Jodi Thomas - Northern Star

John always replied, "But I couldn't watch my beautiful wife all day."

Hunter knelt beside the woman John had never stopped calling his beautiful wife. "Grandmother," he whispered, "I'll sit with Grandfather. If he wakes, I'll call you." Her eyes were already growing heavy as her head rested back on the pillows.

Perry sat on the edge of the couch, talking softly to Mary, reassuring her that they would do everything that needed doing if Mary would only take a short nap.

Mary mumbled a soft thanks and drifted into sleep as Perry drew an afghan over her. Hunter bent and kissed his grandmother's cheek.

As he stood, he whispered to Perry, "We got here just in time. I don't know how sick my grandfather is, but my grandmother is completely worn-out."

Perry nodded and moved with him toward the stairs. "She just didn't want to leave his side until she was sure he had someone who loved him close by."

Hunter took a step by the stairs. "It may be a long day sitting with him." He moved up another step.

Perry knew what he was asking. "I'll stay," she said simply. "There'll be plenty of time to let Andrew know I'm here later."

He held his hand out toward her. She accepted his silent invitation and they walked up together. He was slowly learning about this little Southern lady. She was a woman with her own mind, not to be ordered or bullied and steadfast in her loyalty when times were hard.

As Hunter turned the handle to his grandparents' bedroom the doctor stepped onto the landing. Dr. Moore was a country doctor whose years of watching human suffering showed in his face. He was worn-out and should have retired years ago. But the war had called away all the younger doctors; and someone had to see to the people back home. Now his eyes were disheartened because he knew he was losing a lifetime friend. These young folks wouldn't understand, he thought, but John and he had been young together. They'd both courted Mary, even though there had never been any doubt which one she'd pick.

How could he explain to Hunter that after sharing a lifetime with a friend like John Williams a part of him was dying too? So the old doctor just smiled his sad smile at Hunter, knowing they wouldn't realize it, but to Dr. Moore, John would always be remembered as looking very much as Hunter did today. Dr. Moore knew Mary also saw John as young and strong. Sometimes God seems to bless a couple, the doctor thought, with a special kind of blindness. All their life together they saw only the beauty in each other and never the aging.

"Dr. Moore," Hunter asked, interrupting the old man's thoughts, "how is he?"

"He's weak, I'm afraid. To be honest, son, it's just a matter of hours till he goes to meet his maker.'' The doctor's face was solemn. The hardest part of his job was not watching the dying but helping the living to let go.

Perry let out a soft cry and turned toward Hunter's shoulder. He encircled her with his arm and drew her to his side. "Thanks, Doc, for being honest with me. I'll sit with him for a while."

The doctor nodded, and Hunter stepped inside the bedroom. Perry turned to Dr. Moore. "I'm Perry McLain. I want to do anything I can to help." She lay her hand on the doctor's arm. She could see that his pain was great.

"Thanks, miss, but there ain't much anyone can do," he muttered. "You any kin to Andrew McLain?"

"He's my brother." She was surprised the doctor would know her brother.

"I've heard of a Doc McLain moving in at Three Oaks. Hope he'll help me out with the doctoring," he stated. "Didn't know he had any kin left alive."

The old doctor started down the hall. "I'll be here most of the day. Call me if John stirs. Otherwise I think I'll sit out on the porch for a while."

Perry watched his slow movements down the stairs, then joined Hunter in the dying man's bedroom.

Hunter sat on the edge of his chair as the last rays of sunlight slid through the shutters of his grandparents' bedroom. Even though he'd been there for hours, he found it impossible to relax. Every few minutes he paced the room, standing at the sickbed, then at the window, only to see the same problem in his mind's eye.

There was no comfort for him in the warm friendly room, decorated with a lifetime of memories. He needed to talk with his grandfather, to feel the old wrinkled hand grip his own. But John was battling between one world and the next, with no time left to help Hunter.

Perry's silent footsteps moved in and out of the room. He was aware of her serving meals and taking care of the normal running of the house, for the two maids, Eva and her daughter, were almost useless with grief. They'd been with John for years and couldn't control their sorrow.

To all within the house the evening drifted by in slow agony. Friends dropped by to check on John. Their visits were well meaning but trying on a household consumed with worry. Mary greeted them but allowed no one upstairs except the minister, Reverend Cleland. He prayed for almost an hour, then finally left, to everyone's relief. He was new to the area and had learned little about giving comfort to the dying. He was more concerned with his new title than with John's illness. When Perry closed the door on him, he was in the midst of listing all the important people's deathbeds he had attended. She could see no sense in being polite to someone whose realm of concern passed no farther than his nose.

She was careful to stay in the background. By nine, when she'd seen no one whom she'd met before, she relaxed. The household accepted her as one of the family, and she was happy to help, knowing Mary had all she could think about with John upstairs growing weaker each hour.

Darkness covered the farmhouse, and all prepared for another sleepless night. Mary stepped out of the room to tell the maids to go home, leaving Perry and Hunter sitting on either side of John's bed. As Perry wet a cool cloth and placed it on John's forehead, his eyelashes flittered.

"Hunter," she whispered, bringing him instantly close.

They waited as John's eyes slowly opened. His glassy gray eyes surveyed the room. A smile slowly spread over his wrinkled face as he saw Hunter beside his bed. "My boy," he whispered, "come go fishing one more time."

"Anytime you're ready," Hunter answered, his sadness almost breaking his voice. He reached across the bed and closed his hand around his grandfather's fingers.

"I'm a little tired right now. But after I rest a few hours… a few hours…" John's voice was far away, as was the look in his eyes. He drifted into sleep once more for a few minutes. When his eyes opened again, he looked at Perry and smiled. "Perry, I had the funniest dream. I dreamed you were going to marry Wade."

She kissed the wonderful old man on the cheek, not trusting herself to speak. How different her life would have been if her grandfather had shown this concern. She looked across the covers at Hunter. He seemed hypnotized by a tear drifting down her cheek.

John continued. "Wade's no good for a fine girl like you."

"Yes, John, I know," Perry whispered.

A violent coughing spell consumed him. When he finally grew calm, she lifted his head, allowing him to drink.

"Mary," he whispered in a voice raspy with illness and age. "I need to see Mary."

Hunter moved to the door to call his grandmother but found her already heading up the stairs. She must have known John needed her. She hurried into the bedroom.

"John." A smile creased her damp cheeks. "John, you're awake." Mary propped on his bed and held his large hand in both of hers. Tears rolled down her wrinkled face, blocking out all awareness of anyone else in the room. Hunter moved his grandmother's rocker close beside the bed so she could sit more comfortably.

John looked up at his beautiful wife of almost fifty years. "You know, Mary, I wouldn't have traded a day of my life with you."

"Nor I," she whispered.

"I've loved you every minute since I first saw you in that pink bonnet at church." Though John's voice was low, his words were clear.

"I know, John. You don't have to talk, you need your rest." Mary kissed both of his cheeks as she pushed the gray hair off his damp forehead.

John shook his head from side to side. "Darling, I've never lied to you and I'll not start now. I have no more time. From the first I've always prayed that if God saw fit not to take us together, He'd take you first. I never wanted to leave you alone."

Tears were running down Mary's old cheeks like tiny rivers through rocky soil. "No, John. No, don't leave me." Mary's words tore at Perry's heart. She knew she should leave this couple alone in their last few minutes together, but the power of their emotions had overwhelmed her.

John's hand patted Mary's softly. "You got to understand. I'm going first, but it's not bad." He stopped to build his strength, then continued with little more than a whisper. "I'll wait for you just beyond. I'll be there when you need me. I'll be waiting, I promise. Hold my hand tight. I'll be with you through this."

Mary held his hand with both of hers as he whispered, "Now don't you be afraid, my love. I'm only stepping through the door ahead of you. I'll be on just the other side waiting. I wouldn't want to go into heaven without my Mary at my side." As his voice faded, so did the life within him. Mary let out a gasp of pain as half of her being died within her.

"John!" Mary cried. "John?" As she cried softly, Hunter and Perry watched John's face relax in eternal sleep. After a moment Hunter dropped to his knees and buried his face in the covers of the bed.

Perry instinctively reached to stroke his blond hair. He wasn't crying or praying. It was as if John's death had pulled all the energy from the room. She moved beside Mary's slumped body and encircled the old woman's shoulders with her arms. Mary looked up into Perry's face. "My John's gone," she whispered. "He's waiting for me now.''