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“I don’t like the way his breathing sounds.”
The wagon moved on through the dark path, but slowed as Hosea turned to look at Dutch, who was kneeling next to John. The little boy was piled under blankets, asleep with an uncomfortable expression on his face. Arthur sat on one of the seats, Tilly snoozing in his lap, staring down silently at the pair with concern.
“He still sounds all…wheezy when he inhales?” The older man questioned.
“Yeah. Do you think rubbing his chest will help?”
“Not now. You don’t wanna disturb the kid. We just got him to sleep.”
In the light of the lantern, there were drying tear-tracks on John’s pale face; he’d made such a fuss about lying down and going to sleep. Whining that every time he moved, breathed, his chest hurt him. Although the couple had felt nothing but sympathy for their poor son, there was nothing they could do on a moving wagon, stressed as it was about any strangers on their tail.
A cold droplet of rain suddenly landed on Dutch’s cheek. Immediately, Arthur leant over to cover his little sister from the sudden downpour, and the wagon lurched to the side as Hosea looked for somewhere to pull over. They needed to set up the cover before the children woke up. It wasn’t like they could find a new place to camp in this weather, anyway.
After some shuffling and awkwardness with getting the pegs in the right places, the cover was up and they were laying down to sleep in their usual positions, listening to the rain tap against their roof. It was peaceful.
Until little Tilly made a noise.
“Daddy?” The two-year-old called out into the darkness, whining softly as she always did when she woke up, her hair sticking up and her dark eyes half-closed. Arthur grabbed the lantern, and she saw him through the light. “Hiya, Adda.”
“Shhh, Tilly,” He pleaded, rocking her before she was gently taken out of his arms by Hosea. But it was too late. John bolted up and looked around, trying to make things out through the lantern-light, before he coughed suddenly. Internally, everyone sighed. They loved him to pieces, but that coughing had become an unwelcome and constant background noise over the past month.
Even worse, John began to cry.
“Oh, Johnny, what’s the matter?” Dutch asked, reaching to pull the six-year-old onto his lap. His son nestled in and buried his head into Dutch’s warm vest.
“My chest hurts.”
“I know, I know it does, but you’re a brave boy, aren’t you?”
“No!”
Arthur grabbed one of the many blankets and stretched it out over his family, though it barely reached past Dutch, who was in the middle with John. Hosea began to look around for cough medicine. The rain picked up, and a bitterly cold wind slapped them all in the face. Little Tilly cried out and shook her head.
“Daddy, it hurts when I breathe an’ I don’t like it,” John cried softly, looking up with teary eyes. Right on cue, Hosea reached to pat his son’s back, and signal him to come and drink some of the cough medicine he’d found.
“I know it don’t taste good, but it’ll make you feel better, angel,” Hosea assured. John leant over with his mouth open, and Tilly, eager to copy her brother, did the same, causing their Pa to quickly pour the spoonful into John’s mouth before she could drink any. She whined.
“Me, Apa? For me?” Tilly pleaded, grabbing him with her tiny fingers. He laughed, and kissed her chubby cheek. “No, silly-Tilly. Not for you.”
“Right, can we all go to sleep, please?” Arthur demanded, looking up from his newly created pile of blankets. The teen looked tired, and Dutch reached a ringed hand to ruffle his hair. The boy pulled away automatically, whinging like one of the children.
Tilly pushed herself up on her chubby legs, and toddled to the other side of the wagon, causing Hosea to sigh and reach out for her. She yelled out in protest. “Ah, bye-bye! Bye-bye!” She insisted, but her cries fell on deaf, tired ears.
“No, Tilly, come on. Do you wanna get between Daddy and Pappa? Feel, it’s all nice and warm here,” Hosea desperately tried to convince his youngest to lie down on one of the few small mats in the wagon, with Dutch holding a blanket up so she could get in, but she shook her head and tried to push herself up.
John sighed at his baby sister, and turned off Dutch’s lap to crawl over to Arthur. His chest still sounded like a crackling, dying fire when he breathed. His older brother lifted his blanket up for him, barely opening his eyes as Johnny nestled in. “I’m having a sleepover with you, because we’re best friends, aren’t we?” He hopefully asked.
John had recently become obsessed with the idea of best friends, and wanted Arthur to be his first one. It amused the latter a little. “Mmmh. Yep,” He tiredly responded. “Now, shhh.” It was loud enough listening to his parents wrestle with an obviously tired Tilly as the rain battered the cover above.
John turned around, his back against Arthur’s chest as his big arm stretched over to hold his little brother protectively. Tilly had finally quietened, worn out once more from the long day of travelling. The rain simmered into white noise, and Hosea turned the lantern right down.
Suddenly, John coughed. “I can’t wait for breakfast tomorrow,” He said in a croaky voice.
“John.”
“Shhhh.”
“Sleep.”