The General's Wife Wants to Leave-Chapter 52: The cord between dream and reality

The frantic footsteps that broke the tranquil atmosphere heading closer to them.

Joanna, who was previously relaxed in her seat while sipping tea and taking a bite of peanut cookies, stood up abruptly from the chair when she heard such a commotion which signaled that something unprecedented might have happened.

She approached Mrs. Powel, who stood still on the same spot, unmoving, as if waiting for the owner of the footsteps, to come into her sight.

Joanna followed the direction of the gaze of Mrs. Powel which was at the end of the corridor where the stairs were located. Not long later, she caught the sight of a boy stepping down the stairs, running towards them in a hurry with a look of distress.

It was not difficult for Joanna to recognize the boy, who was around the age of eight years old, and whose name was Denny.

"Mrs. Powel! Mrs. Powel! Liam is throwing up again!" shouted Denny with erratic breath, staring up at the old woman with his big brown eyes.

Upon hearing the information relayed by the boy, it did not take more than a second for Mrs. Powel to take action, putting the box she was holding down on the floor and dashing toward Liam’s room.

Joanna, who also heard the urgent information, followed Mrs. Powel from behind after giving a friendly pat on the head of the boy whom she last saw nine months ago as if greeting him. It took about four seconds for Denny to ponder before recognizing the lady who gave a soft pat on his head as his mind was filled with panic due to Liam’s condition.

Once he gathered his mind and was able to recognize the lady before him, his eyes went wide as a surprise took over him before he offered the lady a polite bow. Soon, a broad smile, which showed one of his front teeth that half grew, followed the greeting.

Joanna returned a warm smile to the brown-haired boy while keeping her pace behind Mrs. Powel, climbing up the stairs and heading toward the throwing-up kid named Liam.

Mrs. Powel first entered the room to find Liam sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapping a wooden bucket in his arms with his head bowed down above the bucket. His breath was short and the shirt he wore was wet as sweat covered his whole body.

She then took a seat beside the boy, one hand holding the bucket which was in the arms of the boy as if helping him to hold the bucket, and the other hand patting his sweaty back as if to ease him.

At the presence that appeared next to him and a gentle touch on his back, Liam slowly lifted his head to look up at Mrs. Powel, showing the streak of tears on his sunken cheeks with his chest heaving up and down.

Before Mrs. Powel could say something in response to calm Liam, he lowered his head as the bile in his stomach rose once again, but nothing came out, as if the contents of his stomach were no more, due to the intensity of the throwing up he had.

Meanwhile, Joanna, who had stood in the doorway since Mrs. Powel entered the room, had her gaze fixated on the boy, whose age was about four years old. She looked at him in a daze, standing there like a statue.

The little boy who looked so frail with a pale face was a child that she had not seen in the orphanage before, as he seemed to be a new orphan that was sheltered by the Powel Orphanage. However, his look somehow was not peculiar to her, as if she had seen him before.

Her body shook. Her hands trembled. Her eyes quivered.

He did not look peculiar because he looked similar to the kid that she had seen in the dream.

Her son.

As the realization hit her core, time felt like stopping.

Joanna gripped her skirt with her trembling hands, so tight that her knuckles turned white. She bit her lower lips, preventing any grieving sound from slipping out.

But nothing she could do to block a teardrop that began rolling down her cheeks. Nothing she could also do to stop teardrop after teardrop streaming down from her eyes that brimmed with tears.

All her focus was pulsated on the little boy.

"My lady."

Until a voice came to her ears, breaking the cord between dream and reality. A reality that knocked her consciousness that he was not her son.

Her son was an unfortunate boy with black hair and green eyes as his traits, while the little boy before her eyes was a boy with platinum hair and blue eyes.

But still, her eyes were unwilling to leave the little boy.

"My lady," Lucy called again in the same low voice when she noticed the young lady had not responded to her previous call.

She was surprised to find the shoulders of the young lady shaking when she stood behind her. It made her initiatively take a step forward to stand beside her. She wanted to see what was happening to her and she was surprised once again when she found tears streaming down her reddening cheeks.

The young lady was crying in silence. It was a sight that she had never seen before, as the young lady had never been seen to cry before anyone’s eyes, not even in front of her.

Was she that sad to see the condition of the little frail boy who was throwing up? Lucy wondered in her mind.

At the second call, Joanna knew that it was time to wake up. Turning her head to the side to hide it from Lucy, she wiped the uncontrollable tears that soaked her cheeks with the handkerchief she kept in her dress pocket, as she knew that wiping the tears with the back of her hands was useless.

Slipping the handkerchief back into her dress pocket, Joanna walked across to the bed where the little boy and Mrs. Powel were sitting after pushing the wave of emotions aside, taking a deep breath, and regaining her composure.

When Joanna was about to take a seat on the other side of the little boy, she was stopped by Mrs. Powel.

"Please don’t, my lady." Mrs. Powel shook her head. "It is better for you to stay away from him for now. Let me clean up everything first," said Mrs. Powel in a low voice.

It was not good for a noble lady like Joanna de Lara to get closer and find what was inside the bucket or to be in a room with a sick boy who was not hygienic at the moment. free𝑤ebnovel.com

Joanna understood why Mrs. Powel prevented her from approaching Liam. Hence, she offered the older woman a soft smile as if assuring her that she was fine with the condition inside the room, and took a seat beside him instead. And towards the young lady’s behavior, Mrs. Powel was speechless but did not utter another word to stop her anymore.

Joanna examined Liam’s condition, touching his forehead and his little skinny arms, which were sweaty and cold. She also found his lips slightly chapped and, to a small degree, lost their color. His face was pale as if blood was not circulating well due to the pain he was bearing.

Joanna shifted her eyes to look at Mrs. Powel. "How long has he been in this condition, Mrs. Powel? And do you know what made him be this sick?" Joanna asked. Her voice was laced with noticeable concern.

"It began last midnight," Mrs. Powel answered. "The same day, he went to the forest to follow Denny and some older boys collecting logs of wood in the afternoon. I presumed that he might have eaten something in the forest when Denny and the other boys didn’t pay attention to him." A heavy sigh escaped her lips. She added,

"I have given him medicine to stop the vomiting and diarrhea. It did work but a few hours later he vomited again and it has repeated a few times now. I have sent Matt, the oldest boy, to go down the mountain to call a doctor this morning but..." Mrs. Powel paused, forming a faint smile before she resumed to speak,

"You must already know our situation, my lady. We had better expect less, as it is not easy to make someone willing to go up the mountain just to treat a poor orphan." Mrs. Powel finished her words, without prolonged explanation as the young lady should have been able to discern the meaning behind her words.

It was true. It was not an easy thing to persuade someone to go up the secluded mountain just to take care of poor orphans. It would, of course, be a different case if the sick were people from high society.

No matter how high and torturous their living places were, doctors would willingly come to treat them, especially when they were willing to pay double or triple the standard charge.

It was indeed a dire irony, Joanna thought to herself.