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The Only Rules That Matter (TheCorsair, Madame Mim)

Jenny grinned and blushed a little at the memory. That night had been particularly wild and made her glad for once that they lived on the outskirts of town for all the noise they'd made. She wrapped her fingers in his hair and tugged it gently, giggling.

"John Sparrow it was more than that and you know it," she chided before pulling him gently closer to kiss her. She let go as they settled back down, leaning her head against his chest. "Yes, well, we'll have a little sit-down with Eve about the way that goes, won't we?" she grumbled. Her hand slid over her husband's as it rested over their baby.

"Yeah well plenty of women've gone through this before. I'm not the first, won't be the last. Besides, I won't be alone, John. I'll have you." Jenny tilted her chin up to look up at him and kiss him. She winced and grunted, pulling away from her husband and shifting her legs a little. Discomfort grew into pain and Jenny's hand gripped John's thigh almost painfully. "Um...John? Remember earlier when you thought the baby was comin'...?" She looked up at him and smiled weakly before the smile turned to a grimace as another painful contraction rolled through her body. "Welp...happy anniversary..."
 
"Welp...happy anniversary..."

It took John a moment to parse that last comment. When he did, why, he wasn't anywhere near as terrified as he'd thought he'd be. They did have a plan, after all.

Not that he wasn't terrified, mind.

Slipping from the bed, he pulled his breeches and shirt on. Carefully sitting on the edge of the bed, his boots followed. Then he caught Jenny's hand. "I'll go fetch Goody Wilson first," he told her, reviewing things in his own mind. "You'll not be alone five minutes. Then I 'll fetch your ma and the midwife."

Then, realizing he had to be going, he kissed his wife. "Five minutes," he promised, dashing to the door...


Six hours later...

John paced his living room, starting towards the door every time he heard or thought he heard a cry. Finally, he threw himself into a chair. "Pa?" he asked, "how did you stand it?"

"Who said I did?" Michael Dolan answered, looking up from his pipe. "Damn near cut my heart out, every time I heard my Mary cry out like that." Smoke streamed from his nostrils. "Ain't no easier, hearin' my little girl instead."
 
Jenny watched her husband pull on his clothes and boots, whimpering quietly as he did so. Already sweat was forming on her brow as he took up her hand. It felt like her menstrual cramps only so much worse. How had her mother done this three times? John promised he wouldn't be more than five minutes and kissed her, leaving her alone in bed.

Six hours later Jenny had been moved; it was time. Together her mother and Elizabeth had carefully moved her from bed to the very same chair she and both of her brothers had been born in. Goody Wilson and the midwife knelt by her knees, prepared with warm water and clean towels, while Elizabeth and Mary stood at either side, clutching her hands. At one point Mary had thought she'd heard her fingers crunch under her daughter's grip, but it didn't matter. This was her very first grandchild from her only daughter and she would make sure everything went well.

"Oh God please make it stop!" Jenny wailed, tears streaking down her flushed face as her expression screwed up in pain. "Mommy it hurts so bad..."

"Ssh sshh I know lamb, I know." With her free hand Mary smooth back Jenny's hair away from her forehead before kissing it. "It's almost over we're almost done." She looked to the midwife with an expression begging to confirm that this was true.

The midwife nodded. "Another good push or two and you'll be there love. C'mon."

"I can't!"

"Yes you can Jennifer Agnes!" Mary turned Jenny's face to look at her, frazzled gray hair just as curly and unruly as her daughter's. "I done this three times, you can do it once girl I promise. We're Dolans. Do Dolans give up?"

Jenny sniffed. "No..."

"Then push!"

It wasn't the two pushes the midwife had promised, but nearly twenty minutes later a long, heart-rending shriek pierced through the house followed by the wailing of a very upset infant. The voices behind the door were those of triumph and Michael sat up in his seat, staring at the door intently as though willing it to open.
 
John hurled himself towards the door as Jenny shrieked in agony, and it took both Michael and Sean to hold him back. "Listen, son," Michael told him. "She's all right! Listen!" A new sound could be heard, the thin wailing of a very small and very upset infant, and exhausted sounds of relief and triumph.

John sagged, then let his father-in-law and brother-in-law lead him back to a chair. "It's... just..."

"Shh... I know," Michael assured him. "I know." He flashed a grin. "See what ye've to look forward to, boy?"

Sean looked skeptical. "Oh, yes. I'm thrilled."

The next few dozen minutes crawled by like molasses, but the door finally cracked open. "John," Mary Doyle said, looking exhausted and sounding happy, "you can come in, now..."

He was at the door in an instant, pushing past his mother-in-law with a rudeness that he'd normally have never dreamed of. She merely smiled, a little tired, and settled into her husbands arms as she watched him bolt past. John didn't notice. His attention was all on his wife, resting in their bed now, face haggard from fatigue and hair plastered to her scalp by sweat. All on his wife, that is, and the reddish, wrinkled bundle she held to her breast. There was wonder in his eyes as he knelt beside them, looking from the tiny baby to his wife and back, unable to believe the wonder of it all.
 
Jenny was grateful to be back in bed where she could be comfortable, propped up by pillows where she didn't have to hold herself up anymore. She and the baby had been carefully cleaned up before being settled in bed. Mrs. Sparrow didn't want to let go of her child, but had eventually relented when it came to cleaning him of the blood and birth, cutting the cord, and getting him to stop crying. As soon as the swaddled little bundle was placed in her arms, Jenny's head fell back on the pillow and all she wanted to do was sleep.

But then John came in. Not that she minded, of course; after all this was his baby, too. But she secretly hoped to keep the celebration short for now. Giving birth was, in a word, exhausting. Even the baby was rubbing his little fists in his eyes, yawning. Still, exhausted though she was Jenny's eyes shone in triumph and love as John came to her side, eyes fixed on the two of them as though it were a miracle. She supposed, in a way, that it was their own little miracle. Gathering her remaining strength Jenny flopped her head to the side and grinned.

"It's a boy, John," she told her husband quietly, reaching out one hand to take his. "You have a son. You're a daddy."
 
Gathering her remaining strength Jenny flopped her head to the side and grinned. "It's a boy, John," reaching out one hand to take his. "You have a son. You're a daddy."

"Hi, little Johnny," he said, holding out his fingers. "Remember me? You kicked me in the head?"

The baby reached out and bumped his fist against his finger, before settling back and giving him an unfocused stare. John found himself wiping at eyes that suddenly prickled and burned. "Here... let me hold him for a minute." Carefully he took the little bundle from Jenny's arms, sitting with her on the edge of the bed. Johnny wrinkled his nose, obviously unsure what was going on, and John desperately tried to get him seated properly. "Gonna... gonna take a little getting used to, this," he grinned.

He turned a little. "There's mommy. Say, 'hi, mommy!'" Moving a finger, he made the baby wave his hand a little. Then he added a "Hi, mommy!" in a bad falsetto that was also the world's worst ventriloquist act. "And there's your grandma and grandpa!"

Johnny started wailing, and - just for an instant - John had no idea what to do. Then, rocking the baby a little, he handed him back to Jenny. The baby immediately settled down, and he laughed. "Well, I guess I know where I fall in the grand scheme of things..."
 
Jenny slowly handed the baby over to her husband, smiling gently at the tears that had been wiped away before they'd had a chance to fall. She cradled the back of the baby's head until he was safely in John's arms, but there was still some adjusting to do. They would definitely have to get used to it.

"Hold his head," Jenny said quietly as John adjusted with the baby. When he turned Johnny to look at her and made the baby wave, she grinned and waved back slowly. "Hi Johnny," she whispered. "Hi Jack." She looked up at her husband. "I think I like Jack better. Less confusing."

The baby began to wail and John looked startled. He rocked the baby and handed him back to his mother, who took him gently against her breast. She chuckled as John joked that he knew where he fell in the scheme of things.

"Well, he's had a big day. Lots of new people to meet," Jenny said quietly, looking down and running a forefinger softly against his cheek. He turned his head toward her finger, his little mouth opening and closing slowly, rooting for a nipple. "And I think he's hungry," she added, pulling open the laces of her nightdress to expose her breasts. "Hell, I'm hungry. That's a lot of work." Her new son latched onto her, suckling at her nipple as though by instinct, and Jenny looked up at John with immeasurable amounts of love in her eyes.
 
"Hi Jack." She looked up at her husband. "I think I like Jack better. Less confusing."

The name froze his blood.

"Jaaaack..."

He'd nearly convinced himself that the Shadow Thing had been a nightmare. Something caused by a mild concussion, and the fact that he'd been trying to scare himself. But still, even now, sometimes he thought he could hear it. Pacing him. Trying to catch up to him again.

"Captain Jack Sparrow..."

"Nothing wrong with Johnny," he insisted. "Besides, for all we know, he might want to be called Mike."

Then baby John began fussing, and he handed their son back over, joking as the baby settled down right away.

"Well, he's had a big day. Lots of new people to meet," Jenny said quietly, looking down and running a forefinger softly against his cheek. He turned his head toward her finger, his little mouth opening and closing slowly, rooting for a nipple. "And I think he's hungry," she added, pulling open the laces of her nightdress to expose her breasts. "Hell, I'm hungry. That's a lot of work." Her new son latched onto her, suckling at her nipple as though by instinct, and Jenny looked up at John with immeasurable amounts of love in her eyes.

"There's... uhm... your ma. She brought soup. Said it'd be a long day." He started to rise, torn between his desire to take care of Jenny and his desire to just sit and watch her and his son. His son. His wife, and his son. He realized he was grinning like a fool again. "I've had it on a low simmer all day, so it should be ready any time you want some..."

He brushed a stray lock of damp hair off his son's forehead, and then tucked a similar stray lock back behind Jenny's ear. "God, I love you."
 
"Well no, not for now," Jenny agreed, inclining her head. "But think about when he's our age; I don't think he'll want to be called Johnny anymore." Granted she was only seventeen and not a boy, but she wanted to look out for her son. "Jack is a fine name for a boy or a man, but it'll be up to him, when he's old enough to understand and make a choice for himself. Besides; John, Jenny, and Johnny? Too overly-cute. Poor lad would be beaten up just for his name."

Jenny watched her husband watching them, glancing down occasionally to watch Jack--or Johnny--gulp down nourishment from her breast. His swallowing slowed as his eyes drifted closed and he gradually fell asleep, a trickle of milk dripping down her breast as his mouth fell open.

"Soup sounds wonderful, love," Jenny yawned, sinking lower in the bed, "but later I think. The babe's got the right of it. I'm afraid I might fall asleep in it if I were to take it now..." Her eyes drifted closed and by the time John tucked that stray curl behind her ear she was sleeping soundly.

Jack was baptized into the Catholic faith a few days later, in tradition with the religion, and Mary kept saying how she had never seen a happier babe. Jenny read to him from the book of poems John had given her for Christmas each night, and each time she turned to a certain page he slapped his hand across an illustration of a sea turtle, burbling happily. Jenny taught Jack the Irish word for "turtle," amongst other words that he might learn the language along-side English just as she had, and even made for him a toy turtle with leftover fabric for his first birthday. The turtle was immediately stuffed into his mouth with a delighted coo, and later affectionately named Scraps the Turtle once Jack was learning how to speak more fluently.

By the age of twenty-three, Jenny was made a mother of two. Baby Anne Mary Sparrow was welcomed to the world a few months after her brother's fourth birthday. The Sparrow house--affectionately nicknamed "The Nest" by those in town who knew them--was in need of an additional room. In their spare time, John, Michael, Sean--now married to Elizabeth for several years--and Peter built two. Another happy year passed and to Jenny it seemed a life so perfect would last forever. But then, a few months after her first birthday, Anne woke the entire household in the middle of the night wailing in pain and burning of a fever neither she nor Jack had ever had before. Jenny tried to calm her daughter with cool, damp rags and quiet singing but nothing would calm her. The next day she rushed the baby to the doctor, leaving Jack with his grandmother.
 
John had never really set out to be a Papist. Religion wasn't something his upbringing had stressed, not until after he'd been apprenticed. And really, by then, it was probably too late. Master Christopher was a devout Anglican, and had tried to instill his faith in his wayward apprentice.

That particular failure, followed by John's conversion to Catholicism before his marriage, was the only sore spot between the two men. Normally he didn't make a thing out of it, but it hurt more than he'd expected that Master Christopher had refused to get Jack a christening gift. Not that he'd felt he deserved anything, or that he'd expected something. But he hadn't anticipated to be told of his Master's refusal.

But life went on. Jack grew, and while the nervous feeling he'd had about the name never faded, the Shadow Thing never haunted the boy. He grew tall and strong, clever and curious, and insisted on helping grandpa and daddy and Unca Sean and Unca Pete build the first expansion onto "The Nest". And he'd danced a little dance and tried to get Anne Mary to play with him the day she'd been born in 1703. When she didn't, he'd stomped off and sulked for nearly five minutes before coming back to stare at her wide-eyed again.

Now, not quite a year later, John was eating himself up with worry. He and Jenny had been up all night with Anne, who'd been running a fever and vomiting, and sobbing and moving her limbs like they hurt. He and Jenny had rocked her in shifts, feeding her weak willow bark tea and trying to soothe her, all to no avail.

And every time he closed his eyes, he heard the Shadow Thing. "Can't escape, Captain Jack Sparrow. Can't ever escape." And he'd wake with a start, looking around wildly. Once, he'd even gone so far as to set a candle in the farthest corner of her little room, where the shadows were deepest.

Dawn came, and John had to go to work. Master Christopher and his wife were away in London, visiting family, so he was the only one available. He helped Jenny get Jack and Anne ready, listening to Jack's insistance that "God'll make Anne better mommy," and wishing he could believe like that. Then he'd walked with them to the Dolan's house, and he'd kissed Jenny goodbye.

That was six hours ago. He knew, because he'd counted the minutes. And he tried to tell himself that it was nothing. That he was being foolish. That Anne simply had a fever, and that she'd be fine.

"Jaaaaack..."

Whirling, looking wildly, he saw... nothing.

"Jaaaaaack..."

"I'm going mad," he said, aloud. "You're not real!"

Why, yes. Shouting at nothing proved your sanity, surely?

"More real than anything..." the voice whispered, behind him now. He spun.

Nothing.

"Always there, Jaaaaaack...."

He spun again.

"You can't...."

Again.

"...ever..."

And again.

"...escape..."

Finally, leaving a note on the door that directed patients to call on him at The Nest, he sprinted towards home. Within the shop, dust motes danced in the afternoon sunlight. And nothing else stirred. Nothing else watched, or laughed, or taunted.

Nothing at all.

After all, it had followed John Sparrow out the door.
 
Jack had been sent to play and had climbed as high as the first branch of the old oak tree in the front yard. That was as high as he was allowed to go, and he was glad he hadn't dared to go higher when he saw his father home early from work. The boy had been hanging by his knees and swinging back and forth as John's familiar legs appeared in the yard.

"Daddy!" He held on to the branch to flip his legs through his arms before letting go to land safely on his feet. "Didja see Daddy? Didja?" Jack ran over to hug his father about the waist. "Daddy? Why's Momma crying?"

Inside Jenny was sitting on a sofa with the baby in her arms, finally asleep. The young mother's eyes were red and bloodshot, her face tearstained. It was clear this was only a calm in the storm; she had run out of tears to shed, but would cry again as soon as they came back. When John walked through the door she looked up and sniffed, wiping uselessly at her face.

"Jack I thought I told you to stay outside," she croaked, sniffing thickly.
 
"Daddy!" He held on to the branch to flip his legs through his arms before letting go to land safely on his feet. "Didja see Daddy? Didja?"

"I did!" John answered, hugging the boy close. "That was very well done! Is..."

"Daddy? Why's Momma crying?"

Ice gripped his heart. Carefully, he knelt down and looked Jack in the eyes. "I..." He swallowed. "I don't know," he finally said. "But..." He held Jack close. "I don't know, Jack."

Jack wiggled free. "She's just sitting in there, daddy. Holding Anne and crying. Is something wrong with Anne?" He tugged at his father's hand. "Anne's just sick, right? She'll get better. Father Shovel says that God always answers prayers, and I asked God to make her better, and I've eaten all my vegetables and I've been good all day and... and... and..."

John pulled his son back against him. "She has to be okay, daddy!" the boy sobbed. "You can just make her some medicine, right? She'll be okay?"

The boy sniffled, and burrowed close as John picked him up. Then, carefully, he pushed open the door.

"Jack," he heard Jenny croak, "I thought I told you to stay outside."

"But... mommy!" Jack sniffled back.

"It's me, love," John said. "I... left early, today." He took in his wife, her bloodshot eyes and the baby in her arms, and icy dread filled his gut. But he couldn't let himself react. Not yet. Instead, he knelt and wiped the tears from his son's eyes.

"Jack?" he asked. "Can you do something for me?"

Jack sniffled a little. "Y-yes."

John smiled a smile he didn't feel. "I need you to go to grandma and grandpa and ask them for..." he thought hard, "for a little bit of while."

Jack scrubbed his eyes with his knuckles. "Some while?" he asked, doubtfully.

"Yes. We just need a little, to help your sister. Can you do that?"

Jack, mood lightened by the prospect of something to do, nodded eagerly. "Yes. Yes, daddy."

John kissed his forehead. "Go, then."

Jack dashed through the door, and John rose slowly. Without wanting to, he found himself glancing into the darker corners of the room before sitting next to his wife. His heart thundered in his chest, and he felt like he might have to shout to be heard. "What... what did the doctor... say?"
 
Jenny forlornly watched Jack run out the door, healthy and strong...like her baby would never be again. It seemed hopeless. She leaned against John as he sat on the couch, one-year-old Anne practically collapsed against her mother's chest, exhausted in her sickness. When he asked what was wrong, she nearly burst into tears just trying to work up the words.

"John he...he ah...he's only seen a few cases like hers before," Jenny managed to get out before the tears started again. Her throat felt creaky and dry. "He doesn't know what it is, John. But he's seen it take down grown men in a few months. John...he said...he said..."

She tried to keep her sobs quiet enough to not wake the baby, turning her face into her husband's shoulder to muffle the noise. "He said she'll be lucky to live to three."

There. She'd said it out loud for the very first time. All the way home she had been in denial, then as it had sunk in she had been able to do nothing but cry with her baby who was in so much pain. She couldn't lose Anne. She couldn't lose either of her babies. A fresh wave of tears burst forth as it sunk in that this was really happening.
 
The words didn't sound real. It couldn't be real. Anne was... fourteen months? How could she have lived nearly half her life already?

John's arms wrapped around Jenny's shoulders, holding her and offering what comfort he could as she sobbed and he turned her words over and over again in his mind. Lucky to live to three? What kind of luck is that?

"It can't be," he mumbled, kissing the top of her head. "It can't be."

"Can't... escape... Jaaack..."

"I won't let it be," he murmured. "I won't!"

The response from the shadows - whether in the corner or in his own mind, was a harsh, mocking laughter. He ignored it, stroking Jenny's hair before cupping her chin. "Jennifer Agnes Sparrow," he said seriously, wiping her tears away. "He's wrong. He has to be."

John looked around wildly, as if an answer might be hiding in the corners of the room. "Doctor Winchester's a good doctor, and I'd never slight him... but he's just one man. And there's other doctors, Jenny. London's not far, and they've got the greatest doctors in the world there."

He had to struggle to control his tone and his pace. He was talking sense - he knew he was talking sense - but he was close to hysteria. If he wasn't careful, he'd just start raving. "And... Jack's right. Once we do all we can, we... we have to trust in... in God."

Emotion twisted his face, and he had to breathe for a moment. "I... you know me, Jenny. I try to be a good man, but... but I'm not faithful. But I can be. I can learn, Jenny. For Anne, I can learn."

Strong emotions shivered through him, and he wrapped his arms around his wife. "Our little girl... she'll be fine. YOu'll see. Nothing's gonna happen to her." He bit down on an animal sound of pain, as if refusing to let it out meant that there was no reason to let it out. "I won't let it, Jenny. I won't."
 
Jenny cried into her husband's shoulder as he refused to believe that their daughter might not live. She admired his strength but wasn't sure if she could share in it. If anyone short of God and Jesus could save their baby though it was John. And yet, even as he admitted that he wasn't faithful she felt sick. Of course Jenny had known for a long time that her husband didn't believe as strongly as she did, but that familiar feeling that sometimes kept her up at night returned to her. As much as she prayed on it, and as much as she loved him with all her heart and knew him to be a good man inside and out, she feared for John's immortal soul. And while she prayed for him to become faithful, she didn't know if she wanted it to be at this price. What sort of price was this, anyway? Her daughter's soul for her husbands?

"It's not fair," Jenny sobbed into John's chest, holding Anne tightly to her chest. "What sort of a loving God does this? It isn't fair."

John wrapped his arms around his wife. "Our little girl...she'll be fine. You'll see. Nothing's gonna happen to her. I won't let it, Jenny. I won't."

"No..." Jenny agreed weakly, sniffing. "Nothing will happen to her. She'll...she'll live and she'll thrive and have babies of her own, and we'll be long in the ground before God calls her home." She wasn't certain if she believed it or if she was trying to convince herself.

There was no time to figure it out for now. Baby Anne woke, wailing. Jenny started, but kissed John gently before standing and walking with her, bouncing her gently as she paced. She grabbed up a washcloth from the basin of cool water she'd left on the table, pressing it to Anne's forehead as she sang gently.

"Dance, dance wherever you may be; for I am the Lord of the dance said He. And I'll lead you all, wherever you may be, for I am the Lord of the dance, said He." It had been Jenny's favorite hymn growing up, and now it soothed her children after nightmares and through fevers. This was no exception; they needed all the faith they could get.
 
"It's not fair," Jenny sobbed into John's chest, holding Anne tightly to her chest. "What sort of a loving God does this? It isn't fair."

"God didn't do this, Jenny," John, murmured. "He didn't." Strong emotions shivered through him, and he wrapped his arms around his wife. "Our little girl... she'll be fine. You'll see. Nothing's gonna happen to her." He bit down on an animal sound of pain, as if refusing to let it out meant that there was no reason to let it out. "I won't let it, Jenny. I won't."

"No..." Jenny agreed weakly, sniffing. "Nothing will happen to her. She'll...she'll live and she'll thrive and have babies of her own, and we'll be long in the ground before God calls her home."

"She's already home. No need for God to call her anywhere else."

Then Anne woke up, sobbing and wailing. Jenny bathed her face and started walking with her, singing. JOhn considered taking Anne for a bit, giving Jenny a chance to rest. But the look in his wife's face betrayed a terrible need to hold their daughter. To take care of her, right now. So, he settled for walking with her, joining in with her song.

The upbeat rhythms caught him up, easing his burden. But the final verse caught in his throat, choking him.

"They cut me down and I leapt up high, I am the life that will never, never die. I'll live in you if you'll live in me, I am the Lord of the dance, said he."



That night he dreamed a terrible dream. One he barely remembered, but it had seemed he'd stood by his daughter's bed, a candle in one hand and a cross in the other, trying to keep between her and the shadows that lurked outside the pool of light. And the shadows mocked and taunted him, and called for Anne, all in the terrible soft voice he'd heard years ago in the castle. He'd finally awoken with the dawn, feeling as if he'd been awake all night, and realized that Anne hadn't cried out once the whole evening.

Frantically, he dashed into Anne's room. Jenny was there, slumped in a chair, gently snoring. And Anne lay still, so terribly still, and his heart clenched with agony.

And then she whimpered a little, and stirred, and tried to roll over.

John sank to his knees by her bed, wanting to gather her to him, not daring to wake her from her first decent sleep in days. "Thank you," he whispered, tears streaming down his face. "Thank you."

Then, curious, he groped under her bed. He'd touched something with his knee... ah! There it was! He pulled it out, then stared at it in shock. It was the crucifix that Michael and Mary Dolan had given him, when he'd been baptised Catholic. And he knew he'd left it in a little box by his bed. So... why was it here?
 
Jenny kept a vigil in Anne's room all night, even after John had gone to bed. Despite her best efforts, she fell asleep in the rocking chair next to the bed, a book of fairy stories in her hands. She had been reading quietly to Anne, since the sound of her voice seemed to soothe her, but her mouth had gotten dry and her jaw tired. As the sun rose over the windowsill Jenny's chin rested on her chest, book falling halfway out of her lap.

But the baby whimpered and she was instantly awake. There was whispering. Jenny's head jerked up with a start, but her pounding heart was calmed when she saw her husband kneeling there by the bed with a crucifix in hand. Putting the book aside, Jenny carefully slid out of the chair to her knees to kneel beside John. She gently wrapped her arms around his chest and kissed him slowly before brushing away his tears.

"God is with us, John," she murmured, kissing his cheek. "We'll save up for the best doctors we can find, and in the meantime we'll pray." She stood slowly, rubbing her face. "Do you mind watching her for a few minutes? I'm going to go get Jack from Ma and Da's."
 
"God is with us, John," she murmured, kissing his cheek. "We'll save up for the best doctors we can find, and in the meantime we'll pray."

"He must have been," JOhn murmured, staring at the crucifix. He felt like he was groping in the shadows, trying to remember something. Or... trying not to remember. But then, he slipped the chain around his neck, feeling the cool metal resting on his chest. "And we'll pray. He's heard us already, right?"

She stood slowly, rubbing her face. "Do you mind watching her for a few minutes? I'm going to go get Jack from Ma and Da's."

"Not at all, love. Take your time." He rose, and kissed her gently. "You could use a little rest, yourself."

A few minutes later he was kissing her goodbye, then closing the door as she walked to the fence and took the road into town. Then he wandered back to Anne's room, settling himself into the chair and thumbing through the book of fairy stories. Shortly thereafter, Anne started fussing. "Da!" she demanded, voice breathy. "Da!"

He put the book down. "What's wrong, Anne?"

"Up!" she demanded, struggling to sit up. "Up!"

He watched her carefully for a moment, feeling like something was wrong. But, what?

Anne kicked a little, legs twitching fitfully as she tried to turn over. She made an angry fussing sound, then fell back on her back and started gasping for breath. John picked her up, rocking her a little. "There you go," he said, smiling as she started to smile. "You seem like you feel a lot better. Yes you do! Yes you do! And I bet baby Anne wants... breakfast!" He lifted her up, blowing a wet raspberry on her belly, then did it again when she laughed.

Carrying his daughter out into the kitchen, trying remind himself that she was still recovering, he placed her on the floor near her rag doll ("Fwee", named for her closest success to saying "fairy") and went to make some porridge. She still nursed as well, but Mary had advised them to start her on some simple solid foods as well.

As he built up the fire in the hearth, Anne began another fussing, frustrated cry. Shaking his head, he turned to look. And his blood ran cold.

Anne was still a good foot from her doll, trying to drag herself by her hands alone. Normally, she'd be up and crawling, maybe even walking. She didn't quite seem to trust walking yet, but watching her take her first steps had been a delight.

But not now. Now her legs just twitched feebly, like the last thrashing of a dying frog. Trying not to scare her, he didn't rush over. Instead, he walked slowly and sat down next to her, picking Fwee up and handing it to the scared, frustrated little girl. "Dada!" she cooed, grabbing the doll, before starting to try and crawl again.

Gently, he stood her up. She swayed, and he had to grab her as she toppled over. "Oh, Anne," he said, trying to comfort her as she wailed in frustration. "Oh, my dear, dear Anne."
 
"Thank you for taking him. Yesterday was just too much." Jenny rubbed her face as she sat in her parents' sitting room with her mother. She was exhausted and tempted to take John's offer to take care of the children while she rested...but he had to get to work and she had children to care for.

"What's wrong?" Mary leaned forward, elbows on her knees and looking concerned. "Jack said you were crying all day."

"Ma I...I dunno what to do." Jenny's eyes welled up with tears and she covered her mouth. She was too tired to do this. "The doctor doesn't rightly know what it's called, but he's seen it before. Anne she...he said she only has a year and a half left, if she's lucky." Her voice cracked but she managed to swallow back the tears.

"Oh lamb..." Mary moved from the chair to the sofa, pulling her daughter to her.

"Mommy I can't lose her...!"

Jenny stayed there for a long while, clinging to her mother like a child. Mary soothed her, stroking her hair and speaking softly while she let her daughter cry everything out. Eventually, however, it was time to bring Jack home. Mary went to wake him up while Jenny stayed and composed herself. She carried Jack home as he snoozed in and out on her shoulder, assuring him during his waking periods that everything was fine. Everything would be okay and God would tend to it all.

When she walked in, however, to John and Anne on the floor, Anne crying and holding her doll, Jenny set her son down and rushed over. "Is everything okay? What happened? Did she fall?"
 
The hour that followed was an agony of tension and hope and heartbreak, and John had never seen anything like it before. Two days ago, Anne could walk. Not really well, mind. But she could walk. And she could crawl. Nothing knee height or lower was safe. And now... now...

Now she couldn't. Her illness had stolen that from her. And left her breathing harsh and labored, making her gasp for breath from time to time. Especially if she cried. Which she did a lot, out of sheer frustration. Because she couldn't move.

"Dear God," he murmured, not sure if he was praying. "What are we going to do?" He tickled her belly, and she laughed and twisted and waved her arms, and her legs thrashed weakly and spasmodically. "If you were older, we could maybe teach you to use crutches. But..."

"He said she'll be lucky to live to three."

"NO!" John roared, shouting down his own memory. "She CAN'T die!" He shook his fist Heavenward, rage and anger and grief pouring out. "She CAN'T!"

Anne started crying. Hurriedly, John picked her up again. "I'm sorry," he whispered, rocking her in his arms. "I'm sorry, Anne. Daddy didn't mean it. And daddy won't let anything happen, you'll see. You'll grow up, and you'll meet a wonderful boy, and daddy will threaten him and terrify him right up to the day he marries you, and then.." He hugged his daughter close, tears burning down his cheeks. "Oh, God, Anne. I can't even protect you in my own home! But I'll find a way. I will. I will."

He wasn't sure how long he sat like that. But then Jenny was kneeling next to him, and Jack was clutching her leg and staring wide-eyed. "Is everything okay? What happened? Did she fall?"

"It's..." John scrubbed at his eyes with his hand. "It's not okay, Jenny. Our daughter... Anne..." He pulled his wife and son close, holding them and his daughter and wishing that he didn't have to say the next few words. That the cup might pass.

"Anne... the sickness... it..." He swallowed, hard. "Anne... can't walk, anymore. Can't stand. Can't... can't even... crawl."
 
"It's...It's not okay, Jenny. Our daughter...Anne..." Jenny noticed now that John had been crying and her heart leaped to her throat. He pulled her and Jack close and her heart pounded faster. "Anne...the sickness...it...Anne can't walk, anymore. Can't stand. Can't...can't even...crawl."

Jenny fell the few inches from her feet onto her rear, clapping a hand across her mouth. She leaned her head against John's shoulder, unable to speak. She stroked Anne's downy hair with her free hand, her eyes...surprisingly dry. She found herself physically unable to cry anymore. She sniffed and stared down at her children, leaning against her husband. Last week everything had been so perfect and now...she felt as though her entire world was being ripped from her, like if she blinked her children would be dead and John like smoke through her fingers.

"What're we gonna do?" Jenny finally croaked. "John...I don't know what to do anymore."

Jack tugged at her skirts. "Momma what's Anne's sickness? Why can't she crawl 'n stuff?"

Jenny sighed, pulling Jack--and Scraps the turtle--into her lap as he sucked on his thumb. "Jack, Anne...she has a sickness the doctor doesn't have to treat very often and it means she can't walk anymore. Maybe...maybe never again." Jenny swallowed hard as she tried to explain to her son that his sister was a cripple. "Which means you gotta look out for her, okay? When she gets big, there might be other kids who are mean to her, and you gotta protect her if Daddy and me aren't around. Okay? Can you do that for us?" Jack nodded wordlessly before pressing his head to Jenny's breast, wrapping an arm around her neck to hug her. He wasn't entirely certain what was going on, but he could tell his parents were upset and he only wanted to make it better.

"John you ah...You better get going," Jenny reminded him quietly. "Shop's supposed to open in half an hour. We'll need all we can get. For doctors. Maybe she just has to re-learn, y'know?" She knew in her heart that wasn't possible, no matter how many doctors they went to...but she still had to hope. All was lost if she didn't keep up the hope. "Jack after breakfast maybe you and Scraps can play with Anne and Fwee, huh? Have a game all together while Mummy lays down a bit?"
 
Time passes, even when it feel like it won't. Days turned into weeks and John, who had always been clever with his hands, experimented. He fashioned a little cart for Anne, something she could lie in and pull herself around by her arms. And then a little seat of wood and leather, that she could sit in and push with her sickly legs. Neither worked supremely well, but both gave the little girl some mobility. And her squeals of delight - usually heard just before she slammed into the furniture - brought a sense of joy that had been lacking since her illness.

Jack in particular accepted the changes. He could be seen at odd times, chasing her through the house with Scraps, or pushing her as they both shrieked with laughter. At those times, it was easy for John to pretend he didn't see the way she still labored for breath.

One evening in July, John closed the door behind him and hung his hat on its hook. Sighing, he took a seat at the table. "I... don't understand Master Christopher," he said quietly, watching his hand trenble. "He.. as much as tells me that Anne's illness is God's judgement on me. For leaving the true faith." His hand clenched into a fist. "By God, Jenny, I wanted... wanted to..."

He took a deep breath., forcing his hand to unclench. "But then... he says he needs to send me to London, negotiate with one of our suppliers. And, since it'll take a few days, I may as well use these letters of introduction to three doctors he knows at the Royal College. Because maybe they'll be able to help Anne."
 
Days passed and Anne's body grew even though her legs didn't. John built first a cart then a little wheeled chair and Jack adapted to his sister's condition, becoming as loving a brother as ever Sean or Peter had been, possibly moreso. Jenny could fool herself into things perhaps getting better, but there were the times Anne's breath became labored or even stopped altogether; John working later and later; Master Christopher and Mary Halliwell becoming more distanced, coming over and inviting them for dinner less and less. She was only thankful that her mother was willing to watch the children while she worked at the tavern during the day; two incomes were so much better than one and eased the burden a little.

It was a warm night in July that John came home while Jenny was cutting up vegetables from the garden. Supper was almost done. He collapsed at the table and she turned her head over the shoulder when he sighed. His head was in his hands and she frowned.

"What's wrong, love?" she asked, checking to make sure the kids were still playing out in the yard.

"I... don't understand Master Christopher," John said quietly, watching his hand tremble. "He.. as much as tells me that Anne's illness is God's judgement on me. For leaving the true faith." His hand clenched into a fist. "By God, Jenny, I wanted... wanted to..."

"He said what?!" Jenny set the knife down and put her hands on her hips, scowling. "After all you've done for him, after all he's done for you! You've been like a son to him. We've been like family! I've called him my father-in-law! And now he's saying that Anne...!" She snorted indignantly, folding her arms angrily across her chest.

John took a deep breath, forcing his hand to unclench. "But then...he says he needs to send me to London, negotiate with one of our suppliers. And, since it'll take a few days, I may as well use these letters of introduction to three doctors he knows at the Royal College. Because maybe they'll be able to help Anne."

"The Royal...they...they can help her...?" Jenny put her hand over her mouth and leaned against the wall, swinging from one mood to another. "Well...go, John! Right away! We could...she could...and I mean maybe her legs...!" Jenny swallowed a lump that formed in her throat. "Maybe our baby can walk again, John..."
 
"The Royal...they...they can help her...?"

Jenny slumped against the wall, hand over her mouth, desperate hope glittering in her eyes. John rose and pulled her close. "I don't know," he said, desperately wanting to tell her that they could, even though he didn't know. "But... if anyone can, Jenny, it'll be them."

"Well...go, John! Right away! We could...she could...and I mean maybe her legs...!" Jenny swallowed a lump that formed in her throat. "Maybe our baby can walk again, John..."

"I know, Jenny. I know. And I'll be leaving on the London coach in the morning, at half past ten. It'll take me... two days to get to London, and I'll be gone... I dunno." He hugged her close. "As long as it takes. Usually need about a week to handle all of the trading itself, and it may take about that long again to see the doctors." He shook his head. "I could be gone close to a month, love."

He stood there, just feeling her warmth in his arms and inhaling her scent. "It'll be worth it, if they can help. But... I'll miss you. You and the children." He'd been to London before, but never more than a fortnight. The prospect was... daunting.
 
Jenny leaned against John's chest as he held her close. She closed her eyes as he calculated how long he might be gone, a tear leaking down her cheek. Since they'd met she'd never been away from him more than a fortnight. But he was right; if they could help it would be worth it.

"But...I'll miss you. You and the children."

"And we'll miss you, John. But what's a month when compared to a lifetime?" Jenny looked up at him, unending depths of love in her eyes. "Especially when that can mean the difference between our daughter walking and being a cripple for the rest of her life?" She pushed a lock of hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear. "I love you so much, John Sparrow." Jenny wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down into a long, deep kiss as she pressed her body against his. All she wanted right now was to be as close as possible, as long as possible. It was a desperate need driven by love and fear and all Jenny wanted in this world was for things to be as they were. The children were outside and dinner still had a while on the stove.
 
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