by Julie Rowe
“You’re British. Your duty should be to serving British soldiers.”
“We’ve discussed this before.” She shrugged. “People are people. I was matron here before the war started. Our founder and his wife have both been killed. Tell me, if I hadn’t come to serve in this hospital, do you think someone else would have done it? Would this place be serving as a hospital at all?”
He thought about it for several moments. “Likely not.”
“My duty is here.”
“I understand duty,” he said, staring at his boots. “All too well, I’m afraid.”
She waited until the silence felt comfortable before asking, “Any word on your brother?”
He stood. “Jesper sent a message this morning. Rodney never wants to see my face again.”
“Oh.” She found she couldn’t adequately express her concern. “I’m so sorry.”
Dr. Geoff—Herman—was suddenly on his feet and leaning across her desk, his face only a breath away. Her heart pounded a rapid beat in her ears and her breathing all but stopped.
“Don’t apologize.” The words came out of his mouth, rough and broken, as though he’d chewed on them. “You’ve done nothing wrong—or have you?” He gazed at her, unblinking. “Have you?”
She forced herself to take a deep breath. “I have done nothing,” she said stiffly, “but my duty.”
“Duty,” he ground out. “Be careful how you use the word, Rose. In some quarters, your duty will get you shot as a traitor.”
He was trying to scare her. She appreciated the effort, but it would take more than Herman growling at her to frighten her away.
She considered him, his thoughtful eyes, skilled hands and firm, full lips. It was hard to fear a man who had protected her more than once.
“I am a nurse. I took a vow to prolong life, to do no harm, as you did. How can I be prosecuted for it?”
“A reasonable argument.” He sat back down as if she’d shoved him. “But not everyone is reasonable.”
“I told you before, I cannot be responsible for what other people think. I can only be responsible for what I think. I told you that last night too.”
“I was drunk last night.” He raised his head to the ceiling. “God save me from an intelligent, stubborn woman.”
She managed a dusty laugh and rose to pour the tea into two cups. She handed him one. “I think your prayer is a little late.”
He held the delicate china cup in one shaking hand. “If I ordered you to leave, to go home, would you?”
“If you had good reason, perhaps.” When he didn’t say anything, she asked, “Do you have a good reason?”
“Nothing you’d accept I wager. Only a feeling.”
“Ah.”
“But I wish you’d go nonetheless.”
She thought about it. “Wouldn’t my leaving look incriminating?”
He shrugged. “What difference would that make?”
“I have never run from anything and I don’t intend to start now.”
Herman was silent for a moment. “Are there any...non-Germans in the hospital?”
“A couple of Belgian civilians, both men too old to be in any military.”
“Keep it that way.”
“Of course, sir.”
He frowned deeply. “Herman.”
“When you issue an order, addressing you by your given name wouldn’t be proper.”
He stood and moved to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “Sometimes what’s proper isn’t what’s right.”
After the door closed behind him, she sighed and sipped her tea. Should she leave? He’d all but ordered her to go. Yet he never came right out and said it. Never said he knew she’d been harbouring British soldiers, creating fake papers and helping them get out of the country.
If she left she wouldn’t be able to help soldiers like the Brit in the dark hours of this morning.
However, something was bothering the doctor enough for him to take to a bottle. To kiss her. Was it only his brother or was there more?
Perhaps it was time she made plans in case the warning was as dire as he seemed to imply.
Rose wrote a short note to one of her underground contacts in the city and sent it off with one of the neighbourhood boys who often ran errands for her. The note would read to anyone else as a simple enquiry into his family’s health. Such a query was their agreed upon code for a meeting.
A few hours later, she met her contact, Byron Van Meiter, a butcher, in a small tavern several blocks away. He suspected he was being followed and urged her to be very careful in all her activities. No one involved in the underground had been arrested yet, but rumours of military suspicion were everywhere.
Rose returned to the hospital as the last of the soup was being served for supper. Her Belgian cook managed to stretch it so all the patients and staff had enough to eat. There was even a bit of bread for those who could manage it.
Dr. Geoff ate his while talking to Carl. The orderly also drove an ambulance, bringing some of the wounded from other hospitals closer to the trenches.
When finished eating, she approached them. “Excuse me, Carl, but have you brought us any wounded?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered, his tone as respectful as always when in the hearing of others. “Four. Three German and one Brit.”
It took her a moment to realize what he’d said. “A Brit you say?”
“Indeed.” He kept eating.
“Is he...under guard?”
Carl snorted. “It’s not necessary. The poor bugger is barely alive.” He turned to gaze at her with a watchful expression.
Was the man baiting her? “And the other three? What injuries do they have?”
“One will likely lose his foot and the other two have serious abdominal wounds requiring surgery.”
“We’d better take a look at all four, Nurse,” Herman said. “I don’t want to lose anyone to infection if I can help it.”
“Even the Brit?” Carl asked as if it didn’t matter in the slightest.
“Of course even the Brit,” Herman said in an insulted tone. “He was sent here to be saved, no doubt so he can be questioned.” He leaned closer to Carl. “Questioning a dead man is problematic wouldn’t you say?”
“I don’t imagine they say much,” Carl replied, looking not the least bit apologetic.
“Nurse,” Herman said to her, “if you’re done eating you can go up and begin your assessment. I’ll be there shortly.”
“Yes, Doctor.” She turned to leave.
“I’d be happy to help you,” Carl said, rising.
“Thank you, but no.” She looked him over. “In order to prevent infection, Dr. Geoff requires everyone to wash at least every other day and wear clean clothing. The trenches are filled with mud, fleas and ticks. You’ll need to strip to the skin, have a thorough scrubbing and wash all your clothes.”
Carl looked at Herman in surprise. “When did you decide this?”
“Two weeks ago, and I told you about it then too.”
“My apologies, I had forgotten.”
“Cook can heat some water up for you,” Rose told him. “There’s an old wash tub outside the garden door.”
“Thank you, but the place I’m staying will have a bath and my clean clothing.” Carl nodded at them and left.
“I’ll see you upstairs, sir,” she said to Herman.
He was staring after Carl, frowning.
“Sir?”
“Hmm, what?”
“I’ll see you upstairs?”
“Oh, yes, of course. And, Nurse—” he stood and leaned close, “—don’t allow yourself to be in a room alone with that man.” Then he carried on by her as if he’d said nothing at all.
* * *
Carl was some sort of spy, Herman was sure of it. The man watched the staff too closely and asked too many questions that sounded reasonable, but weren’t. He was too curious, too concerned without any of the compassion that usually went with it.
&n
bsp; He followed Rose around like a hound after a fox. But no more. Herman was done with allowing the suspicions of some to rob him of a talented nurse, teacher and honourable woman. She was right. If she weren’t here to anchor the hospital, there’d be no hospital here at all.
Her value was too high, her skills too rare. She was educated, while most nurses weren’t. She’d attended nursing school in England, while most of their nurses learned on the job. She was meticulous in the performance of her tasks and in her documentation of them.
She was determined to prove that nursing impacted the overall health of an army.
The threat to her was plain enough from the visit he’d had last evening. At least one officer believed she was aiding and abetting allied soldiers somehow.
If they threw her away, they were fools.
And he was afraid the people running this war were fools of the greatest sort.
“Sir?”
One of the permanent orderlies, Frank, stood behind him.
“Yes?”
“That Carl, he asked me some odd questions.”
“Odd how?”
“Wanted to know how many British or French soldiers we’ve had through the hospital.”
“Huh. What did you tell him?”
“Only the two or three we’ve had, but they were too badly wounded and died. Should I have said nothing?”
“You’re not the only person he’s questioning. If he asks you anything else, tell him I’ve instructed all the staff to direct questions to me. My uncle will take care of it.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“No thanks necessary. Our staff have enough work to worry about without nosy people making it worse.”
Frank set off, his step a little lighter.
Herman found his own steps somewhat lighter at the thought Carl wouldn’t be getting any of his questions answered any time soon.
* * *
The four wounded men were in a room often used to assess new arrivals. It was bare of any furniture except for several cots. Two of the men appeared unconscious. The other two were talking quietly to each other in German.
Rose greeted them and asked about their condition and injuries. One had sustained a bullet wound to the abdomen, the other a bullet to his thigh, not more than a scratch, and to his lower leg and foot. It was bound in a huge bandage soaked in blood. No use in her trying to take it off. She would wait for Herman.
She then took a look at the unconscious men. The first, in a German uniform, also had an abdominal wound. One whiff told her it had already turned bad.
The other was the Brit. His uniform was saturated in mud and torn in several places. He was without weapons, canvas cartridge belt or canteen. Not even the badges denoting his rank or unit were intact. A crude bandage wrapped around his head and another around his left leg. He was pale, his lips and hands shrivelled, his eyes appeared sunken and black. He smelled like dirt, gunpowder and blood. But not of rot.
“How did he come to be with you?” she asked the two Germans.
One shrugged. The other said, “I heard he was found trying to crawl into a trench. He’d been shot days ago and left for dead.”
“Days? And he’s still alive, with these wounds?”
“He’s still breathing,” the soldier replied with a shrug. “Not sure I’d want to be alive, if I were him.”
Rose paused in her visual examination of the Brit’s condition. “What do you mean?”
“Heard some officers talking. They mean to find out what he knows.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He means,” said a masculine voice behind her, “torture.”
She turned and stared at Herman, horror taking hold of her throat and squeezing. “No, no...they wouldn—”
“They have and they will again.”
She looked at the unconscious Brit. “But from the cut and quality of his clothes, he’s not an officer. He won’t know anything.”
“Doesn’t matter to them,” Herman said in a tired voice as he closed the door. “It never has before.” He glanced at the four men. “Who’s first, Nurse?”
Rose gathered herself on a deep breath and nodded. “Sir, this soldier—” she gestured at the unconscious German, “—has an abdominal wound requiring immediate attention. The others have serious wounds, but they can wait until this first case is dealt with.”
“And the Brit?”
“It’s hard to tell the true extent of his injuries. He’s covered in dried mud and blood. I believe we’re going to have to cut his clothes off him.”
“Have an orderly clean him up. Won’t know what to do with him until we find out what’s under all the dirt.” Herman examined the German. He lifted the edge of the bandage covering the young man’s belly, bent close and inhaled. “Hmm, the wound’s gone bad.”
“Yes, sir.”
The two conscious soldiers exchanged a look. “Will he die?” one of them asked.
“We’ll try removing the necrotic or diseased tissue. We’ve saved several men thought too far gone by some.” Herman met her gaze. “Prep him for immediate surgery.”
Chapter Four
Herman entered the surgical room to find the patient cleaned and prepared.
Rose stood at the patient’s head with a pad and ether. “We can begin at your command.”
“Excellent.” He nodded at the other nurse, whose name escaped him at the moment. “Monitor his pulse and breathing and stand ready with more ether. Rose, you will assist me.”
He washed his hands in the basin of alcohol resting on a small stand inside the doorway, then approached the patient and examined the wound.
“Hmm, not as deep as I thought.” He bent closer and sniffed. “Infection has set in, but we’ll see if we can remove the diseased tissue without killing him. If it’s localized in only one area, he might have a chance.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Scalpel,” he said, holding out his hand.
Rose handed it to him handle first.
It took some time, hours, to get all the infection out, but he was meticulous and careful not to rush. Rushing did no one any good, least of all the patient.
“Heart rate has decreased slightly, doctor,” the other nurse reported.
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Rose commented.
“We’re almost finished. As soon as he wakes up, I want fluids poured down his throat.”
“Yes, sir.”
He began stitching his patient back together. That took another hour. “He’s going to have a dreadful scar, but he’d likely live.”
“Amazing. I really didn’t think he’d pull through.”
“He’s young and strong.” Herman looked at the other nurse. “Stay with him and push the fluids as soon as he’s able to tolerate them. Keep a close watch on his wound. If it starts to go bad again, I need to know as soon as possible.”
She nodded quickly.
“Nurse Culver, we have two other patients to deal with. Then perhaps we can all get some rest.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
Rose seemed as comfortable and competent as any other nurse, but she was more. The kind of woman he didn’t want to think too hard about. Because if he did, he was afraid he’d have to do something about it.
* * *
They dealt with the other two German soldiers, both of whom had wounds relatively easy to clean and sew up. Then they returned to check on the Brit, but even though the orderlies had had hours, he still hadn’t been cleaned up.
Herman didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. His tight jaw and downturned mouth told Rose how unhappy he was with the lack of care shown the Brit. Yes, he fought for the enemy, but he was also a human being and this was a hospital.
“I can manage him, sir. Why don’t you see if there’s some stew on the stove?”
Herman grunted and stuck his head out into the hall, bellowing an order for hot water, soap and washcloths. “Hand me a pair of scissors,” he said to her.
; She’d already started to cut off the soldier’s ruined uniform, and they each attacked an arm, freeing the young man of one layer at a time. No wounds appeared under his clothing or the mud on his arms, torso and neck.
Removing his boots required them to cut through his laces. Mud and blood had soaked through then dried, creating a hard, solid, inseparable mass.
“He must have been lying on the ground for a very long time,” Rose said as she finally got his boot off.
Frank came in with a large pan of hot water and several strips of cloth thrown over his shoulder. He stopped as the soldier came into view. “I’m sorry, Doctor, I didn’t realize how dirty he was.”
“This bugger probably won’t make it,” Herman said, his attention on cutting the other boot off. “He was lying out in the battlefield for days, but let’s have a look at him anyway.”
Rose watched both men out of the corner of her eye as she took a cloth, dipped it in the water and began sponging down the Brit. Dark bruises appeared on his chest from underneath all the dirt and dried mud. “Might he have internal injuries?”
Herman stopped to look. “I don’t know how he’s managed to survive.” He glanced at her. “Make note of all his injuries, including the condition he was in when he arrived. This will make this week’s reports interesting.”
“Reports?” the orderly asked.
“I send casualty reports to my commanding officer in Berlin every week. It’s how he determines where to deploy our medical personnel. I also send some of the more interesting cases to my mentor at the university for training purposes. Even if this fellow dies in the next hour, he can still teach us a great deal about how the human body survives injury.”
“Very good, sir.”
One of the German nurses came in. “Frank, I need your help with one of the amputees.”
“Go,” Herman told him then said to Rose, “Let’s get his legs uncovered. I’m anxious to see what’s underneath this other bandage.”
They both went to work on what was left of the soldier’s pants and the bandage. The bandage was particularly difficult, as the mud and blood had glued the fabric together into a solid clot of fabric and flesh.