Liberty Calling

Chapter 6

Our days aboard The Valiant turned into weeks, and though I still felt brief moments of excitement, I'd grown bored. I often wandered through the decks, though I didn't dare go unaccompanied. Not anymore. I walked one afternoon with Levi, and we laughed as we shared stories of our childhood.

"I remember Father sneaking us cake the day before Easter," Levi said, a smile growing across his face. "You were three, perhaps four years old. We played in the garden of the estate, hidden in the small hedge maze grandmother had planted. You loved it there, but you refused to go on your own for fear you'd be lost forever. Zachariah, you and I all held hands, running through the hedges to find Elias. It was a game we played."

"I remember." In my mind, I could so vividly picture the garden, and our laughter as we chased one another. A certain little green dress of mine came to mind, and I wondered if I'd been wearing it the day Levi spoke of.

"As we were running, Father turned a corner, making all of us scream. He had cake, which Mother had made for the following evening. We all sat, as Father split the portions of cake and gave them to us. He gave us a piece to give to Elias once we found him, but by the time we did, you'd eaten his share. I remember how he cried, and cried."

I laughed, imagining the scene. Though I couldn't remember it, it sounded so like the majority of my childhood. "Mother must have been furious."

"I'm sure she was, though she hid it from us. We were none the wiser."

In the next moment, he winced sharply, clutching at his thigh, and I grabbed his shoulders. "Levi? Are you alright?"

He limped to the edge of the corridor we stood in, and leaned against the wall with a small grunt. Slowly, he lowered himself to the ground, and massaged the thigh with his fist. "I am." His voice wasn't very convincing.

"Has it been hurting you?" I asked him, concern making my heart ache. Ever since the day of the original injury, Levi's leg had brought him so much pain. I could remember the day it happened. I was only six years old, and still, I could so plainly see the accident in my mind. We were visiting one of Mother's sisters, my Aunt Sarah, when Father took my brothers and I to walk through the shops and pick out sweets. I remembered walking down a street, when a carriage came rumbling down the cobblestones, far too quickly. Something in the window across the street had caught Zachariah's eye, and he and Levi took off running. I remembered Father shouting, and I had covered my eyes. Then Levi was screaming, laying sprawled across the cobblestone. There was blood, and shouting, and I'd never seen my father so terribly afraid as he held his eldest son to his chest. When a physician came to treat him at our aunt's home, I remembered sitting beside Elias, covering our ears to block out Levi's screams.

Levi's leg grew infected for years following that day. He nearly died twice. One summer, as a company of physicians tried to treat the infection, I was charged with washing the rags and bowls they used to drain his blood. I had cried and cried as I felt I washed away my brother's chance at survival. It was far too much emotion for my young mind to handle, and I often ran to hide away in rooms where I did not have to see blood and tears. So now, as he gripped his leg in pain, such a fear rose up in my heart.

"Don't worry for me, Em. It only hurts once in a while, and then improves, good as new."

"Don't lie to me," I said, watching him closely.

He smiled, and shook his head. "Never." He tried to stand, and the moment he began to straighten, he flinched and threw all his weight on his cane, making it smack the floor. Holding him up as much as I could, I put a hand over his, his knuckles turning white on the brass handle. "Perhaps I should go rest for a moment," he said, his voice defeated.