. Davidson crossed her arms. "You would care if it were your Felicity who were sick," she said. "You'd probably never leave her side."

"Now that's not fair," he said. "Felicity getting sick is a completely different story."

"Not entirely," she said. "You love her, don't you?"

He looked down, embarrassed.

"And you love William," she went on. "No matter how angry he makes you."

"I don't know," he said softly. She rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't be ridiculous," she said. "Just go see him. Then we'll see if you care or not."

About a week later, Ben finally gave in to his mother's wishes. Both of his parents looked exhausted, which unnerved him a little. "All right, so what exactly does he have?" he asked once seated in the parlor. Mr. Davidson closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "The doctor thinks it could be rheumatic fever," he said. "He thinks it could have done something to his heart."

"He doesn't look too well," added Mrs. Davidson. Ben frowned. If it did something to his heart, it was definitely more serious than he had anticipated. "How long has he been sick?" he inquired.

"He had an awful sore throat and fever about two weeks ago," said his father. "Then he felt better for a while, and then about a week and a half ago came down with this. The medicine doesn't seem to be helping either."

"Usually never does," said Ben.

"His character has changed, too," said his mother. "One minute, he can be calm and witty, and the next, moody and irritable. When he is awake, at least. Like a woman who is with child." That explained his lashing out on him. Ben rose. "Can I go see him?" he asked.

"I don't know," said Mr. Davidson. "It's pretty bad."

"Go ahead," said Mrs. Davidson. "You need to."

William was awake when Ben got to his room. He tried to sit up when he saw him. "What are you doing here?" he asked hoarsely. Ben sat on the chair that had been pulled up next to the bed. "Can't I see my own brother when he's ill?" he asked by way of response. William lay back down. "I thought you never wanted to see me again," he said.

"I didn't," said Ben. "But I figured I should."

"Ma made you?"

"Pretty much."

William rolled over on his side to face his brother. "Well, at least you have enough heart to listen to her," he said coldly. Ben frowned. "Don't push it, Will," he said. "You're lucky I gave in."

"You don't push it," said William. "I didn't ask for you, Your Greatness. Truthfully, you're the last one I wanted to see." So the resentment was still there. Ben, however, decided to resist the urge to argue. "How do you feel?" he asked, trying to change the subject.

"As if you care," said William bitterly. Ben frowned again. "I'm trying to be nice," he said. "And you're not helping."

"Good," said William. "And if you must know, I feel terrible. Everything hurts."

"I'm sorry," said Ben.

"No you're not," said William. Ben rolled his eyes. He was not making this easy. An awkward silence filled between them. William did look terrible. His blond hair was tangled on the pillow (Ben wondered if it would meet the same fate his did), and his face was flushed, his eyes hollow. Mrs. Davidson was right; he had a bad rash, and there were strange lumps on his skin. His face was unshaven, which was strange to see because Ben had never thought of his little brother having facial hair. Though at nineteen, he guessed he would. He wondered if he had looked like that when he first came home from war. "Doctor thinks you've got rheumatic fever or something," he finally said.

"I know," said William. "I don't even know what that means."

"He thinks it did something to your heart," said Ben. William nodded. "Guess they worried about the wrong son dying, huh," he dead-panned.

"Don't say that," said Ben. "You're not going to die."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" William asked. Ben frowned yet again. "You know I wouldn't," he said. "How can you say that?"

"You know perfectly," said William. Ben sighed. "Look, Will," he said. "I really don't get into another argument, all right? I'm sorry for what I said. Now do you want anything?" William was quiet a moment. Then he said coolly, "It would be nice if you leave." Ben's frown turned into surprise. "If I…if I what?" he asked.

"You heard me," said William. "I know you don't want to be here, and I certainly don't want you here, so just go." Slowly, Ben stood up. "I…I never said I didn't…" he stammered.

"Ma made you," William pointed out. After a moment of silence, Ben said, "Fine, then." And he left without another word. He ran into his mother in the hallway. "How was he?" she asked. Ben shook his head. "I tried, he didn't want to see me, and that's not my fault," he said. "And so I'm leaving."

"Wait," she said, taking his hands. "Why doesn't he want to see you?"

"I don't know," he lied. "But that's his business. And now I'm leaving."

"Well, don't just give up," she said. "Keep trying; he'll warm up."

"I don't care if he does or not," he said bitterly.

"Ben-" she started to say, but he interrupted, "Ma, I've got a lot of paperwork that's not going to do itself. William is the least of my worries right now." She dropped his hands. "Fine," she said sadly. "If you don't care if he lives or dies, that's your business." She started into William's room.
"Ma-" Ben called, but she didn't turn around.

Over the next few days, he pondered her words, and the more he did so, the worse he felt. William was very ill; there was no denying it. And being so ill, there was no way Ben could let him be the least of his worries. After all, it was like his mother kept saying: he was his brother, and no matter how angry he got at him, deep down he still cared about him.

Ben, against William's wishes, came more and more often. William at first was very cool and hostile towards him. He tried to kick him out, but Ben was stubborn. Soon William just succumbed to his brother's company. Meanwhile, he was only growing more and more ill. All sorts of medical treatments were in vain, reminding Ben very much of Nan's battle with scarlet fever back in November. This comparison worried him a bit, and he expressed this to Felicity in his latest letter (the two had decided it was a good idea to write back and forth for the time being to keep each other informed about current affairs regarding the wedding and such). A few days later, she wrote back sending her condolences and good wishes for William's health as well as wedding details such as if he thought the twenty-second of June was too soon for the wedding itself, to which he replied no, it wasn't too soon, it was perfect. Though at the present the wedding was the last thing on his mind. His daily routine became get up, go to work, swing by his parents' house and see to William, then go home for the night.

Poor William continued to worsen, which seemed to set a heavy cloud over the house. Both Mr. and Mrs. Davidson looked exhausted, and Ben tried to take over whenever he could. William often slept, and when he awoke, there were times where he was so delirious he couldn't even recognize his family members. Sometimes he would lash out at anyone who tried to touch him, and other times he would be as mild as a lamb. One evening, when Mr. and Mrs. Davidson went out for a bit, Ben sat in the kitchen while the slave Natalie cleaned the supper dishes. "He's starting to worry me," he confided to her. "I've never seen this fever, but it doesn't look good."

"It can mess up one's heart," she said. "Which makes it dangerous. Even worse, there's really no good way to cure it, as we're finding out." He took one of the dishes from her hands and dried it. "It seemed to happen so suddenly," he said. "I didn't think much of it at first, since he gets sick a lot, but…"

"Besides that scarlet fever he had when he was very small," she said. "I've never seen him so ill." Ben set the plate on the table behind him. Then he quietly asked, "Natalie? You don't think…I mean-you don't suppose…"

"What, lad?" she asked.

"You don't think he's…going to die, do you?" he asked. Natalie turned to him, her brown eyes full of sadness. "I can't say, Benjamin, I really can't," she said. "It certainly is starting to look that way." He was quiet. Then he murmured, "I don't want him to." He felt her arms around her, a feeling as comforting to him as the embrace of his own mother. "Of course not," she said. "No one does."

"He thinks I do," he said. She let him go and held him at arm's length. "Now why on earth would he think that?" she inquired. He shook his head. "Tis not important," he said. "Just a silly argument." Natalie frowned. "Silly or not," she said. "I'd resolve that, if I were you. Just in case. Otherwise it will bother you for the rest of your life." Ben nodded. "In the meantime," she went on, handing him a tray. "Go bring him some supper; he may be hungry. And if he's not, try to get him to eat anyway."

William was awake when Ben got to his room. "You again?" he asked hoarsely with a tiny smile. "Me again," said Ben, motioning for him to sit up and setting the tray on his lap. "There. Now eat."

"What if I'm not hungry?" asked William.

"Well, try to eat anyway," said Ben. "You've got to keep your strength up." William leaned his head back against the pillows and closed his eyes. "I think I lost it a long time ago," he said.

"And now you're going to try to find it again," said Ben. William opened his eyes. "Not the most compassionate, are you?" he half-teased.

"What, do you expect me to spoon feed you?" Ben asked.

"Who's the invalid here?" asked William by way of response. Ben sighed. "Fine," he said, but William stopped him. "I was joking," he said with a small laugh. "But really, don't make me eat. I can't keep it down." Ben looked at him sadly. "All right," he finally agreed. "I'll leave it here if you change your mind."

"By the way," said William. "Where are Mother and Father?"

"They went out for a bit," said Ben. "I don't know why; maybe just some time for themselves." William nodded. "I guess I'm wearing them out," he said. Ben cracked a small smile. "You've always been the one to do that," he said. "Sick or not." William smiled back. Then he winced. "What's the matter?" Ben asked.

"Nothing," said William. "It hurts, is all."

"What hurts?" asked Ben.

"Everything," William answered. "My chest just now." Ben frowned. Chest pain was never a good sign. "Here," he said, reaching for the vial of medicine and pouring a bit onto a spoon. "Maybe this will help." William looked at him as if he belonged in an asylum. "Rarely does," he said. "It just tastes God-awful."

"I know," said Ben. "But it does bring that fever down." Reluctantly, William took the spoon and swallowed the disgusting syrupy stuff in a quick gulp. "Good Lord have mercy," he gagged once it was down. "How can something that's supposed to be beneficial be so foul tasting?"

"Who knows?" said Ben. "It's like sugar; how can something so wonderful tasting be bad for you?" William leaned back again and closed his eyes. Ben bit his lip. He looked so weak and tired, as if the world had already worn him down at the mere age of nineteen. On second thought, he could relate. "I'll let you rest," he said, rising from the chair. "You look as though you need it." William just nodded. "I'm going to go home," Ben went on. "Natalie's here if you need her, and Mother and Father should be home soon." William nodded again and rolled over on his side. "Do you need anything right now?" Ben asked. Now William shook his head. "No, I'm all right," he whispered. "Good night."

"Good night," said Ben, covering him with an extra blanket and leaving the room.

As much as he tried to get his mind off his brother, Ben found that he couldn't. His heart felt heavy all the time, and everyone who knew him giving their condolences and best wishes didn't exactly help, though it was appreciated. At work, people he had known for years would stop by and ask about William's health (as well as Ben's engagement, but the former was usually first and foremost). "I shall keep him in my prayers," was said a lot, which again, was appreciated, but didn't seem to be doing much. A few days later, Faith came to help out wherever she could. She was much better at nursing than Ben was, that was for sure. Of course, the head caretaker was Mrs. Davidson, but she couldn't do it all by herself. Ben found himself lying awake at night, unable to sleep. Then he was tired for the rest of the day, and if ever news from Felicity came, he barely wanted to read it, for the wedding was the last thing he wanted to think about at the present. He barely had enough time to pen a short response to her, which he felt slightly guilty about, but he reasoned that he had a lot on his mind and that she would understand. He hoped.

William's health had taken a nosedive; there was no denying it. He was never hungry or thirsty; he just slept most of the time. Everyone else was downright exhausted as well, especially Mrs. Davidson, who had barely slept a duration of six hours the whole time he had been sick. One Saturday evening, one of which he was alert, Ben sat with him, reading Psalms out of the Bible. "'The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want'," he read. "'He makes me lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside quiet waters, He restores my soul…'." He paused. "I've always liked that one," he said.

"Twenty-three?" asked William. "Me too. 'Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me'." He paused as well, then added, "That's oddly comforting right now." Ben looked at him curiously, but he didn't ask. "Everyone is asking about you," he said, changing the subject. "Felicity does in every letter."

"That's nice to know," said William. "Even she cares, and she met me once."

"That's Felicity for you," said Ben. "She's a pretty empathetic person."

"Speaking of which," said William. "Did you two ever decide on a date for the wedding itself?"

"The twenty-second of June," said Ben. "About two months from now." William nodded. "Getting close," he remarked.

"Certainly is," Ben agreed. Both were quiet a moment. Then out of the blue, William said, "I'm sorry about what I said a while back. About you and Felicity, I mean." This took Ben by surprise. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I'm sorry about what I said about you two," he said. "About the whole children thing and her being too young for you. I don't really believe that."

"Then why did you say it?" Ben asked. William sighed. "Because…because I was jealous," he said. "Felicity is lovely, Ben. She's a wonderful girl, and you're a lucky man to marry her." Ben nodded. "I know," he said without thinking. Then he shook his head. "I mean, I suppose I am," he rephrased. Then he smiled a little. "What, were you hoping to get a shot at her?" William smiled back. "Well, it would have been nice," he said with a small laugh. "No, she's yours. You deserve her much more than I do anyone."

"That's not true," said Ben. "Quit being so hard on yourself."

"I think it is," said William. "You've always been the better person between us, and I've always been jealous of you." Ben's eyebrows raised. This was news to him. "Why would anyone be jealous of me?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Plenty of reasons," said William. "You're tall and handsome, brave and noble; like a knight in a fairy tale. You're much smarter than I am, and probably the most important, you're kind. That's a trait that lots of men don't have, and one I wish I did." Ben sat there a moment, slightly stunned. William had actually…complimented him. "Well," he finally said. "As far as appearance goes, you're a far cry from ugly, Will. And you're not a bad person either."

"Still," said William. "I've always looked up to you. I just tried to play it off like I wasn't so you wouldn't think I was soft. I've always felt that I was good, but you were great. And I've always envied you for it."

"I'm sorry," said Ben softly. "I didn't know you felt that way all these years." William rolled over to face him. "Don't you apologize," he said. "You haven't done anything. It's me. I'm the one who has been a complete idiot all these years."

"You're not an idiot," said Ben. He thought a second, then added, "Despite what I've said over the years."

"Yes I am," said William. "I'm awful. I've been awful to you." He paused, then burst out,"I'm sorry for everything, Ben. I'm sorry for all the times I've ridiculed you and gotten in the way. I'm sorry for saying that you don't love her because I know you do; anyone can see that. I wish both of you all the best, I really do. I'm sorry for wishing you dead. I don't wish that at all; if we had lost you, God, I don't know what I would do without my older brother to guide me. And I'm sorry for saying I hate you. I don't, I really don't! It's just that I was jealous of you, and it finally just all came out, and…and I'm sorry, all right? I'm sorry for everything." Ben was quiet for a minute, surprised. "It's all right," he finally said, a bit awkwardly. "Half of the things you're apologizing for I didn't notice you did anyway." William smiled weakly. "You're about as clueless as a fence post," he said. Ben cracked a small smile. "And here I was thinking that you could actually be nice," he said. "But you just ruined it."

"Old habits die hard," said William. Both fell silent for several seconds. Then William said, "I know that you've been melancholy over the past few years- I suppose depressed is a better word- and though I haven't been around you too terribly much, I'm sure that I didn't help."

"You have been the least of my worries until now," said Ben, thinking back on the events that had occurred in the past six years. Six years. That was a quarter of his life. Probably the most…interesting, for lack of a better term, part of his life. And for the most part, not necessarily in the best way imaginable, save the past four months or so. He shook his head, trying to clear bad memories before they popped up.

"I guess I would be too," said William. "I can't know what all you went through. But I do know that ever since that war, you haven't been the same man you once were."

"Which was…?"

"I don't know. Fun-loving. Carefree. Happy."

"I was a boy, Will, I was young," said Ben.

"You still are young," said William. "For God's sake, Ben, you're in the prime of your life! Don't waste it sulking."

"I'm not sulking," said Ben. "I haven't had time for sulking since the war first ended and I was recovering."

"Well, maybe not sulking," admitted William. "I don't know, you're much more serious than you used to be, I suppose." Ben sighed. "I've grown up," he said. "That's all. And as have you." William grinned a little. "And you said I hadn't," he said. "I don't know, I suppose you've always been the more serious one."

"Guess so," agreed Ben. Then, after a pause, he asked, "Why are you saying these things?"

"What do you mean?" asked William.

"I mean," said Ben. "Why do you keep apologizing for all you've done? And worrying about my happiness? You never have given me a second thought before."

"Because it needs to be said," said William simply. "I want you to know that I've always been envious of you, that I've always looked up to you. I want you to know that I'm truly sorry about all the things I said about you and Felicity; again, it was because I was jealous. I'm sorry for everything cruel or insulting I've ever said or done to you. And I want you to know that I wish nothing but the best for you two, no matter where life takes you. I want you to know all of this, before it's too late." Ben stared at him a second. Then he said softly, "Stop it, Will, you're scaring me."

"Don't be scared," said William. "I'm not." He then looked at the Bible lying on the table. "Do you believe in God?"

"What?" asked Ben.

"Do you believe in God?" William repeated. "I mean really believe, not just go to church because you have to and call yourself a Christian." Ben sighed again. "I don't know," he admitted. "I used to, but somehow I just can't convince myself that there is a God. If God is real and if He is good, then why does He allow things like war and disease to happen? Why does He take the most innocent, loving people and spare the wicked, horrible ones? It just doesn't make sense." William was quiet a moment. Then he said, "Well, I believe in God. I don't know why He lets those things happen; that's His business. But I know that they happen for a reason. A test of faith, perhaps."

"Well, then I failed that test," said Ben.

"I don't see why," said William. "Yes, you've been through hell and back with the war. Yes, you nearly lost your arm. Yes, you nearly died. But He spared all that. He spared your life because He has a purpose for your life. And look, He has even given you a beautiful bride who will love you and be faithful to you as long as you both are alive."

"With my luck He will probably take her in childbirth," Ben said bitterly.

"And if He does, there is a reason for it," said William. "Everything always turns out all right in the end. And if it is not all right, then it is not the end, now is it?" Ben was quiet. "You just need to trust Him," said William. "No matter what happens."

"I wish I could share your optimism," said Ben. "But I just can't."

"Because you won't let go," said William. "You won't let go of the past. The war was hard on all of us, but tis over now. You need to let go of it and move on."

"That's easier said than done," said Ben. William nodded. "Most things are," he agreed. "But they can still be done, if you set your mind to it." Then he added, "It's a wonderful life, Ben. Be happy in it." Ben leaned forward and felt his brother's forehead. "Are you feeling bad?" he asked. "You're really starting to make me nervous."

"I'm getting tired," William admitted. "And my chest really hurts."

"I'll let you rest," said Ben, pulling the quilt up to William's chin. "And…thank you. For saying that, I mean."

"You needed to hear it," said William.

"I did," Ben agreed. He stood up to leave. He hesitated, then added, "I love you, Will." William smiled. "You know," he said. "In the fifteen years I've known you, never have I once heard you say that."

"Oh, I'm sure I have at some point or another," said Ben. "Besides, you're my brother. I'm obligated to, whether I say it or not." Then he frowned. "And you've known me longer than fifteen years."

"Oh, I know," said William. "But I really wasn't paying attention in the beginning. Faith told me you were left on our doorstep." Ben just rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Good night, William," he said.

"Good night," said William. "And Ben?"

"Hm?"

"Be happy. You deserve it."

Ben ended up staying at his parents' that night. He went to bed feeling peaceful, for once. However, he had a dream that deeply unsettled him…

…He was sitting at his brother's bedside again. Neither one of them said anything, but William's face was flushed, and his breathing was heavy. He looked to be in serious pain. Suddenly, their grandmother (their maternal one who had died when their mother was eight years old) appeared on the other side of the bed. Later, Ben wondered how he knew it was her, but in dreams anything is possible. Anyway, her face was bright and literally angelic, illuminating the whole room. She had a gentle smile on her face as she reached for William. William's face suddenly had a glow about it, free of pain and suffering. He held on to her, and the two began to rise. Meanwhile, Ben was shouting, "No, no, don't take him! Please, don't take him!" Yet he couldn't move. William just looked at him and smiled. "Do you see them, Ben?" he asked. "They all have wings…"

And that was when he awoke with a start. It was still dark, but the first rays of sunlight were starting to peep through the curtains. As his mind became more alert, he heard a commotion down the hall. He sat up. Something wasn't right; he could sense it. He got out of bed and dressed quickly. The commotion got louder and louder, and truth be told, he was afraid to go down the hall and see what it was. Curiosity (read panic) won over fear, and he half-ran down the hall to where the noise was coming from. To his horror, it was William's room. He went in, and crowded around the bed were his parents as well as the doctor. Faith stood off to the side, her face as pale as a ghost. "What's going on?" he asked her. She turned to look at him, her eyes sad. "You don't want to know," she said. He looked over at the bed. The doctor was bent over William, his face grim. He looked up at Mr. and Mrs. Davidson and sadly shook his head. "He arrested," he said. "His pulse is gone." Mrs. Davidson let out a half gasp, half moan, and Ben felt all the blood leave his face. He rushed to his brother's bedside, but Mr. Davidson held him back. "Ben, stay back," he said. "Don't go over there."

"No!" Ben cried, fighting against his father's strong hold. "No, he can't! He was fine just a few hours ago!" The doctor looked at him sadly. "I'm sorry," he said. "There was nothing anyone could do. His heart was damaged, and it ruptured."

"That can't be true!" Ben shouted. "Please, let it not be true! He can't be!" Both the doctor and Mr. Davidson lifted a sheet over William's face. "No! He can't breathe!" Ben exclaimed. "No!" Faith held him back. "Shh," she hushed. "Come now, come away from there."

"No," he said softly. "No." Mrs. Davidson looked up. "Take him to the hallway, Faith," she said, her voice quivering. Faith obeyed and led her brother out of the room. Once in the hall, she closed the door, and he sank to the floor and buried his face in his hands. "He can't be," he murmured. "I was just talking to him a few hours ago!" Faith sat next to him. "Shh," she said soothingly. "Shh, everything is all right." He looked up at her. "No, it's not all right!" he shouted. "He's dead, for Christ's sake, he's dead!"

"Ben, calm down," she whispered. "There was nothing anyone could do."

"I don't care!" he yelled. "He can't be dead! He just can't be!" She wrapped her arms around him, and though he was in too much shock to cry, he buried his face in her shoulder as if he were four instead of twenty-four. The two siblings sat there for a while, silently grieving as one.

The next day went by in a blur. Though his mother insisted against it, he went to work as usual, hoping it would clear his mind, only if for a little while. It didn't. Later that evening, he found himself under the old maple tree, writing as follows:

Dear Felicity,

I pray that you and your family are better than we are right now. I hate to tell you this, I really do, but you remember me telling you about William's fever, don't you? He passed away last night. There's no way to say that nicely. T'was the strangest thing; yesterday evening I was talking with him and he was fine, and a few hours later, gone. It was his heart. It was damaged because of the fever, and it ruptured. My mother and Faith have been in his room all day, both of them in tears. My father is trying to keep a stiff upper lip and has been dealing with funeral arrangements all day. Me? I feel numb, like I'm in some horrible nightmare and can't wake up. Have you ever felt like that? Maybe it is the shock. I can't do anything; I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can't even cry. I think all of my tears dried up a long time ago. Tis a wonder I can even write this. I feel like a ghost, not saying a word, just there. It was just so sudden…well, maybe it wasn't. He was sick for quite a while. Anyway, the calling is on Sunday, and the funeral is on Monday. For my brother, my nineteen-year-old brother, of all people! I can't wrap my head around that, and I don't want to either.

-Ben

He was in shock for the next few days. He felt no emotion and numb all over, like a rock. He went to work as usual, and people gave him their condolences, to which he would smile politely and thank them. He and Faith both stayed at their parents' house for the next few days, figuring they needed them now more than ever. Both Mr. and Mrs. Davidson were stressed and exhausted, and Faith and Ben could barely say three words. A cold emptiness filled the house and those who lived there.

Reality started to replace the shock a few days later at the calling. William was laid in his coffin in the parlor, wearing his best clothes. His hair was combed and tied back, and his face was clean-shaven. It hurt Ben to look at him. Many people came by to pay their respects, friends and relatives alike. The duration of three hours was really nothing but the murmur of soft voices, all in mourning and with the hint of gossip. Faith stuck by her mother most of the time, who cried whenever a new person would come in and tell her how sorry they were about her son. Mr. Davidson and Ben showed no emotion, just smiled politely and made small talk. Soon the last "I'm so sorry" had been said, and the last warm embrace had been embraced, and the last kiss had been kissed, and the last person had left. Ben went back into the parlor, which was now dimly lit with twilight, and sat in the chair next to William's head. He looked at him. His brother had a serenity about him, though he was dead. Dead. How Ben hated that word. Never again would he and William quarrel and fight, help each other and laugh with each other. William would never have a wife, nor would he hear the pitter-patter of little feet as they ran to greet him. He would never know his nieces and nephews (save Alexandra, who kept asking why he was sleeping in that box, thus making her grandmother cry even harder), and he would never know what it was like to truly love a woman. "I guess they did worry about the wrong son dying," said Ben softly, looking at William's cold, lifeless face. That face that would never smile and laugh and cry again. It wasn't fair, and Ben wished more than anything that it were him in the coffin, not William. "Now why would you say that?" asked a voice behind him. He turned and saw his sister in the doorway, her figure illuminated by the light coming from the foyer. She came in all the way and knelt by his side. "What are you doing, sitting here all by yourself in the dark?" she asked. He shook his head. "Just thinking," he said. Faith looked at William. "Tis so awful," she remarked. "Just awful. His life had really only just begun."

"I know," Ben agreed. "I know." He felt her hand grip his own. He looked over at her, and she was crying. "Our baby brother," she whispered. "Why our baby brother?"

"Just imagine how Mother and Father must be feeling," he said. "He was their son."

"And we are his siblings," she said. After a pause, she added, "Well, I suppose it's no worse for anyone in particular. Tis just downright bad." Ben nodded. "I swear," he said, his voice cracking a bit. "If one more person tells me how sorry they are about William, I'll scream!"

"They're just trying to help," she said, wiping her eyes. "But I know what you mean. It won't bring him back."

"I feel so childish," he said. "Sitting here in the dark by myself, not talking to anyone."

"You're grieving," she said. "Tis not childish. You're supposed to, regardless of your sex or age." He cradled his head in his hands and looked at her sadly. "He's gone, Faith," he murmured. "He's gone for good."

"No, he isn't," she said soothingly. "His spirit has moved on, is all. We will be with him again one day." Ben looked back at William. "When I said I hoped you moved far away and never returned," he said. "This wasn't what I meant."

"He had a good life," said Faith. "And tis much better to have a short, good life than a dull, long one."

"You're right," he said. "You're completely right. But that doesn't make me miss him any less."

"Of course not," she agreed. "We will miss him for the rest of our lives." Then there was a knock at the door. A moment later, he heard his parents' voices, followed by a very familiar, very comforting one. He and Faith looked at each other, and Faith smiled a little. "It sounds like we have company," she said. Ben rose and started to walk quickly into the foyer, but was met halfway. "Ben!" said Felicity, running into her lover's arms and hugging him tightly. "Oh, Benjamin!" He was surprised for a second, then hugged her back and kissed her forehead. "Oh, aren't you a sight for sore eyes!" he said. She let go of him. "I got your letter," she said. "Father brought me as quickly as he could. He had some business to tend to in Richmond. Oh God, Ben, I can't tell you how sorry I am! I know that saying that doesn't help, but I truly am. Oh darling, how are you? I can only imagine how awful you must feel, and so suddenly too, and-" Ben pulled her close again and kissed her, completely forgetting about his sister who was still in the room. "Thank you," he whispered.

"I thought you might need someone now," she said. "I can't stay long, and oh dear, I hope I'm not intruding-"

"You're always welcome here," said Faith, rising and hugging her. "Thank you for coming."

"I'm so sorry," Felicity said again. She looked over Faith's shoulder at William. "Oh God," she murmured. She looked back at Faith. "He looks so peaceful!"

"He died like that," said Faith. "He had the most serene look on his face when he passed, despite everyone's panic around him." Her voice became thick again, and Felicity hugged her. Throughout the rest of the evening, she brought nothing but smiles and even a bit of laughter. She was a light in the dark, and even Ben couldn't help but smile a little.

The funeral proceeded the next day, and even more people showed up for it than did the calling. The day was bright and sunny, though naturally no one felt that way. The flowers were in full bloom, and the birds sang their happy songs as if to say goodbye to William. The sunlight streamed in through the church, giving it a happy, peaceful glow despite everyone's dark clothes. Ben had to bite his lip a few times to keep tears back. Funeral or no funeral, he didn't want to cry, and especially not in public. That old verse from the Bible popped in his mind, when Jesus was crucified and said to the man on his side, "'Today you will be with me in Paradise'." That's where William was- safe in Paradise. While this gave Ben a peaceful feeling, he still would have preferred William to be on earth.

A few days went by. William was buried, and it seemed a million flowers surrounded his grave. Faith, John, and Alexandra had returned home, and Felicity was leaving the next day. Ben stayed at his parents' house a little while longer, both for her and the fact that he figured they needed at least one of their children at the present. He went to bed early that night. Mr. and Mrs. Davidson had gone down to the cemetery for the hundredth time, and Felicity was downstairs, sewing by the fire, he had last seen her. He tossed and turned, trying to fall asleep, but his mind was too occupied. "Be happy," William had said. How could he be happy, though? He had just lost his brother. It was going to take some time. "Why?" he thought. "Why?" He turned on his other side and punched the pillow. He was angry, angry at William for leaving him and angry at God for taking him. "The Lord giveth and The Lord taketh away," said a voice in his head, but he shook his head. Why did The Lord have to taketh away so soon? He shut his eyes again. Why? He then heard the door open quietly, and soft footsteps come into the room. His mother, he assumed. He cringed a little. He really didn't want to have to put up with her emotions right now. He felt the mattress sink as she sat on the edge of the bed, and then her gentle touch on his shoulder. He felt her kiss on the top of his head, and his eyes opened. The kiss was not that of his mother's. He turned around and found Felicity sitting next to him. "Did I wake you?" she asked. He shook his head. "I couldn't sleep anyway," he said. He rolled over to face her and smiled a little. "What are you doing up here?"

"I was just going to go to bed," she said. "And I figured I would check on you." Neither said anything for a minute. Then she said, "You've been awfully calm about all of this."

"About…?" he asked.

"You know," she said. "William."

"Oh." Another silence. Then he said quietly, "I miss him."

"I know," she said. "I know."

"It was so sudden…" he said. "He seemed fine, and then he was just…gone."

"I know," she said again. "Tis terrible. I could barely believe it when I got your letter."

"I still can barely believe it," he said. "I don't want to believe it." She took his hand in her own. "I wish it were just a bad dream," she said. "And that I could just wake you up, and everything would be fine."

"So do I," he agreed. "So do I." Then he added, "I do appreciate you coming. I wasn't expecting you to."

"I figured I should," she said. "I thought now is the time you probably need someone the most, and besides, two more months and he would have been my brother-in-law. I wanted to pay my respects. I just hope I didn't burden your mother. I know I wasn't exactly invited."

"You haven't been," he assured her. "You are her daughter-in-law already, in practice if not by law. You've been a light in the darkness for her, for all of us." She smiled a little. Then she said, "I wish I had a word of joy or comfort for you."

"Your presence is comfort," he said. "To all of us, but me especially."

"Still," she said. "I can't say or do anything that will make you feel better." He shook his head. "Unless you can take us back in time so that he wouldn't get sick in the first place," he said. Then he sighed. "And I didn't even get to say goodbye," he continued, his voice becoming thick. "Or to apologize."

"Apologize?" she asked. He nodded. "A few weeks ago," he said. "We had a big argument…I said I wished he had never been born, that he would just leave and never come back, and the whole time he always felt jealous of me and that everyone favored me, and now he's dead, and…" It was then that the dam broke. He didn't want to, and especially in front of her, but he couldn't help it. He started to cry, then downright sob. He cried at the thought of everything that had happened over the past few years: the war, his ordeal with his arm, Diana, his close scrape with death, all he had been through with Felicity, Nan's near-death experience, William's death. All the hurt and depression that had been building up inside of his heart for the past four years or so finally came flooding out. And once he had remotely pulled himself together, he would think of William's lifeless face, and he would cry even harder. Felicity said nothing; she just wrapped her arms around him and lay her head on top of his, her cheek pressed against his dark hair. "I-I can't-" he gasped between heavy sobs. She stroked his hair lovingly. "Shh, shh," she hushed. "You needn't say anything." He only cried harder. After several minutes, he briefly pulled himself together. Taking a shaky breath, he said, "I-I'm sorry. I'm not- I don't know-"

"Shh," she said again, kissing the top of his head. "It's all right to cry." Another wave of tears came, and he buried his face in his pillow again. He felt her fingers in his hair, as gentle as birds. "Oh, darling," she whispered. "My darling Benjamin."

Finally, his crying stopped, and he was able to breathe again. "Are you all right?" Felicity asked. He nodded. "I think so," he said weakly. She touched his face, wiping away the remnants of tears. "It hurts me to see you cry," she said. "I didn't think you could."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't know what got-"

"It's all right," she interrupted. "You need to. Tis not good to keep all of your emotions bottled up inside of you. Remember? If you do that, they will eventually come pouring out on some poor innocent bystander, and then the person who suspected something was wrong will be thrown into the streets." He laughed a little. "I forgot about that reasoning," he said. She smiled. Then she said, "Tis getting late." He nodded. "I'm surprised my parents aren't home yet," he remarked.

"I think I'll go to bed," she said, beginning to rise. Without thinking, he grabbed her hand. She turned around and looked at him curiously. "Stay with me," he said impulsively. Then, thinking it through a little more, added, "Just until my parents get home. Please?" He knew she should say no, and he knew she knew she should say no, but neither one of them cared. She said not a word, but went around to the other side of the bed and kicked her shoes off. Gently, she lay down next to him and took his hand. "I'd stay with you much, much longer than that if I could," she whispered. He touched her cheek, then kissed her. "Thank you," he said quietly. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but it was even worse than when he first tried. Her arms around him, her soft hair upon her cheek, her body against his…he closed his eyes even more tightly. He felt those desires arousing within him. "Not yet," he told himself. "Not yet." Obviously, that was much easier said than done. He rolled over on his other side so his back was turned to her. Her arm was still around him, her hand still holding his, but it was a little better. He inhaled deeply. "Is everything all right?" she asked. He nodded. "Everything is fine," he said. She leaned over and kissed his cheek, and he sighed contently. He must have drifted off to sleep at one point, because he started dreaming again…

…He was in the parlor, alone. It was as silent as a tomb, and twilight. He was in the chair that had been next to William's coffin when for some reason, a toy soldier caught his eye. It was watching him, the corners of its painted mouth turned up in a grin. He did a double-take when he saw it. The way its eyes stared at him, its smirk, it was all too familiar. "William?" he barely whispered. The soldier nodded. All sorts of emotions flooded over him. Joy, relief, comfort, shock…oddly enough, no sadness, no fear. "How…what…" Ben stammered. "Are…are you all right? Are you where you need to be?" It nodded again. "Are…were you afraid?" he asked. This time, it shook its head no. "Can I tell this to anyone?" he asked. It shook its head no again. This was definitely a question-answer type of thing, and it didn't look as if it was going to speak. Ben wanted more, much more, but what was there to say? Finally, he asked, "Will I ever see you again?" The soldier smiled again and pointed up. Ben looked up, and he saw angels, heavenly angels, singing in voices far too haunting and beautiful to be any earthly voice. When he looked back, he saw not a toy soldier, but the most beautiful angel he had ever seen. It smiled at him, as if to say, "I'm all right, I'll be waiting for you to come." Then it started to fade. "Wait, William!" he called. "Don't go! Tell me more!" But it just smiled and was gone…

…it was then he woke up. It was dark in his room, and Felicity was gone. He heard the murmur of his parents' voices from their room down the hall. He sat up, and he realized he was crying. Out of what, though? It wasn't sadness. Relief, maybe? He wiped his eyes and tried to analyze the dream. Come to think of it, hadn't he had a similar one the night William died? He then realized that these weren't ordinary dreams. They were signs, signs from Heaven. This had been William telling him that he was all right, that it was all right to let go. Angels, William even, had really appeared to him. A warm, peaceful feeling flooded throughout his body. "Holy…" he whispered. He slipped out of bed and fell to his knees, then folded his hands and bowed his head. "Father, forgive me," he prayed. The next morning, he found the little soldier, the one that had always been William's favorite. A warm feeling came over him when he touched it, and he smiled and pressed it to his heart. He vowed to keep it for the rest of his life. The little toy soldier that had been an angel. William.

For the record, I don't know much about the history of rheumatic fever, nor do I know if it were called such back then, but I do know that it was at least around. I got the idea from a character in a play :)