He would rather die a thousand times over than see her suffering this way and know he was powerless to help her. Was this his true damnation? Had the guilt and remorse he'd endured for six years been only a preliminary to this final atonement? Was having to watch the woman he loved die by slow degrees his punishment for Brock's and Connie's deaths? For the death of his unborn child?
It wasn't right that Jeannie had to pay for his sins, to suffer because of his crimes. She was innocent, so completely pure and good. This isn't fair, his heart cried. An angel of mercy given no mercy herself.
Sam's angry, savage cry pierced the very gates of heaven.
Minutes dragged by, seeming like hours. Eventually Jeannie fell into a deep sleep. Manton drew the blanket up around her and slipped a pillow under her head. Drained and weak, Sam closed his eyes.
When he awoke, he and Jeannie were alone in the storm shelter. A sudden, sharp pang hit him in the chest. His pain was returning.
Sam heard footsteps on the stairs. J.T. Blackwood swept into the room, Manton following him.
"I've got a float plane waiting to take you back to Biloxi," J.T. said. "The storm missed Biloxi and lost a lot of steam before it hit the Louisiana coast."
"Get Jeannie to the hospital." Sam tried to stand, but swayed on his feet and fell backward onto the cot.
"We'll get you both to the hospital." J.T. glanced down at Jeannie, lying on the floor. "What the hell happened to you two? Did you get caught out in the storm? I don't read sign, so I have no idea what this big fellow's been trying to tell me."
"You carry Jeannie out to the plane," Sam said. "Manton can help me."
Sam watched while J.T. lifted a lifeless Jeannie into his arms. When J.T. walked past Sam, Sam reached out. J.T. stopped. Sam let his hand hover over her face, and died a little inside because he didn't dare touch her.
"A wall fell on me," Sam said. "It should have killed me. I'd be dead now if Jeannie hadn't saved my life."
Manton's cats and dogs, who had followed them out of the stables the evening before, now followed them up from the storm shelter into the house. J.T. stepped around the shards of glass from several blown-out windowpanes and stomped through the water puddles marring the wooden floors.
Outside, the sun shone faintly from behind a mass of clouds. The paint on the north side of the house had been sanded down to the bare wood, and several window shutters lay scattered on the ground. A small section of the roof had blown off, and debris was strewn in every direction. Uprooted trees marred the landscape. Huge sandpiles dotted the beach.
Maynard Reeves's body lay beneath the severed trunk of an old oak tree. Manton stopped abruptly when Sam tugged on his arm.
"Not a very pretty sight," J.T. said. "Looks like lightning struck the tree, splitting it in two. Then half of it fell on the reverend."
"He was out of his mind," Sam said. "He thought if he killed Jeannie, he would somehow gain her empathic abilities. He thought God would give them to him as a gift for destroying a witch."
"Well, it looks like a higher power made a judgment call." J.T. glanced down at Jeannie, lying unconscious in his arms. "I'd say somebody up there was watching out for one of his own."
Every muscle in Sam's body strained toward Jeannie; his need to touch her was overwhelming. "Let's get off this island and take Jeannie to a hospital." A sharp, stabbing ache sliced through Sam's midsection. He doubled over in pain.
"Hang on," J.T. said "The plane's right down here."
He led them down the steps to the beach. Lifting Jeannie up high in his arms, he handed her to the float plane's pilot, then turned to help Manton with Sam. Once Sam was seated and Jeannie rested in Manton's arms, J.T. jumped on board and gave the pilot orders to get them to Biloxi as quickly as possible.
Jeannie did not awaken from her deep sleep on the flight to Biloxi. Sam watched her for any sign of recovery, but she lay in Manton's arms, unmoving, looking like a limp rag doll. If only he could hold her in his arms, kiss those pale lips, stroke her tearstained cheeks. As pain radiated through his own body, Sam felt himself slipping away. He tried to stay conscious, not wanting to sever that last link—visual contact—with Jeannie.
* * *
After surgery, Sam awoke calling for Jeannie. J.T. assured him that everything possible was being done for her, but Sam wanted to see her, needed to know for sure that she was going to be all right. J.T. and an orderly forcibly held Sam down on the bed while a nurse injected him with a sedative.
He awoke again sometime during the night. Glancing around the hospital room, he saw J.T. sitting in a chair, his tan Stetson covering the upper part of his face as he slept.
Jeannie. Where was Jeannie? Was she all right? He had to find her.
Sam took note of the tubes stuck in his body, then dismissed them, sitting up in bed and sliding his feet over the side. Dizziness swirled around inside his head. He took several deep breaths trying to overcome his disorientation. On wobbly legs, he struggled to stand.
J.T. Blackwood clamped his big hand down on Sam's shoulder. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"
"Jeannie." The one word said everything.
"The shape you're in, you can't do her any good," J.T. said. "Stay in bed. The doctors are doing everything they can for her."
"I've got to see her." Sam jerked away from J.T., took three steps and passed out cold.
Sam floated in and out of a drug-induced sleep, realizing that each time he fought them, begging to see Jeannie, they sedated him again. His gut instincts told him something was horribly wrong, but he couldn't fight the sedatives they gave him to keep him calm and allow him to heal.
Three days after his arrival, Sam awoke at midday, his mouth as dry as cotton balls, his eyes gritty and his mind still a bit foggy. Glancing around the room, he saw J.T. first, standing at the foot of his bed. Manton and Julian Howell stood in the open doorway.
"What's going on? Why aren't you with Jeannie?" Sam sat straight up. His head throbbed. He shut his eyes, trying to block out the sudden pain.
Julian Howell approached the side of Sam's bed. "The doctors felt it was necessary to keep you sedated in order to give you a few days to heal." Julian laid his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Every time you woke, you tried to get out of bed and find Jeannie."
"Yeah, I get the picture," Sam slid his legs off the bed, jerked the tubes out of his arms and stood. "I take it that y'all have finally decided to let me see her."
"You couldn't have done anything for her," Julian said. "She's been unconscious since—" Julian swallowed his tears.
"You mean she hasn't woken up yet?" Sam glanced at J.T. "What is it? What are y'all not telling me?"
J.T. exchanged a concerned look with Julian. Sam glanced at Manton. The gentle giant signed to him. He placed his hands on his shoulders, then moved them outward, the action mimicking the smoothing of feathers on the wings.
Angel. One of the first words Jeannie had taught Sam in sign language. His pet name for her.
Sam didn't understand the next word, although Manton repeated it several times, placing his hands palm to palm, then turning both hands over.
"What's he saying about Jeannie?" Sam asked.
"He said, 'Our angel is dying.'" Julian wiped tears from his eyes.
"No, she can't be dying." Sam gripped Julian's thin arm. "I won't let her die!"
J.T. grabbed Sam's shoulder, turning Sam to face him. "The doctors don't know what the hell is wrong. Like Dr. Howell said, she's been unconscious for days. Her vital signs are growing steadily weaker. They've run every test imaginable on her. They can't treat her, because they don't know what's wrong with her."