Dragonfly in Amber - Diana Gabaldon [420]
It wasn’t digitalin, but his purpose that sustained him now, lighting him with a glow as though a candle burned behind the waxy skin of his face. I had seen that a few times before, too; the man—or woman—whose will was strong enough to override for a time the imperatives of the body.
I thought that was perhaps how some ghosts were made; where a will and a purpose had survived, heedless of the frail flesh that fell by the wayside, unable to sustain life long enough. I didn’t much want to be haunted by Alex Randall; that, among other reasons, was why I had made Jamie come with me today.
Jamie himself appeared to be coming to similar conclusions.
“Aye,” he said softly. “I do see. Do ye ask aught of me?”
Alex nodded, closing his eyes briefly. He lifted the vial I handed him and drank, shuddering briefly at the bitter taste. He opened his eyes and smiled at Jamie.
“The indulgence of your presence only. I promise I shall not detain you long. We are waiting for one more person.”
While we waited, I did what I could for Alex Randall, which under the circumstances was not much. The foxglove infusion again, and a bit of camphor to help ease his breathing. He seemed a little better after the administration of such medicine as I had, but placing my homemade stethoscope against the sunken chest, I could hear the labored thud of his heart, interrupted by such frequent flutters and palpitations that I expected it to stop at any moment.
Mary held his hand throughout, and he kept his eyes fixed on her, as though memorizing every line of her face. It seemed almost an intrusion to be in the same room with them.
The door opened, and Jack Randall stood on the threshold. He looked uncomprehendingly at me and Mary for a moment, then his gaze lighted on Jamie and he turned to stone. Jamie met his eyes squarely, then turned, nodding toward the bed.
Seeing that haggard face, Jack Randall crossed the room rapidly and fell on his knees beside the bed.
“Alex!” he said. “My God, Alex…”
“It’s all right,” his brother said. He held Jack’s face between frail hands and smiled at him, trying to reassure him. “It’s all right, Johnny,” he said.
I put a hand under Mary’s elbow, gently urging her off the bed. Whatever Jack Randall might be, he deserved a few last words in privacy with his brother. Stunned with despair, she didn’t resist, but came with me to the far side of the room, where I perched her on a stool. I poured a little water from the ewer and wet my handkerchief. I tried to give it to her to swab her eyes, but she simply sat, clutching it lifelessly. Sighing, I took it and wiped her face, smoothing her hair as much as I could.
There was a small, choked sound from behind that made me glance toward the bed. Jack, still on his knees, had his face buried in his brother’s lap, while Alex stroked his head, holding one of his hands.
“John,” he said. “You’ll know that I do not ask this lightly. But for the sake of your love for me…” He broke off to cough, the effort flushing his cheeks with hectic color.
I felt Jamie’s body stiffen still further, if such a thing were possible. Jonathan Randall stiffened, too, as though he felt the force of Jamie’s eyes upon him, but didn’t look up.
“Alex,” he said quietly. He laid a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder, as though to quiet the cough. “Don’t trouble your mind, Alex. You know you needn’t ask; I’ll do whatever you wish. Is it the—the girl?” He glanced in Mary’s direction, but couldn’t quite bring himself to look at her.
Alex nodded, still coughing.
“It’s all right,” John said. He put both hands on Alex’s shoulders, trying to ease him back on the pillow.