by Julie Rowe
“His leg appears broken, sir.”
“Perhaps in more than one place. Tibia and fibula.”
Slowly, to keep from dislodging any clots or worsening the wound, they cut and peeled away the cloth.
A jagged piece of bone poked its way out of the mess.
“Damn,” Herman said under his breath.
“Sir?”
“What did I tell you about calling me sir when we’re alone?”
“Anyone could walk in at any moment. Sir.”
He didn’t respond and, instead, peeled away a large piece of fabric to reveal the wound. A great gaping maw dug out of calf muscle, Achilles tendon and bones.
Rose had expected it to look ugly. She’d expected it to smell ugly as well, but...it didn’t. “Doctor, it’s not...there’s no smell. The wound hasn’t gone bad.”
He leaned down, putting his nose close to the wound. “No, it hasn’t, has it.”
Something inside moved.
She screamed and jerked back. “What is that?”
“Maggots, I believe.”
“Oh, dear God. Get them off him.”
“No. No.” He waved at her to come back. “You need to see them.”
“See them? Why?”
“Because I think they may be the reason the wound hasn’t putrefied. A friend has documented three other cases like this. Men with open wounds left on the battlefield for days. Rather than men dying from gangrene, he found wounds—needing some surgical repair of course—otherwise clean and free of infection.” Herman looked at her. “And full of maggots.”
She gagged at the thought. “How could maggots keep a wound clean?”
He straightened and moved around the man’s body to examine the wound from a different angle. “What do maggots eat?”
“I thought...flesh.”
“Live flesh or dead?”
“I don’t know.” She watched his face. “You believe they only eat dead?”
“I’ve never seen maggots feast on live flesh, but dead? Yes. Look at the tissue here.”
She inched closer.
“Ignore the maggots for now. What do you see?”
She wrinkled her nose and tried to pretend she couldn’t see them wiggling around. “The flesh looks...clean. No swelling, redness or scent of decay.”
“Clean, normal flesh. It’s healing. I think the maggots are eating the rotten tissue, but not the live flesh.”
“How can they tell the difference?”
“I don’t know. I do know, in every case I’ve heard of, this is the result. Maggots, it seems, can clean a wound far, far better than we can.”
He moved to the soldier’s head wound, removing the bandage. “Hmm, now this is fresh.” Blood trickled out in a steady stream.
Rose put fingers to the soldier’s neck. “His pulse is weak and slow.”
Herman checked it as well. “Damn. I don’t think he’ll be with us much longer.” He shook his head. “Poor bugger. Survived the leg wound only to be shot in the head days later.”
There was a knock on the door, and Carl came in.
“How are things going with the Brit?”
“Not well,” Herman responded. “I doubt he’ll be alive in another hour.”
“But I was told he seemed stable enough.”
“If his leg wound had been his only injury, that would be true. Unfortunately, someone shot him again. A man can live without a leg, but not without his brain.”
Carl’s face hardened. “There’s no way to...wake him?”
“He’s already dead. His body just doesn’t know it yet. His breathing and heart rate are slowing. It won’t be long.”
“Too bad.”
“Sir?” Rose said to Herman. “Your orders?”
“Cover him up, but leave him here. Keep checking on him and...have him removed when he dies.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t forget to sleep sometime tonight.” He headed for the door, but stopped short of leaving. “Did you eat?”
She winced. “Not since dinner. I wasn’t hungry.”
“It’s after midnight. Eat something. That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir.”
He looked at Carl. “You can take care of things here.”
Rose followed Herman out, but turned to close the door. Carl stared after her, a frown bringing his brows low over his eyes.
She walked quickly to catch up to the doctor. “Sir, you mustn’t show any kindness to me.”
He stopped dead, and she ran into him. Before she could fall, he caught her by the shoulders. “Excuse me?”
His hands were so warm and secure she didn’t want to pull away. She’d never thought of herself as a selfish person, but at this moment, she was quite willing to let him hold her for as long as he wanted.
Still, she had to warn him. She glanced back at the room they’d just left. “I think it’s already been noticed.”
Herman didn’t react for all of a second. “The devil take him.” Taking hold of her arm above the elbow, he all but dragged her alongside him, heading for the kitchen.
“We’ve had this conversation before,” he said as he led her to sit in a chair. “You do me and the wounded no good if you don’t eat or sleep.”
She studied her hands folded neatly on her lap, ignoring the smiles of the two other nurses in the kitchen as they waved and left. “Yes, sir.”
He moved to stand uncomfortably close and said in her ear, “If you call me sir one more time, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
“What then?” She glanced at him from beneath her lashes. “What should I call you in public?”
“Doctor.”
He sounded so aggravated she shouldn’t resist testing him. “Yes, s—doctor.”
He harrumphed and plunked some bread and an apple down in front of her. “You try my patience.”
“I’ve been told that before.” She sighed. “It’s a failing of mine.”
His gaze was suddenly hot on her face. “Who besides me has said it to you?”
“My father. I’m afraid I learned it from him.”
Herman’s expression lightened. “Your father is a rector, I believe you said.”
“Yes, and he always tried to say kind things about and to people. But sometimes he would tease them if they’d done something they shouldn’t. He said their own guilt was often punishment enough.”
He inclined his head. “Your father is a wise man.”
It had been more than a year since she’d last visited her family, since she left them and travelled to Brussels, determined to keep her student nurses safe and the hospital running. When would she see her father again? Would she see him at all?
“Rose.”
She met Herman’s gaze at the sound of her name. “Yes?”
“Eat.”
“Oh. Yes, of course.” She picked up the bread and took a bite.
He seemed content to sit and watch her eat in silence. She was finishing up the apple when a loud knock at the front door echoed back to the kitchen.
She rose to answer it, but he waved her back down. “I’ll go see who’s there. Finish your food.”
She listened hard and soon heard males voices coming closer and closer. As she put the apple core on the table, several men in German military uniforms marched into the room.
“Rose Culver?” one of them asked.
She looked at their hard faces and her stomach fell like a stone. Perhaps she shouldn’t have eaten after all. “Yes.”
“You’re under arrest.”
Chapter Five
Rose didn’t get a chance to catch her breath before they grabbed her by the arms, one on either side, pulled her through the building and outside to a horse drawn carriage.
“But—”
“It would be better for you if you keep quiet.”
She did as she was told.
Herman stood near the front door with Carl. His face was closed down, as if he’d judged her and found her guilty of som
e horrible crime.
Perhaps, to him, what she’d done—her duty as she saw it—was a crime. Perhaps he was more warrior than doctor.
Perhaps she’d never see him again.
For the first time since she’d made the decision to help escaping soldiers, regret wrapped its cold hand around her heart. Odd that out of all the men she’d met, treated and helped, a German military surgeon would be her one weakness.
Taken to a convent, she was placed in a nun’s cell, the door closed and locked. The room was plain with a simple cot, woollen blankets, a bedpan in one corner and a sputtering candle on a small table.
The only decoration was a cross on the wall.
At least she could pray.
But she was too frightened and tired for even that. She blew out the candle, removed her shoes and lay down on the bed. The Germans probably didn’t realize it, but tonight would most likely be her longest uninterrupted sleep in weeks.
* * *
Herman wanted to hurt someone. Preferably the poisonous man standing next to him. Carl, the orderly, who, it turned out, was really an officer in the German Military Police. Carl had taken him aside as soon as the door opened to armed soldiers and began relaying a list of Rose Culver’s illegal and treasonous activities.
Herman was forced to watch as she was marched out the door and into the night. His hands shook with fury. How dare this moronic sycophant call her a traitor and harlot.
“Doctor,” Carl asked, “are you all right?”
“I’m enraged.” Her arrest was a travesty, a crime that would be punished.
“I understand.” Carl patted him on the shoulder.
Herman jerked away. “I doubt that.” Calming himself enough to say the words necessary to satisfy this mean creature’s expectations was more difficult than any surgery he’d performed. As it was, his voice shook as he fought the sudden urge to vomit. “I worked with that woman for months. I gave her my confidence and trust. She assisted me daily, trained our nurses and tended our wounded, all while...” He finally looked Carl in the face. “You do not understand.”
He didn’t. Herman was enormously angry, but not at Rose. Never at Rose.
“My apologies, Doctor.” Carl inclined his head and took a step back. His body language changed as he stood tall, lifted his chin and tucked his hands behind his back with military correctness. “We had wondered if you were involved in her activities, if you helped her—even passively. But I can see now that you are just as shocked and disgusted as we were when we discovered what she was doing.”
“Disgusted, yes. That’s exactly how I feel.” Herman shook his head, unable and unwilling to stand next to the horrible sneak one more second. “I need a bath.”
“Yes, of course, Doctor. Please accept my apologies for the disruption of the hospital. You won’t have to deal with Rose Culver again.”
Rose.
The one person he trusted to always, always do her job, lend a hand, offer him comfort, even if it only in the form of a cup of tea, was gone. Her quick wit and intelligence made daily life bearable. Her calm smile, quiet words and devotion to duty made tending the wounded seem almost easy.
He paused in the act of closing the door. “Will she be tried?”
“Yes, after lengthy questioning, and executed for her treachery.”
“I want...” How to phrase it so this piece of filth would happily go along with it? “An opportunity to tell her exactly what I think of her. Do you think that could be arranged?”
A slimy smile slid across Carl’s face. “I’m sure that could be accommodated.”
* * *
Rose woke at dawn to the sound of a rooster crowing. She made use of the bedpan, then remade her bed and sat on it, waiting.
It didn’t take long.
Three men entered the room without warning. No knock or introduction. She stood as they came in and nodded as if she were receiving them at the hospital.
“Rose Culver, you are to come with us for questioning.”
She raised her chin. “Certainly.”
She followed them out of the room and down several hallways to a large office where she was seated in front of a wide desk. The man facing her was neither old nor young. His face was plain except for a large, long waxed moustache. His steel-coloured hair was clipped short to his head.
“You have been accused of harbouring and aiding British and Belgian soldiers.”
She didn’t respond. What was there to say?
“How many men have you helped?”
She remained quiet.
“Who else is involved in this plot to kill German soldiers?”
Finally, an accusation she had a response for. “Plot? I’m a nurse. No more, no less. I treat the wounded and help those I can. That is all.”
He said nothing.
“Sir,” she went on. “I have nothing. No money or goods not already committed to the hospital. We don’t have enough bandages, ether or even food to feed ourselves and our patients. No one has enough.”
“And yet there’s been a steady trickle of men out of Belgium. Soldiers, mostly British, are finding their way out.”
“What is that to me? I’m sure soldiers are taught to read maps and live off the land. Nurses don’t concern themselves with such things.”
“You are an intelligent woman.”
“Are you suggesting I outsmarted the entire German army?”
“No, but you are intelligent enough to aid a few men on their way to the border.”
“Again, you’re attributing to me resources, knowledge and time I don’t have.”
The soldier smiled, showing his teeth. “I think you’re much more resourceful than you imply. I also think you don’t work alone. Things would go much easier for you if you tell me who is working with you.”
“All I have ever done is my duty.”
The officer sat back in his chair. His eyes narrowed. “Tell me about your duty.”
“I’m a nurse. I treat the wounded.”
“What do you mean exactly?”
“Often, it’s the simple things. Providing food and water, clean clothing and an opportunity to bathe. I help them write letters to their families. Sometimes I do nothing more than hold a hand and offer comfort as a man dies.”
“You do all this for German soldiers?”
“Of course. I work for the Red Cross, sir. It matters not to me what country a man fights for.”
“I find it difficult to believe you would treat German soldiers the same as British soldiers.”
“When a man arrives at my hospital, the first thing we do is remove his uniform. Country of origin becomes moot. Severity of wound is what we see. With every patient we receive we ask ourselves, what does this man need to be healthy and whole?”
The officer stared down the length of his nose at her. Then he gestured at the guard near the door and she was escorted back to her room.
She sat on the edge of her bed, closed her eyes and reviewed the conversation in her head. Had she said something to incriminate herself? She didn’t think so, but who could tell what information they were looking for.
She hadn’t done anything wrong. Only her duty, as she saw it, and she never, ever neglected any of her patients—German or otherwise.
She glanced down at her hands. They were shaking. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get them to stop.
Rose lay down on top of the blankets and began to pray.
* * *
The next day was a repetition of the day before. Questioning in the morning. A midday meal. An evening meal. No visitors. No sight of anyone beyond the guards who escorted her to and from her daily interrogation session.
After the first week, she asked when she’d be allowed to return to her duty at the hospital.
Her questioner snorted and replied, “Never.”
Not a reassuring answer.
Another week passed, then two.
On the twenty-fourth day, her routine was broken.
She entered the German’s office to discover Herman standing next to him, his arms crossed over his chest. Stunned, she came to a complete halt in the doorway. A guard had to nudge her forward before she remembered to tell her feet to move.
A chair sat several feet in front of the desk, as usual, alone and isolated. She perched on the edge of the seat, her entire attention on the doctor.
She noted his pale complexion, tired eyes and downturned mouth. The good doctor wasn’t taking very good care of himself.
“Your co-conspirators have confessed.” Her questioner said. “The butcher Van Meiter and others. You have been found guilty of treason and will be executed by firing squad in three days.”
She glanced at him, but dropped her gaze to the floor upon seeing the self-important smile he often wore.
“The doctor has some things he wishes to say to you.”
There was silence for a moment, then Herman spoke in a tone so cold, so chilling, a shiver racked her body. “You lied to me.”
His accusation brought her head up. His mouth twisted into an ugly mockery of a smile, as if she were the most heinous criminal.
“You lied and you used me.”
Her death was set; no reason to prevaricate further. “Yes, I lied.” Guilt stabbed a bayonet into her chest. “I’m very sorry for that and for abusing the safety of your patronage at the hospital.”
“Is it true, what they told me? You hid British soldiers and helped them escape?”
“Helped them escape possible confinement, torture and death, yes.”
“I thought you treated everyone equally? No favouritism.”
“In this place, bandages alone could not save British lives.”
“How many?”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. Answering couldn’t make things worse. They were going to shoot her regardless, and she owed him—of anyone—the entire truth. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” His eyebrows went up. “Guess.”
“Perhaps...two hundred.”
Both Herman and the German officer swore.
“I truly hope you get what you deserve.” Herman dropped his arms, gave her one last glare and strode from the room.
“Take her back to her room,” her questioner ordered the guard.
When she didn’t rise fast enough, the man put a hand under her arm and pulled her up. She stumbled out of the room and down the hall in a daze.