Margaret hadn’t returned. The morning of the fifth day, Hannah dozed in the rocker in John’s room. With first light she roused and knew immediately that something was different. John’s labored breathing had stopped. Fear, like a fire out of control, burned through her. She pushed out of the chair. Lord, no. Please, no. Her eyes on John, she moved to the bed. In the half light of morning, she was unable to see him clearly. Was he breathing? Her hand quaking, she reached out and placed a palm on his chest. He was warm. Beneath her hand she felt the steady rhythm of his heart. Praise you, Lord. She leaned closer and could hear him breathing—unobstructed. John opened his eyes and looked at Hannah. She placed a hand to his cool brow. “You’re better.” He nodded and croaked, “Water?” Hannah quickly poured him a glass, helped him sit upright, and then held it to his lips. He managed to drink most of the contents. “Tastes wonderful,” he said, and lay back down. Hannah stood looking at him, joy replacing trepidation.
