There it was again. In the distance. He walked with Linley in his arms toward the direction of the sounds. As he drew closer, there was no doubt in his mind—it was human. People were shouting.
He cut through a dense thicket of pines. He weaved between the tree trunks, panting and breathless, but refusing to slow down. And, as silently as a ghost, he saw a flash of the browned skin of an Indian boy dart between the bark.
“Hello!” Patrick cried. “Hello! Wait!”
The child turned back to look at him with wide eyes. The last thing the boy expected was to see a two-headed, eight-limbed white person bursting through the forest. He screamed and sprinted off into the trees.
Patrick kept up as best he could, but his feet were bad. If there was a boy out there, chances were a village was not very far away. Even as a native, the boy had no business being out in the forest during such a storm. Surely, someone must be looking for the child.
He followed him until the boy disappeared down a steep decline. Far down the hill, Patrick saw more than a dozen mud-daubed huts and a handful of thatched roof buildings.
The mission camp!
He watched the boy run through the gates of the camp, through the grassy courtyard, and disappear into a building. It seemed safe. It seemed habitable. Hopefully, they had a doctor and plenty of food to share.
Patrick grinned so hard his cheeks hurt. He gathered Linley’s face into his hands and kissed her all over. He could not stop kissing her, touching her. It would not be long now. He had promised to take care of her, and by God, he’d done it!
Holding her tight, he bounded down the hill. He slipped and slid in the mud, but he never faltered. He cried out to the people in the village and in the camp. Screamed until his lungs burned. Screamed until he could not make another sound.
The missionaries stepped out onto their covered porches. They cupped their hands over their eyes and watched as this strange man flailed his way down the steep hill toward their gates. A few rushed out into the driving rain. They may have called to him, but Patrick could not hear them.
A woman scooped Linley from his arms.
“There is another,” he gasped, choking as rainwater ran down his nose and into his mouth. “A man. Up on the hill, past the pine thicket. He is very ill.”
More men rushed past him, heading out into the forest to rescue Schoville.
Patrick collapsed onto his knees in the wet, muddy grass. He held out his arms and felt the rain pour over him. He ran his fingers through the grass, grabbing up whole chunks of earth in his hands. He had done it. He had saved Linley.
A month ago, Patrick had been a disillusioned man too frightened to step outside the tedious circle of his life.
A week ago, he set out to change his fate.
Today, he became a hero.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Linley opened her eyes. At first she saw nothing but black, but then she started to make out figures, forms moving around the room. Fuzzy at first. The light shined too bright. She winced, and maybe she groaned. Something caused the figures to turn toward her.
“Hello there,” one of them said. The voice was calm. Soothing. But it was not British. It seemed American.
Where was she? Linley tried to sit up.
“No, no.” The nurse pushed her back down. “You’re not ready for that just yet. Lie back. Let your body get its bearings. You have been asleep for a very long time.”
Asleep? A long time? How long?
She tried to remember—oh, yes, she was sick. She was in the monastery, but they must have moved her. She did not recognize that room. And she did not recognize these people.
Where was her father? Where was Patrick?
Linley looked around, but didn’t see them. All she saw were women in white, with masks over their faces. Everything was white—the walls, the curtains, the bedding, the washbasin and pitcher on the metal stand in the corner.
“Water.” Linley’s voice rasped. The words would not come out. “Water.”
One of the nurses grabbed a cup and poured her a little from the pitcher. Linley put it to her lips. It stung. As the water filled her mouth, she found she could not swallow it. She choked out a mouthful of the cool water, letting it dribble onto the front of her white cotton nightgown.
“It’s all right.” The nurse at her bedside dabbed at her wet clothes with a dry flannel. “Maybe not such a big gulp this time. Try again.”
Linley did, finding that small sips made the water more manageable against her sandpaper throat. After a few more swallows, she felt her senses start to come alive again. She saw everything clearly. She tasted the crisp, clean water. She smelled…she smelled disinfectant.
She was not in the monastery.
She was in a hospital.
Linley tried to sit up again, but she was still too weak. Her body fell back against the pillows, trembling from the exertion. What had happened to her? What was so wrong with her that she needed to be in a hospital? She fought against the nurse as the woman tried to press her down onto the bed.