Jane held Fred’s hand.
“See that?” Sister Elizabeth said. She pointed to the box. “His heart rate went up.”
Jane smiled. “Truly?”
Sister Elizabeth nodded and pointed to the box. The number in the corner that had read 65 now read 72. “It’s what happens when loved ones are around.”
“I am not a loved one,” Jane said. “I am a new friend. I upset him.”
“That’s not what the machine says.”
Jane did not let go of Fred’s hand for the next eight hours.
Chapter Forty-Three
Fred remained asleep when Jane woke the next morning. Sofia slept in an armchair in the corner of the room; she opened her eyes and wished Jane good morning.
“I got in at midnight,” Sofia told her. “You’d fallen asleep. You slept like that, at his side, holding his hand. You can let go of it now, Jane,” Sofia said.
“Not until I am instructed,” Jane replied.
“I checked with Sister Elizabeth. You can let go. Surely you need to use the toilet? I will hold his hand until you get back.”
Jane released her hand and excused herself to visit the bathroom, where she momentarily tore herself away from thoughts of Fred to be astounded by the dozen gleaming white privies. She washed her hands under the powerful taps and returned to Fred’s hospital room. She paused in the doorway as she arrived there, for Sofia was whispering something in Fred’s ear and wiping a tear from her face. Jane waited until Sofia sat back in the chair, then cleared her throat to announce her approach. Sofia smiled and wiped her face and offered Jane the chair. Jane resumed her place at Fred’s side. She put her hand back where it was before.
Three hours passed and Fred did not stir. With nothing to do and no sign of Fred waking, Sofia returned to set once more, promising to be back as soon as she could.
The day wore on and the defeated looks returned to the faces of those who worked at the hospital. Sister Elizabeth and Dr. Marks visited often. Fred did not wake. His eyes remained closed.
Jane spoke to him. “Fred. I do not know if you can hear me. I am sorry to have upset you,” she said. The boxes beeped and whirred.
“I understand if you are unable. But if you could find it in yourself to wake, I would be most appreciative.”
She should have run from him the first day they met. She preferred ignorance to knowing this pain. She slapped her leg and told herself to take charge. She had lived without this person for twenty-eight years; she could learn to do it again. Then she said three words that she had never said to anyone—not her sister or her dear papa or any man. Three words so riddled with cliché as to be laughable, and so laden with meaning it was safest to tell them to another person while they slept. “I love you,” she said.
She imagined it for certain; he squeezed her palm.
Jane fell asleep. She did not let go of his hand.
JANE WOKE TO the feeling again. This time it became obvious. Someone was squeezing her hand. Grasping it, even. She looked over. Fred opened his eyes. He stared at the ceiling.
Sofia entered the room and saw him. “Sister Elizabeth!” she called down the hall.
Fred shook and pointed at nothing. His eyes bulged.
“He can’t breathe!” Sofia said. Sister Elizabeth entered the room and moved to Fred.
“He can breathe, hush now,” Sister Elizabeth said. “This is a good thing. He is trying to breathe on his own.” She turned to Fred. “Mr. Wentworth, I want to remove this tube. Will you help me?”
Fred nodded to her with wet eyes, trying to sit up. She eased him back down onto his pillow. Jane watched him struggle in confusion and agony. His face bore a look of terror.
“I am going to pull the tube; I need you to cough.” Fred nodded. Sister Elizabeth pulled the tube quickly from his mouth. Fred choked and gurgled and let out a horrid groan. A tear seeped from each eye. Jane sighed; she could not stand much more of this. A length of slimed tube emerged from his throat.
“Good job,” Sister Elizabeth said. “Keep coughing.”
She pulled once more, and Fred coughed again. The tube came free, and Fred relaxed back onto the bed. Sweat plastered his hair to his face. His eyes darted around the room, but he said nothing.
“Fred?” Jane called to him. He made no answer. Jane turned to Sofia. “Is he a simpleton?” she asked her.
Sofia shrugged. “Fred. If you’re in there, say something,” she said.
“Is my hair spiky?” he choked out in a hoarse voice, and grinned.
Sofia slapped him across the arm. The slap grew to an embrace. “You said that already.”
“Careful. You will crush him,” Jane said. Sofia loosened her grip on her brother.
“It is good to see you again, Mr. Wentworth,” Sister Elizabeth said. She touched his arm.
“Please. After that, call me Fred.”
She laughed, then checked his boxes and papers and left the room. As she left, she winked at Jane.
Fred turned his eyes to Jane. “Hello,” he said.
“Hello, Fred. Are you in pain?” Jane asked him.
“No,” he said. “Thank you.”
Jane waited for him to say something about her sitting by his side. Had he heard what she had said to him? Did he know? Did he believe she was Miss Jane Austen of Hampshire, daughter of George and Cassandra Austen? Or did he still think she was a woman of his own time
