by Terri Meeker
“Things didn’t end so well for any of these couples you’re mentioning,” she said.
“They got all the bad luck.” His voice was low in her ear. “You’re going to have to do better than that, Miss Curtis.”
“And…and…” Her resolve was crumbling like a sand castle surrendering to high tide. “It’s against VAD rules.”
“Which you break daily without compunction,” he said as he kissed her earlobe in a way that made her shiver.
“And there’s your family,” she blurted. “They would think I was taking advantage of an ill man. They would think me crass and opportunistic.”
He pulled away from her and immediately she wished she could take her words back so that he could keep doing such delicious things to her neck. To her relief, he wore a wide grin. “Well, I shall have to stop you right there, Lily, and I won’t need a history lesson for this one. You ‘taking advantage of me’ would be the very last thing they’d think. You’d be terribly disappointed if you knew the truth of their opinion on the matter.”
“Well now you must tell me,” she said.
He shook his head and looked slightly embarrassed. “They’d be little shocked and a lot relieved that the unromantic, clodhopping farmer found someone willing to put up with him.” He looked down at her through his too-long lashes, his expression painfully earnest. “This likely won’t surprise you, given what you’ve just experienced, but before this night I’ve never even tried to kiss a girl.”
His honesty stripped away all her remaining resistance.
“How did I do?” he asked, biting his bottom lip.
“My insides have all turned to jelly and I’m finding it hard to breathe,” Lily confessed. “I think you must have done quite well.”
“Either that or you have the flu.” He grinned and kissed the top of her forehead, his lips lingering. “No fever,” he muttered.
She reached up and ran her fingertips along the back of his neck. When she felt his muscles shiver beneath her touch, a rise of raw, feminine power swelled within her. It was a delightful feeling.
For this one bright moment, the war, the world, fell away. They weren’t a wounded soldier with a dent in his skull, troubled by life-threatening seizures, and a terribly out-of-place VAD who struggled daily with the horrors of triage. They were just a man and a woman. Lily and Sam.
From just beyond the herb garden, a light flickered from the kitchen window. Lily’s already pounding heart rate climbed to a gallop.
Whoever was walking about would likely stay inside, she knew. But should that person step into the back garden or take a long, hard look out the window, they’d discover Lily and Sam—with an empty bottle of wine between them.
She pulled away from him. “I think…that perhaps we should return, Sam.”
His expression turned so crestfallen that she had to rush to explain. “Someone is up and about in there—” she inclined her head toward the kitchen window “—and the consequences should we be caught would be rather dire.”
Sam looked over his shoulder at the shadowed outline of New Bedlam. “By all means.” Before she could stop him, he took the few steps to his wheelchair. Instead of settling back into it, he paused for a moment, then gathered her back into his arms.
“You won’t regret this in the morning, will you, darling?” His lips curved into a smile. “Darling,” he marveled. “I’ve just called you darling.”
“Yes,” she replied.
“Yes, you’ll regret it?” He sounded stunned.
“Yes, you called me darling.” She moved her hand up and brushed a curly lock of hair out of his eyes. “And…no, Sam. I shan’t regret it. I should rather think I will tuck tonight away and dine on it for a long, long while.”
“That’s perfect.” His eyes shone with sincerity. “As shall I.”
Chapter Seventeen
The next morning, Sam woke feeling as though the sun might burst from his chest. He blinked rapidly a few times, staring at the dingy ceiling. Ah, yes. New Bedlam, the Western Front. Strange how the events of last night, the feel of Lily’s warm lips, had seemed to erase all that—transporting him to a place far away from the war and all the misery that came in its wake.
“‘Morning.” Gordy interrupted his thoughts with all the grace of an artillery shell. “Thought you might be sleeping in today.” Gordy sat up in bed, wearing a wide grin.
Sam stretched. “Not for me. Sun’s shining, VADs’ll be bringing breakfast by soon. All is right with the world.”
“So?” Gordy wriggled his eyebrows at Sam suggestively.
“Oh, forgive me, Gordy. Thank you for the bottle of wine. It was very generous of you. I do hope you kept something for yourself.”
“I have a bottle, yes.” Gordy stared at Sam impatiently. “But I wasn’t asking about the plonk, Sam.”
“Oh,” was all Sam said in reply.
Gordy let out an impatient puff of air. “So how did it go last night? With Lily?”
“No way, Lieutenant Robbins. A gentleman would never kiss and tell.”
“But there was kissing!” Gordy rubbed his hands together manically. “Debonair Dwight, after all.”
Sam couldn’t help but laugh. Truth was, he owed Gordy a huge debt. Without Gordy’s machinations, Sam would have never worked up the courage to find Lily alone in a moonlit garden. And without that particular setting, Sam knew he’d likely have not found a way to attempt such intimacies with her, such bold confessions.
The ward’s back door banged open, interrupting his reverie. The VAD brigade marched onto the floor, pushing their meal carts—right on cue. At least they’d spare him Gordy’s endless stream of questions. Well, they’d give him a temporary respite, at any rate.
Unfortunately, Lily was nowhere to be seen amidst the cluster of blue dresses. Rose pushed a cart toward them, busily handing out trays. When she reached Gordy, she gave a small smile. “Good morning, Lieutenant.”
“Miss Lewis.” Gordy nodded politely, leaving off his friendly wave and teasing banter. It was an unbelievably terse greeting, especially for the chatty Canadian.
Rose pushed the cart to the head of Sam’s bed, then handed his tray to him. She leaned down to whisper in Sam’s ear. “Lily has triage at the station all day. She asked me to tell you.” When she stood, she wore a pretty blush and the hint of a smile played about her lips.
“Didn’t you have the night shift, Miss Lewis?” Sam asked, unsure if he was trying to change the subject for Rose or himself. “I’m surprised to see you still at work.”
“I’m just getting off duty now, sir,” she said.
Sam looked over to see Gordy glumly picking through his scrambled eggs.
“Busy night last night then?” Sam asked.
“Yes, in the Enlisted Ward.” She snuck a guilty glance at Gordy and raised her voice a notch. “There was a fellow from Bristol with a septic leg wound. He was in a bad way and I had to tend to him most of the night.”
Gordy lifted a forkful of eggs to his mouth and chewed them indifferently.
“I’d hoped to have more free time, more’s the pity.” She looked directly at Gordy now, but his attentions were focused out the barred window.
Rose sighed. “Well, enjoy your breakfast, gentlemen.” She returned to her cart and moved down to the next aisle.
“Poor thing. Sounds like she was quite busy last night,” Sam said.
Gordy shot him a poisonous glance, then took a bite of toast.
“She seems like a sweet girl,” Sam continued. “Perhaps you should…”
“Perhaps you should mind your own business.” Gordy stabbed at his eggs.
Sam shook his head. “And just yesterday, you were telling me what a fool I was in matters of the heart.”
“Just…not another word,” Gordy grumbled, attacking his breakfast like it owed him money.
Sam sighed. He’d have to work on the lad. After the miracle of last night, he at least owed the fellow that much. He took a sip of tea and turned his thoughts toward more pleasant matters. Toward unbound auburn hair and the scent of licorice.
When Sunday morning dawned, Sam was immediately aware of the significance of the day. It was his one week anniversary of being free from seizures.
In a mere seven days, so much had changed. His headaches banished, his mind now had the luxury to find words. His limbs didn’t shake and he no longer woke up feeling exhausted. One short week and he’d healed more than he’d imagined possible. More importantly, he’d kept his promise to Lily.
He took a deep breath, then exhaled. Lily.
His physical improvement was nothing to the transformation in his relationship with Lily. He’d given up fighting his feelings for her. Hell, he’d even told her that he loved her, and though she hadn’t confessed love in return, she had very strong feelings for him. When he thought of her shy smile, the way she’d sighed as he kissed her in the back garden, something warm and bright sparked in his chest. It reminded him, vaguely, of the healing light he sensed each time he touched a dying soldier at the front.
At that thought, Sam immediately felt terribly guilty. A week free of seizures and his growing intimacy with Lily were his pleasures at a cost. During that time, he’d been unable to travel to the trenches, to heal his wounded comrades. While the Tommies bled out for England, he’d spent his time safe in New Bedlam, wooing Lily. He’d shirked his soldier’s duty under obligation of a promise, that was true, but he felt no less a coward for it.
And now his week was up, and his promise to Lily fulfilled.
Though over the last few days, the steady flow of casualties had dried out to a trickle, Sam’s conscience hadn’t rested. He knew that fewer admittances to New Bedlam had less to do with action at the front and more to do with the hospital being full to bursting.
Gordy’s laughter pulled Sam away from his thoughts. A second lieutenant from Australia had been admitted on the far side of Gordy’s bed and he’d been spending the morning chatting the fellow up. Without Gordy’s constant conversation, it was easy for Sam to become lost in thought. He glanced around the ward and was surprised to see that Lily was making rounds with Dr. Raye. They were already halfway across the ward.
Sam shifted uncomfortably in his bed. He supposed it was too much to hope that Lily had forgotten that his promise had just expired. She wasn’t the sort of woman to let those types of things slip past her attention.
He kept his eye on Lily and the doctor as they wended their way through the ward. He enjoyed watching her work. She busily scribbled down notes, checked temperatures and rebandaged wounds while the doctor spoke with the patients and indulged in a great deal of nodding.
“Good morning, Lieutenant, Captain,” Lily said when she and the doctor finally arrived in their corner of the ward. She caught Sam’s eye and gave him a bright smile which caused a spark inside his chest to buzz in a wonderful way. She lifted Sam’s chart from its hook and handed it to Dr. Raye, who scanned its contents with a practiced eye.
“Good, good.” The doctor cleared his throat. “No seizure activity for a full seven days now, Captain. The Phenobarbital injections seem to be having an effect at last. You’ve been on them for three weeks now and that’s long enough to start making a real difference for you.” He raised his eyes from the chart. “And how are you feeling? Any headaches?”
“Nothing unusual,” Sam replied. “I get the occasional mild one, but nothing like the sort that preceded the seizures.”
“Very good.” Raye nodded, then scribbled a few notes on his chart before handing it back to Lily. “Keep on this way for another week and we can see about a transfer.”
“To where?” Sam asked, his heart plummeting into his stomach.
Dr. Raye laughed and then cleared his throat. “We’ll see about that when the time comes. For now, your number one priority is to keep improving.”
“And in the meantime, Doctor, he’s to maintain limited activity?” Lily asked, leveling a very serious glance in Sam’s direction.
“Oh, by all means,” Dr. Raye said.
Lily placed a firm hand on Sam’s forearm. “So you’re to be on your best patient behavior. Sunlight, reading letters and anything stressful is still completely out of bounds.”
“What about moonlight walks in the garden?” Gordy asked just behind her shoulder.
Dr. Raye’s brows furrowed and he turned to face Gordy with a puzzled expression. “Good morning, Lieutenant Robbins.”
Before Lily moved to join him, she leaned down to whisper warmly in Sam’s ear. “I mean it, Sam.”
He nodded. “I understand, Lily.” But he didn’t promise—not a thing.
“And look at you, Lieutenant,” Dr. Raye said as Lily moved to retrieve Gordy’s chart. “I don’t believe your head has even the slightest trace of a wobble now. A good rest and you’re right as rain. How’s that leg feeling?”
“Couldn’t be better, sir,” Gordy replied. “Apart from being wrapped in plaster.”
“Miss Curtis, when is his cast scheduled to be removed?”
Lily glanced down at Gordy’s chart. “September seventh, sir.”
“So do you think you can manage another three weeks with us?”
“Yes, sir,” Gordy said. “Ready to return to duty before that, if you want to know.”
Dr. Raye thinned his lips as he looked down at Gordy. His eyes narrowed a bit, as though he was considering a particularly puzzling wound. “As I remember, Lieutenant, you speak German, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“I may have just the ticket for you. It’s not a guarantee, you understand, but I’ve got a college chum stationed at Haig’s office who might be able to find a suitable position for you. I think you’d do splendidly at HQ. They’re always looking for translators. Would that suit you?”
Gordy said nothing for a few moments. Since it was so utterly unlike the lad to be at loss for words, his silence was unsettling. When he spoke, his tone was serious. “I shouldn’t like to shirk my duty at the front, sir. But I thank you just the same.”
Dr. Raye reached down to pat Gordy’s shoulder. It was a surprisingly tender gesture for the usually professional doctor. “You’d still be in France, son. And I believe you’ve already done your duty and then some. All the lads from your unit did. What the Newfoundland Regiment sacrificed in this war will never be forgotten. But I think that they, and you, have given quite enough for now. And you might be of greater service where your language skills can be better put to use.”
When Gordy didn’t respond, the doctor gave him another pat. “I’ll let you know what I can manage, in the meantime, do give it serious consideration, won’t you?”
Before Gordy could respond, Lily stepped forward, leveling a severe look in his direction. “Oh, he’ll think about it. The good Lieutenant owes me a favor, actually, and I feel quite of a mind to call it in.”
Dr. Raye cleared his throat. “Oh dear, Lieutenant. When it comes to Miss Curtis, I’m afraid you’re on your own.” He grinned and stepped across the aisle to continue rounds.
Lily joined him, but not before raising a brow in Gordy’s direction. “I’ll be by to talk about this later,” she said.
As soon as she was out of earshot, Gordy looked at Sam with wide eyes. “Bluebird can be downright terrifying.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Sam laughed in response.
The topic of the fearsome Miss Curtis soon gave way to Gordy’s second favorite subject, just behind tall tales of the Canadian wilderness: ward gossip. Sam’s mind was on Lily, however, and he paid little mind to what Gordy was actually saying until a phrase caught him off guard.
“…called him ‘The Angel of the Somme.’ Says he’s not
the only fellow who’s seen him too.”
Sam caught his breath. “What was that again, Gordy? What’s this about an angel?”
“A fellow I was talking to earlier today. He was talking about this ghostly fellow they’ve seen wandering around in the trenches just after a big to-do.”
Sam’s heart thundered in his ears. “Can you point him out to me?”
“The ‘Angel of the Somme’ fella? He’s been seen at the trenches, not around here.”
“Not him!” Sam was surprised by the sharpness of his voice. “The fellow who told you about him. Where is he?”
Gordy looked a bit shaken at Sam’s tone. He inclined his head toward the front of the ward. “He was in with that lot. Don’t see him now. He’s an amputee, though and they ship those lads to Blighty as soon as they’re able.”
Sam struggled to keep his voice calm, trying to sound conversational. “What else can you tell me about what he said?”
Gordy shrugged and eyed Sam carefully. “Not much. I reckon it’s a lot of bollox. What kind of heavenly creature would fancy hanging around the Western Front? Besides, the way this fellow told it, his angel was dressed in hospital blues. Everybody knows a proper angel wears bed sheets and a halo.”
Sam closed his eyes, trying to compose himself.
Angel of the Somme. A man dressed in hospital blues.
They had to be speaking about him. There could be no reasonable doubt about it now.
Finally, he had some sort of proof that whatever he’d been doing hadn’t been a delusion. Surely the fact that someone had seen him meant that his trips to the trenches were—might be—quite real. Stories of a ghostly angel wouldn’t be enough proof to take to anyone, not even Lily. But it was enough for Sam, at least for now.
The confirmation of the reality of his trench visits, even if it was by way of ward gossip, only fueled the niggling of guilt Sam had been fighting down, however.
He was caught, as thoroughly as if he were hanging on the wire in No Man’s Land. If he triggered a seizure, he would wound Lily terribly and risk death. If he did nothing, his comrades died.