Could Have, Should Have, Didn't - A Narnia Fanfiction

Chapter Thirteen: Sick Of This

Bending over Lucy, Rita held the cold, damp cloth to her forehead and swiped it back and forth in repetition, one hand on her back, the tight woolen jacket she had on wrinkling under her palm.

Most likely, she was sore. All that standing would do that.

Unfortunately, a stool wouldn't stay on the ship floor, the waves were rough this morning and slid every loose thing as far as possible.

Edmund was sore too, helping Robert wasn't easy, not that it was hard, all he had to do was blot the cloth on the younger boy's forehead and bring him fresh water whenever Timothy or Edith couldn't. But all the bending over and over made his midsection burn.

They were all helping each other when they could.

A nasty sickness had spread its way through the boat and had laid heavily atop Lucy and Robert. One morning they woke up and had roaring fevers and headaches. Coughing that didn't allow for any silence.

And nothing seemed to help much.

It had been quiet since Ivy hadn't come to see them in a few days, staying with Mrs. Anderson. They had convinced her that she shouldn't come near them, seeing as she'd been away when Lucy and Robert had woken up with it.

That might have been pointless, she might still catch whatever the sickness was since it seemed to be spreading fast, no doubt something not so serious but easily caught.

But maybe she could be spared. If she stayed clear of most of those contagious children. If she stayed in a lone hammock, ate plenty of food, and got a ton of liquids. She was probably holding her arms around her middle, shoulders shrunk in, those lips flat in a line.

A part of him really wanted to miss her.

He tried to think that the reason he wasn't caring that wasn't with them was because he cared so much that he didn't want her to catch a sickness that would make her feel miserable.

Miserable like him. Already, he had a small headache beginning to sneak into the crevices of his head, no matter how hard he tried not to feel it.

But he didn't let it settle, he needed to care for his sister and Robert. They prevailed of more importance than himself.

His heart hurt for his baby sister, a fever clawing at her every waking moment. A coughing fit every few minutes attacking her throat. The feeling of a hammer to nails knocking into her head.

He'd gotten sick a few times when he was younger, and fevers were awful. If only he could just whisk it away for her, he wished he could've.

At this rate, with how exhausting it was to care for others and themselves, he feared they'd all come down with the sickness and lay motionless in their hammocks until they either died or got miraculously better.

And they would never reach America. Because they'd be dead.

The fear of catching the horrid sickness rested on his shoulders heavily. Maybe, though, since Timothy and Edith took their places when he and Rita needed a rest, they'd be safe.

As if on par with his thoughts, Timothy skulked over to Rita, took the cloth from her, and urged her to rest. "Go, take your break. I'll call you when it's your turn again."

He was an hour early for his shift.

Edmund shook his head at Edith, telling her to stay in her hammock and read, he'd call her when his feet gave way, and maybe not after that either. She needed to stay as rested as possible.

If everyone got sick, nobody could help anyone.

A hand grasping his own startled him.

Robert.