by Erica Nyden
They settled on midmorning.
Olivia ushered the doctor out as graciously and as quickly as she could. Head down, she bit the insides of her cheeks until she gasped for the breath she’d been holding since she closed the door. She’d never find William now. The home she’d come to love—the place where she longed for him to return—had become her prison.
Chapter 36
Three men arrived with Dr. Davies the following day just after Emily had gone down for her morning kip. Each was friendlier than the doctor and far more personable. Still dazed by the ultimatum that would apparently clip her wings for good, Olivia led them through her home. After hours of griping and many cups of weak tea the night before, she and Mrs. Pollard had devised the plan she delivered: “Both the drawing room and the ballroom will be opened and available for beds. I’d like to split the men up and put half in each. Upstairs is off limits to patients and staff. It is to remain private, for family only—the library, too.”
The men responded more positively than she’d expected and reassured her of their support. First, they sent beds, physiotherapy equipment, and games and sports gear. Two nurses would arrive next, young and inexperienced but quick learners, they promised, especially under the guidance of such a “seasoned” nurse.
“All we ask is that you do what you’re already good at, Nurse Morgan. Help those in need, and ensure your nurses do the same. See that patients receive regular exercise and decent meals, with kind words in between—anything to distract them from their mental and physical discomforts.”
By Friday, both large rooms had been cleaned, dust cloths removed, and furniture pushed to the side or stored elsewhere in time for the delivery of fifteen standard hospital beds. Seven were placed in the drawing room and eight in the ballroom. The Central Hospital Supply Service brought pajamas, bed linens, towels, and bandages.
Food arrived too, along with two women with whom Mrs. Pollard was to share her kitchen. Clare and Maggie were sisters, one year apart but practically identical. Born and raised in Cornwall, they were familiar with the likes of Mrs. Pollard and had no qualms about being commanded by the territorial and sometimes formidable woman.
Fresh from a London nursing school, Cora and Danni arrived two days later. Green indeed, their only nurse–patient contact had happened as volunteers at a hospital where they’d looked after children and the elderly. They rushed into Keldor as though it was the Paramount on a Friday night, buzzing as city girls do about the latest film, Much Too Shy, and already mourning their absence at the National Gallery for lunchtime concerts. Olivia tried not to judge them too harshly; at least they seemed excited about their new assignment—a contrast from when she’d first arrived in the country. Pretty, sweet, and rather giggly, they’d make the men’s hearts swoon and no doubt “distract them from their mental and physical discomforts” without much effort.
Nurses and kitchen staff were billeted in rooms once occupied by Keldor’s larger wait staff. James’s room, empty since his retirement, belonged to Clare and Maggie. Annie moved upstairs to be closer to Emily, leaving her vacated room to Cora. Danni also had her own room, since the two nurses would work and sleep at different hours. Two rooms remained available for orderlies, should they appear, or perhaps another nurse.
The day the patients arrived was exhausting. The idea of organizing them according to their needs didn’t work as Olivia had hoped. They all arrived at once, forcing her to fill empty beds willy-nilly. She only saw Emily to feed her. The rest of the time she was on her feet, scurrying to and fro, eager to get the men comfortable and her nurses on a working schedule. Hartford House took back their promise of sending orderlies, so Annie stepped in to run errands and serve as a messenger between Olivia and Mrs. Pollard, a task easily performed with Emily in tow.
Five days in, and Olivia no longer spent all her time cleaning up someone else’s mess, giving friendly suggestions, or tackling a task herself to ensure it was done correctly. She carried Emily back and forth between the drawing room and the ballroom, known as Wards D and B, with a serene smile. Her ship was running smoothly. The part she loved best and missed most about nursing could begin: getting to know her patients.
The men ranged between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five. Five of them required stationary leg exercises, as they were confined to wheelchairs and it was uncertain if they’d walk again. The lucky ones received attention to both legs, whilst others focused on strengthening a remaining leg. Four soldiers had lost hands or arms and were learning to cope, both emotionally and physically. Another four were relearning how to use their limbs after severe burns or breaks. The final two had lost their sight. Reluctantly, they practiced seeing the world without the use of their eyes.
Billy came from the latter group. It wasn’t just his name and blindness that reminded Olivia of William, but his disposition as well. He was ornery and bitter, two traits she looked forward to eradicating.
“Why don’t we go outside for our walk today, Billy?” she asked, coming to Danni’s rescue one sunny morning six days after his arrival.
Having received a vulgar response to the same question, Danni flew out of the room in tears.
Seething with resentment at his condition, Billy parted his lips in a sneer that exposed gritted, horse-like teeth. “Nurse Morgan, how many times do I have to say it? I don’t want to bloody go outside. I don’t want to go anywhere. Why can’t I be left alone?”
Olivia crossed her arms. “Doctor’s orders, Billy. We can send you back to Hartford if you’d like, but you won’t have myself or the nice girls to look after you, and I assure you the cooking won’t be nearly as good as it is here at Keldor.”
“Humph.”
“Please, Private.”
Olivia insisted that nurses and staff alternate between addressing the men by their military titles and Christian names. Military titles indicated respect and helped the men retain their dignity after fighting so hard for their country. Hearing their given names helped them recall who they were outside of war, before they became pawns in a conflict that continued to crush the lives of so many.
Once clothed against the chill, Olivia and her charge inched down the front steps. “I’ll help guide you today, but I expect that soon you’ll be able to navigate by yourself with the help of your white cane—if you ever consent to using it, that is.”
“I feel ridiculous carrying it. I look like a fool, tapping a damned stick in front of me all the time.”
“How do you know what you look like? I daresay you look more the fool walking into tables and walls. It’s time you swallow your pride, William, and—”
Billy laughed, drowning out her gasp of dismay. “How old are you, Nurse Morgan?”
“I’ve just turned twenty-three.”
“Then you’re too young to call me ‘William.’ I know you’re trying to sound like my superior, but you aren’t. That name is reserved for me mum and our vicar, and maybe the doctor.”
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, unnecessarily looking away to conceal her hot cheeks.
“No need to be sorry.” He gave her a crooked grin that would’ve likely been accompanied by a wink had his eyes not been bandaged. It wasn’t the first time she’d glimpsed his good nature.
Reading this as a good sign, she thrust the white cane into his right hand. His sporadic tapping joined their footsteps as they crunched across the gravel toward the quieter footpath.
“I wanted to travel,” Billy said after many steps. “Visit South America, climb the Andes. Now I’m stuck—stuck in rainy England, which isn’t the worst thing, except I can’t bloody see it.”
“You’ll be happy again. You will.”
“Happy?” he said with a bitter laugh. “Happiness doesn’t matter. It’s having dreams. Having dreams and having them realized, having something to live for. That’s what matters.”
“And when you’re healed and this war is over, you’ll have dreams again. They’ll be different dreams, but you’ll find your purpose, yo
ur something or someone to live for.” She tightened her hand around his arm and added with more enthusiasm than she thought she was capable of. “I promise you.”
“’Someone,’ you say?” He offered another grin, a pleasant change from the snarl his mouth produced when he yelled.
She grinned in return. “It could happen. But not if you’re still walking into walls and furniture. Keep tapping.”
Each night, in case of emergencies downstairs, Olivia slept with her bedroom door open, as did Annie. Most nights, the annex remained quiet. The soldiers took strong pills to help them sleep; it wasn’t what Olivia would have prescribed, but it proved good insurance against fifteen men crying out with nightmares at all hours of the night. But sometimes the pills weren’t enough.
A bloodcurdling shout yanked Olivia from a deep sleep.
“Benny! Run! Run, you fool!” Groans and cries followed.
She grabbed her dressing gown and flew down the stairs as if the house were on fire. Annie bustled behind her. By the time they reached D Ward, a light in the corner was already on and the cries had changed to sobs. Danni sat with Billy, holding his hand and smoothing the bandage along the side of his face.
“Mum? Is it you?” Billy asked between heaving breaths. His hands patted the face, neck, and shoulders of the woman beside him.
“No, Private. It’s Danni. Nurse Johnson.”
The news produced a fresh flood of tears. Stricken by his pain, Danni cried too.
Olivia soothed other patients awakened by the outburst as the reality of Billy’s condition descended upon the new nurse. His anger wouldn’t run Danni off again, for she now understood the cruelty these men continued to endure.
“In a few more weeks, Private,” Danni said, “the doctor will remove your bandages, and then you can go home. Home to your mum.”
The image of Billy’s shadowed, terrified face followed Olivia back to her room afterward. She tossed and turned. The lines of fear around his open mouth and sallow cheeks sent chills through her, despite the warmth of her bed.
William’s night terrors had been like Billy’s. If William had truly survived war a second time, a belief she still firmly held, he’d be even worse off this time. The only comfort in the possibility of his demise is that he’d no longer scream out in the night. Death would bring William the gift of peace, unlike the young soldier downstairs who’d never see anything again but his own images of carnage and ruin.
She buried half her face in William’s pillow, where she inhaled only lavender. Was it selfish to wish him alive, when if he’d left this earth, he would truly be free?
Chapter 37
By Christmastime, Olivia still remained loyal to optimism. Bolstered by the laughter of her daughter and driven by duty, those who knew her well—Annie, Mrs. Pollard, and her parents, who’d come for the holidays—wondered if she’d finally cleared her massive hurdle of grief.
For the most part, she had. Instead of wallowing in worry, she was keeping her promise to William by indulging in the giggles of their growing child and the joy they brought to patients and staff alike. Her parents were especially affected by little Emily’s enchantments. She was constantly in the arms of one of them, each party entertained by the other. Dr. Talbot gushed with pride at the baby’s dazzling smiles, and like everyone else who met the little charmer, he was thoroughly besotted.
This was Emily’s first Christmas, and her eyes grew large at the change of scenery: the extra candles, the three spindly trees (one per ward and one in the sitting room), and the wrapped gifts (she particularly liked the shiny ribbon). Despite the shortage of frivolous holiday items like freshly glittered ornaments and tinsel garlands, everyone on Olivia’s small staff delighted in adorning the house with locally picked sprigs of holly and evergreen boughs. Gift wrap from previous Christmases had been reused, and Mrs. Pollard cooked with vegetables such as carrots and beets to add as much color to Keldor’s holiday menu as exotic fruits had in Christmases past. Yes, there was a war on, but God help this family if they couldn’t make the only Talbot grandchild’s first Christmas (and that of Keldor’s patients) an extra-special one.
Most hands remained on deck over the holidays, including Mrs. Pollard’s. Though Olivia offered to bring in a temporary cook for a week, the housekeeper had no wish to leave Keldor for Christmas. Annie journeyed to her parents’ home at Olivia’s insistence, but Mrs. Pollard shared in earnest her desire to spend the holidays with the Morgan girls. William, the son she’d never had, was gone, but Olivia had become as close to her as a daughter. And Emily—Emily was the apple of her eye. She knew she’d be sharing the sweet babe with her real grandparents, but would Olivia mind if she stayed at Keldor this year? With a tear in her eye and a heart full of gratitude, Olivia hugged the older woman, overjoyed to have her at Christmas. She questioned how she would have survived the holiday without her.
After singing Emily a few Christmas carols at bedtime, Olivia sauntered downstairs, stopping by each ward. It was Christmas Eve, and as expected, Cora, Danni, Clare, and Maggie kept the atmosphere festive with games and songs.
Olivia joined her parents and Mrs. Pollard in the sitting room. Though her heart was set on enjoying Christmas present, she couldn’t help but think of Christmases yet to come: after the war when William would be home, alive, well, and a fixture in the holiday hubbub. Accompanying her father in a whisky, he’d observe the dynamics of her family, making casual comments about the sometimes volatile interactions Olivia had with her mother.
“Is it always like this?” William would ask.
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” her father would reply before taking a drink, “but you get used to it.”
These sanguine thoughts had Olivia practically floating into the room, ready for a nightcap and an opportunity to relax next to the cozy fire. Her mother’s stern brow stopped her short. Mrs. Pollard stood, excused herself, and shuffled out.
Her parents had arrived two days earlier and so far, their company had been enjoyable. She hadn’t seen her father in years, and despite recent tragedies, she’d never seen him so happy. Grandparenthood suited him. Even her mother had been pleasant. She hadn’t uttered one critical comment on Olivia’s parenting or her management of the annex. She’d laughed and smiled and cooed, as grandmothers should. What could possibly be wrong?
“What’s the matter?” Olivia asked.
“We need to talk,” her mother replied.
She swallowed hard and settled in the cushioned chair closest to the hearth, hugging the rose-patterned pillow on her lap.
“Your father and I are worried about you.”
Already not appreciating the direction of this conversation yet needing to hear more, Olivia awaited the onslaught.
“Earlier today, I was alarmed to overhear you talking to Emily as though her father is alive. I’ve asked Mrs. Pollard about the matter, and in so many words, she’s confirmed my fears.”
Olivia looked down at a fingernail she feigned obsession over and picked at it. She was a grown woman with no one to answer to. She would not deny her beliefs. “It’s true.”
“Why would you do that? I realize Emily is still a baby, but you cannot fill her head with falsehoods. Because one day, sooner than you think, she’ll understand what you’re saying, and by then it’ll be too late. When her father fails to return home, she’ll think you’ve lied to her.”
“But I’m not lying.”
Her parents exchanged glances. “Do you know something we don’t?”
“I suppose I do,” she replied, her tone challenging.
“What is it, Livvy? Has Colonel Adams contacted you?” For the first time in the conversation her father spoke, his voice hopeful.
“No.” She raised her head and looked squarely at her attackers. “It’s a feeling I have. I can’t explain it.”
“A feeling? A feeling that William is alive is what’s driving this? I can’t believe it.” Her mother shook her head, readying for another foray. “When I heard your broth
er had been shot down, I struggled to accept it, but did I go around believing he survived because I had a feeling he had?”
Olivia strangled the pillow. “Of course you didn’t! Why would you? They found Johnny’s body on a beach. You viewed it. It may have been unrecognizable to most, but you knew it was your son. That was all the proof you needed. But me, I have no proof. All I have are these!” She tugged at the identity discs around her neck. “Someone out there knows exactly what happened to my husband, and until I’m told the story of William’s death by someone who witnessed it—whether it’s our men or the Nazi who killed him—I’ll keep believing he’s alive.”
The room fell quiet save for the crackling fire and the Glenn Miller Orchestra’s festive horns over the wireless. Olivia released the pillow, smoothing its creases. How could someone live through the hell William had just to die two years later? Or survive just to live in another POW camp, back under the thumb of Nazis? Surely he was living out a different scenario—in hiding, perhaps, injured yet clever enough to escape the roundup of prisoners. Perhaps he’d traveled on foot for many days and a nomadic caravan had discovered him unconscious and at death’s door. Camouflaged as one of them, he’d been nursed back to health. He couldn’t send word of his whereabouts, but as soon as the Allies won the war, he’d be on the next boat home.
“We’re worried, dear,” her mother said, splintering Olivia’s daydream. “The captain told you William was dead. The man knows what occurs at the battlefront; he’d have told you if there was chance of William’s survival. You’re living in a fantasy, Olivia, a world of make-believe that you’re passing on to your daughter. It’s unhealthy. It’s time you let William go.”
Couldn’t they understand that she’d never let William go?
“I’m not living in a fantasy, nor would I ever lie to Emily. I made a promise to William that I wouldn’t give up on him the way his father had.”