by Frieda Watt
Breakfast was the usual bowl of porridge, but this morning, Marie could hardly get it down. Then, as soon as she finished, she had to run from the room to bring it all up again. It seemed like such a waste, with food in dangerously short supply. Her head still spinning, she accepted a sip of water from Sister Miriam and meekly went back to bed. “There’s illness sweeping through the city,” the nun had said. “Better to rest before you contract something worse.” It was true that diseases were starting to become rampant in the city, as farmers and other inhabitants of the surrounding area had poured into the fortress seeking shelter and causing cramped living conditions.
Marie woke up an hour later, feeling better but exhausted. A deep tiredness seemed to have settled into her bones, and no amount of sleep could get rid of it. This overwhelming fatigue is not going to leave until the siege is over, she thought miserably. Everyone was working at capacity with minimal sleep, though, so she shouldn’t treat herself as a special case. She stretched and got up slowly, waiting for waves of nausea to wash over her, but they didn’t come. She debated whether she should return to the patients below but instead crawled back into bed. With luck, she would sleep it off and be fine in the morning.
The next day was the same except that the nausea and dizziness were worse than before. She stayed in bed until the feeling abated and then dressed slowly before going downstairs. She tried a bit of porridge, but again, she couldn’t keep it down. Luckily, the kitchen workers were absorbed in their activities and didn’t notice her. She wanted to go back to bed, but instead she went into the laundry room and started folding sheets until she was sure she wouldn’t vomit. But an overpowering stench of fish then came drifting down from the kitchen, making her head spin.
Annoyed, Marie went looking for Sara.
She was working on a soldier whose leg had been blown partly off above the knee. Father Laval was in the process of sawing off the now-useless part of the limb, while Father Maneau kept the young man restrained by putting a knee on his chest. Sara was bending over the fire, heating a metal pan that would be used to cauterize the veins once the bone had been severed.
Sara nodded grimly as Marie touched her shoulder to let her know she’d arrived. The sound of the saw cutting through bone set Marie’s teeth on edge. Luckily, the poor cadet had lost consciousness and was unaware of what was happening to his body.
“The priests are going to hold him down, but can you hold onto the stump while I do this?” The sawing had stopped, and they would need to move quickly. “Then we can start sewing this poor boy back together.”
Marie nodded. She took her position, wrapping her hands around the thick thigh as best she could. She tried not to look at the bloody appendage but mistakenly glanced at the floor, where the remnants lay in a pool of blood. She closed her eyes and waited.
Suddenly, the sound of sizzling flesh filled her ears. As the smell of charred skin and blood hit her nose, completely overwhelming her, she sank to the floor.
***
Marie awoke some time later to find herself lying on one of the wooden tables in the kitchen. A cold towel had been placed on her forehead, and her feet were elevated, resting on a towel. She glanced over to see Sara looking quite amused by the proceedings.
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” she chuckled. “You caused quite a stir.”
Marie groaned and tried to sit up, but Sara pushed her back. “What happened?” Marie was all too aware of the kitchen staff gawking at her.
“You fainted, my dear.” Sara sounded completely delighted. “For the first time, people have stopped talking about my ideas and are focusing on you.”
“You’re enjoying this far too much,” Marie muttered. She wished the floor would open up and swallow her.
“Did you eat today?” Sara giggled.
“Of course, I did,” Marie snapped. “But,” she conceded after a moment, “it keeps coming up.”
“I hope you don’t have what’s going around,” Sara said sarcastically.
Marie glared. She was deeply embarrassed. “Thanks for the concern, but I don’t have a fever and I’m sure I’ll be fine by midday. Are you going to cure me now?”
Sara bit her lip to keep from laughing. “I don’t think that’s possible.” She paused dramatically. “Father Maneau thinks you’re pregnant.”
Marie sat upright, pulling the cloth off her forehead. The room spun dangerously and she collapsed again, looking at her friend in horror.
“Is it a possibility?” Sara laughed at Marie’s consternation.
Of course, it was. Just not a possibility that she had ever thought of. Between the war and her recovery from Claude’s beating, she hadn’t for a moment considered it. But she counted backwards quickly in her head and then stared at Sara, thunderstruck. Sara chuckled happily to herself.
“It’s nice to know that the miracle of life continues even amidst all this destruction.”
Marie nodded numbly. “Are you sure I’m not just sick?” she pleaded.
Sara gave her a dubious look. “How long has it been?”
“Six weeks.” She counted again just to make sure.
“You’re sick in the morning?”
“Only today and yesterday.”
“Smells bother you?”
“Obviously.”
“Are you tired?”
“Aren’t we all?”
“You’re pregnant,” Sara said with satisfaction.
A feeling of dread settled into Marie’s stomach. Suddenly, she felt trapped. Pierre. She needed to tell Pierre. But was he even still alive?
“Are you all right?” Sara asked quietly. “You look terrified.” She sat down beside Marie. “You’re not happy about this, are you?” she said, slowly scrutinizing Marie.
Marie looked at her. “Is that a terrible thing to say?”
Sara shrugged. “Not really. Every now and then, we get some poor girl who dies after trying to end a pregnancy. It happens. But you’re married.” She said that as if it settled the matter.
Marie looked down at her fingers, took the ring out of her pocket, and began to twist the silver band between her fingers. “Not really,” she said quietly.
“What do you mean ‘not really’?”
Marie looked around to see if anyone was paying attention. Now that she was obviously going to pull through, no one gave them a second look. “We didn’t actually get married. We just eloped.”
Sara gasped. “What on earth would you do that for?” she hissed, scandalized. “Marie, that’s terrible.”
“Calm down!” Marie was in no mood for a lecture on morals. As quickly and quietly as she could, she explained the situation to Sara. More than once, Sara seemed ready to bolt from the room as if the presence of sin was going to rub off on her, but Marie somehow convinced her to stay put until the story was complete.
There was silence for a while as Sara thought the situation over. Marie could see the internal conflict raging. On one side, Sara was in the process of becoming a nun and Marie was committing a most grievous sin. On the other, marriage was being withheld from them unjustly.
“Does anyone here know?”
“Father Weber knows. He’s the only one. We asked him to marry us, but he said no.” Marie felt suddenly as if she was on the verge of tears.
Sara placed her thin hand on top of Marie’s. She looked both scandalized and deeply impressed at their daring. “I’ve never agreed with the rules regarding the government’s involvement in a soldier’s marriage,” she stated in a matter-of-fact tone.
Somehow, hearing that lightened the burden that Marie felt was smothering her. It was a relief to finally be able to confide in someone.
“But now you’re pregnant,” Sara said softly, “and you feel guilty.”
“Not guilty,” Marie replied. “Just terrified. We’re not married and there’s a war. What happens when this is all over? What happens if Pierre doesn’t come off the battlefield?”
Sara nodded sympathetically. �
��I don’t know.” She stood up. “But I need to go tell people what’s going on before the worst conclusions are made.”
***
Marie had slept all night, but that didn’t seem to matter. When morning came, she was as exhausted as ever. It took her a moment to remember why she felt so uneasy, but when everything came back into focus, her anxiety returned in full force. Her stomach flipped over in protest as she pulled herself out of bed. The bombs were already falling. She stared out her window as the plumes of black smoke told of at least one fire raging somewhere near the ramparts.
After being sick, she lay back down, her throat burning from the acid, wondering how on earth she was supposed to last until February like this. She had met with Sister Berenice the night before, to explain the situation as far as she understood it. Just like everyone else who’d heard her news, the nun was thrilled, a reaction Marie didn’t understand. She didn’t even know if her husband was alive. She had kept her fears about Pierre to herself, and the nun had instructed her to stay in her room until the feelings of nausea passed. Luckily, in a little more than an hour, she felt fine.
Marie dressed as quickly as she could. Nothing had changed from the day before, but she couldn’t help staring at her stomach, trying to judge whether there’d been some sort of growth. She nibbled on a little bread that she’d brought to her room the night before. After rinsing out her mouth with some water, she headed down to the chaos. Sara was seated in the kitchen, boiling needles, tweezers, and who knew what else. She seemed perturbed about something. Marie sat opposite her at the table and waited for her to finish.
“Oh good, you’re here.” Sara looked up quickly before turning back to the cauldron and scooping steaming needles out with a ladle. “Everyone takes me more seriously when you’re around. I’ve been sent here to wait for you because everyone else thinks I’m a waste of time.”
Marie made a noncommittal sound, picked up some linen sheets, and began to rip them into strips. “You know people have been treated for thousands of years without all this cleaning.”
Sara ignored her and ladled more instruments out of the water. “How are you feeling today?”
Marie shrugged. “Same as yesterday. But the way Sister Berenice was going on, you’d think I was dying. She wanted me to leave.”
Sara nodded as if this wasn’t news. “She found me last night after she talked to you and spent a good while fretting about your ‘condition’ as she called it. She doesn’t want you near any of the sick people.”
“She told me that too.”
“Yes, well, it’s my job to make sure you stay away from the second floor. Otherwise, I’ll probably be the one who gets in trouble.” She gave Marie a severe look. Marie tried to keep a straight face and nodded obediently.
Sara scooped her boiled equipment up into a linen bundle and stood up. “Well, that should keep us going for at least the morning.”
“Is it bad?” Marie asked—though it became obvious that the question was rhetorical as another mortar exploded close enough to make the windows rattle.
Sara nodded and headed into the hall. “About fifty bombs dropped last night, and they’re getting more accurate. I heard one of the soldiers say that they’re using the spires to gauge where everything is.”
Marie lifted a pile of fresh bandages into her arms. Apparently, she’d slept through the bombardment last night. That wasn’t a very comforting thought. “I guess that’s one reason why everything was supposed to be only one storey high when they were building this place.”
Sara shook her head, exasperated. “No one ever listens, do they.” She pushed the door to the ward open, and they began their day.
For the first time since the siege began, the civilians in the hospital outnumbered the military men. The bombs were raining down with terrifying precision, and almost every time they landed, it was on a building. The flames would often leap from one building to the next, trapping the people inside and injuring the fire fighters.
Burns and crushed or broken bones were the most frequent injuries that needed treatment. Sara’s pile of clean supplies lay forgotten as the hospital personnel battled the ever-increasing group of invalids. Even Sara wasn’t concerned with sanitation when a person was on the brink of death. Broken bones could usually be set, but those crushed by the falling bombs and rubble were almost impossible to repair. It was slow, painstaking work. Worse, the hospital didn’t have enough opiates for all the patients. The only available painkiller was liquor, which wasn’t enough for a patient with a splintered knee cap. Amputation was becoming the solution of choice. It seemed cruel to doom someone to that fate, but with so many patients, if the wound festered, the victim would surely die.
***
As evening turned to night, a fresh wave of soldiers flooded in. The French had tried an offensive attack that had gone disastrously wrong. Outnumbered and outgunned, once the element of surprise was lost, there was little they could do except try to hold their own.
The night was stifling and the extra bodies packed into the hospital made the atmosphere even more oppressive. Feeling dizzy and exhausted, Marie excused herself and leaned against a wall in the corridor. She was sweating, and her hands were stained red from the blood of a poor boy whose hip had been crushed by a piece of rock in an explosion. His screams as he begged for his mother still echoed in her ears. He won’t make it through the night, she thought miserably as she watched two soldiers help a man down the hall. His foot had been blown off. A tourniquet had been tied around the stump, but Marie doubted that would save the man’s life in the long run. He already had the grey-green look of a corpse.
Marie looked beyond the mangled body to the main door. She had a mad desire to run out into the streets and not return—away from the madness and hopelessness that was engulfing her. She took a deep breath, wiped her hands on her apron as best she could, and turned to go back into the mess of patients when something caught her eye.
Pierre stood at the end of the hallway, hidden in the shadows of the open front doors. She shook her head to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. He was completely covered in blood, slightly bent at the middle from pain and exhaustion. A half sob, half scream escaped from her lips. She ran to him, wanting to embrace him and hold him as tightly as she could, but she was afraid of the damage that might do.
“What happened to you?” He lowered his head toward hers. She pressed her hands against his forehead and cheeks, trying her best to assess his situation. Under the mud and stubble, he was very pale.
“It’s not my blood; it’s Christian’s.” He nodded toward the man without a foot being carried down the hall. “I helped bring him in. Nearly did me in too.”
Marie sighed with relief and wrapped her arms around his middle. He yelped, nearly jumping out of his skin.
“What is it?”
He lifted his shirt to show a deep gash running around his right side. Glistening white bone poked out in a few places.
“You said it wasn’t your blood!”
“Well, it mainly isn’t. A Redcoat tried to stab me.” He tried to make light of the situation but grunted in pain.
Marie continued to assess the damage. “Tried to? I’d say he succeeded.”
Pierre laughed weakly. “If he’d succeeded, I wouldn’t have made it here.”
Marie tried to laugh, but she sobbed instead. Her vision blurred by tears, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tight. Forgetting that they were in the hospital, that he was injured and battle weary, she pressed her body against his, revelling in the fact that he was there with her.
“I’m all right, beautiful. I’m all right,” he repeated over and over again, holding her as close as his mangled side would allow.
“I’ve been so worried … so scared … after Nic …” She could barely get the words out.
“Marie, I’ll be all right. I promise. But if I stand here much longer, I’m going to collapse.”
Marie yelped in embarrassment, grasped his hand
, and led him down the hall. He stared around at the chaos. It was the opposite of the last time he’d walked these halls. Marie was also thinner than when they had parted, and she had dark circles under her eyes.
“Are you going to stitch me up?” he asked. He didn’t want to be separated from her.
“You don’t have much of a choice in the matter. There are a lot here who are far worse than you, I’m afraid. I wonder how there’s anyone left on the battlefield when I see all the men in here. Obviously, it’s not going well.” Marie paused and shook her head, discouraged.
She left him sitting against the wall with others who were able to sit under their own strength, while she grabbed supplies and looked for Sara. Though she still thought Sara’s practices were mad, she suddenly wanted to take every precaution possible.
“Is he all right?” Sara asked in alarm as she gathered her supplies. She’d been resting in the kitchen. She too was shaken after all they’d been through that day.
“He just needs stitches. He’ll be fine. Maybe some whisky.”
Sara grabbed a bottle and followed quickly behind Marie. “Have you told him?”
“About what?”
Sara let out an exasperated sigh. “About the baby, of course.”
That brought Marie up short. She’d completely forgotten about the pregnancy. “No, and I probably won’t. He doesn’t need that distraction.”
Sara made an impatient clicking noise but said nothing.
Marie returned to find Pierre laughing with the man beside him. He grinned when he saw her, although the pain in his eyes was clear.
“That’s my wife,” he told the elder militia man proudly.
The man laughed but looked impressed despite the fact that Marie was covered in blood and sweat. “The nun?”
Pierre snorted and then winced. “The brunette.”