by Terri Meeker
She finally found the courage to glance up at him and what she saw made her heart fall. He looked miserable and desperate, straining at his restraints. Eyes shining with an intensity she’d never before seen in him.
“So, you don’t believe me?” he asked at last. “I suppose I expected as much.”
“Sam, please. It’s just…the sensation that you’re traveling outside of your body? These kinds of feelings aren’t uncommon with head injuries.”
“I understand,” Sam said. “And truth is, if it weren’t happening to me, I’d agree with you completely. I’d say that such a thing isn’t logical or reasonable. I’d say that it was a delusion. It’s what I thought at first too and it’s why I didn’t tell you. The thing is, I have proof now, Lily.”
“Proof?”
“Do me a favor,” Sam said. “Before you make up your mind, go and talk to Lieutenant Daly. Colin Daly. Ask him who he saw in the trenches three days past. According to you and everyone else at New Bedlam I was right here, trying to do myself in. So how is it that Daly saw me forty miles away trying to save his corporal?”
“Sam, I fear you’re missing the point.”
He stared at her. “What do you mean?”
“Even if I believed you, even if you had absolute proof, it wouldn’t make any difference.” She finished drying her tears and stood.
“Wouldn’t make any difference?” he repeated, numbly. “It makes all the difference.”
“Regardless of your reasons for causing a seizure, the end result is the same. It is killing you by inches. I can’t bear to watch you kill yourself, Sam. I won’t do it.” She folded up the slightly damp sheet of paper and held it tightly in her hand. “I need to assist Sister Newell now.”
He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again and took a deep breath.
As she walked away, she heard him call out to her. “Daly. With the Irish Fusillers. Just do that much. Please.”
“All right,” Lily replied without turning around.
Chapter Twenty
Sam watched as Gordy hobbled about the ward, stopping by each bedside, like a vicar on his rounds. Earlier that morning, the lieutenant had been fitted with a new, mobile cast. Given wings at last, he was taking full advantage of his new freedom.
Sam tugged against his restraints for the umpteenth time. Even if Gordy had been still stuck in his bed, Sam knew there was little chance the lad would have relieved his boredom. Gordy continued to treat Sam as if he was an original inhabitant of the asylum. The rest of the patients did too. Gossip traveled as fast along the ward as it had in the trenches.
Sam craned his head around again, trying to spot Lily. He hadn’t seen her since yesterday and was anxious to know if she’d spoken to Daly. Confirmation from the Irishman wouldn’t be enough to heal the wounds he’d given her, but would go a long way toward binding them.
Unable to read or even converse, Sam was left with little choice but to daydream. He forced his mind from Lily and instead thought of his other life, before the war. He thought of walking through the green fields or watching Molly as she pushed the sheep through the south meadow. He remembered the grove of elms near the river and the way the leaves would drift down to the water, swirling about the eddies as they were carried away.
Of late, whenever he thought of his farm, he also thought of how much he’d changed since he’d left home. Though it had only been two years, it might as well have been two hundred. When he returned to the farm, he wouldn’t be alone. His wounded mind would carry his guilt, his remembrances of the dead and his memories of Lily.
Oh, how Lily would love the farm. Though he hadn’t seen her outside of the hospital, whenever she talked about her youth in the wilds of British Columbia, a lovely glow emanated from her green eyes. He could see her now, exploring the woods by the riverbank. It wasn’t quite as rugged as the Cascade wilderness, but he imagined she’d feel quite comfortable there.
And hunting an escaped pig wouldn’t hold the excitement of the kind of wildlife she was used to.
He grinned at the thought; his first smile in a long time.
“Captain Dwight, you’re looking pleased with yourself,” Lily said. He’d been too lost in thought to notice her approach. She looked much better than she had in recent days. She settled in beside his bed with a lunch tray in hand.
He swallowed. Hello, darling. I was just imagining you chasing a pig through the woods on my farm. Nothing wrong here. I’m perfectly sane.
“It’s nice to see you, Miss Curtis,” he said, due to the lurking presence of Sister Cudahee on the other side of the aisle. Damn, but he missed calling her Lily.
“The cook outdid herself today. We’ve got roasted chicken, green beans and boiled parsnips.”
“Two out of three isn’t bad.”
“You’re in much better spirits today.” She speared a forkful of chicken and held it to his lips.
Her friendlier demeanor disarmed him, and he answered honestly. “I’m happy to see you.”
She stabbed a forkful of parsnips and waved them beneath his nose. He smiled at her, but didn’t open his mouth. She shook her head.
“Busy morning?” he asked.
“At noon I’m scheduled to do triage for a hospital train, a transfer from a smaller hospital near Tricourt.” Her face took on a serious expression. “Most of the lads are going straight to the hospital ship.”
“The word from the front isn’t any better?”
“The lines haven’t moved significantly.” She shook her head and busied herself cutting some green beans. “In a month’s time, we haven’t gained as much ground as we were supposed to have gotten in the first two hours. You have to wonder why.”
“Why we’re not winning?” he asked.
“Why anyone would think this—” she waved her arm over the ward “—unbelievable loss of life is worth a few gained inches of ground. So many mangled bodies, ruined boys—for what?”
Lily pursed her lips and stabbed a forkful of chicken.
Sam nodded, but with a mouthful of food was unable to continue the conversation. When the only thing left on his plate was parsnips, he spoke up. “Did you talk to Lieutenant Daly?” He’d intended to approach the subject a little more gracefully, but his plate was nearly empty and she’d soon be gone.
“No, I’m afraid not.”
He nodded. He glanced over his shoulder and was relieved that Sister Cudahee had stepped down the aisle and out of hearing range.
“I tried to,” Lily said. “I looked for him as soon as I’d helped settle the lads after the concert. I’m afraid he was shipped out yesterday morning.”
“Damnation.” He looked up at her, startled. “I’m so sorry. Forgive my vulgarity.”
“It’s all right, Sam,” she said. At least he was Sam again.
“But with Daly gone, there’s not a way to prove the truth of what I’ve told you.”
She lifted a cup of water to his lips and he drank.
“You still don’t believe me, do you?” He knew it was too much to ask.
She said nothing for a few moments, then he felt her fingers on the back of his hand, just in the place where the leather ties didn’t cover him. Her touch was warm and so comforting that he felt his breath catch. Then she moved away.
“I want to believe you, if that counts for something. The fact remains, no matter how true your story might be—it’s not compelling enough to risk your life.”
Sam took a deep breath. “Lily, surely as someone who has dedicated herself to saving lives, you can understand…” The sound of rushing footsteps interrupted him. The usually stolid Sister Newell was bustling toward them, shooting a severe glance in Lily’s direction.
“Miss Curtis, you’re needed,” Sister Newell said as she neared the bed.
Lily stood, startled. “Yes?”
“Dr. Raye has requested your presence in number one surgery. He said it was most urgent.” Without waiting for Lily to respond, the nurse fled back down the aisle toward the rear of the room.
“Surgery? He can’t mean me.” Lily took in a deep breath and shot an apologetic glance toward Sam.
“She seemed quite certain,” Sam said. “Go on then. Whatever it is, you’ll do fine, Lily. You know that.”
She stashed his meal tray on the table and scrambled off toward the door.
A bright light spilled from under the door marked Surgery #1. Lily pushed it open.
A pale boy lay unconscious on the blood-soaked table. His right leg had nearly been taken off at the knee. It would clearly need to be amputated. Sister Cudahee stood by the patient’s head, administering anesthesia via a mask while Dr. Raye hunched over the lad’s leg. He cast a quick glance up at Lily.
“Miss Curtis, I need you to do something for me. We’re losing this boy and saline won’t save him. I’m going to attempt a transfusion. What I need from you is to find a volunteer—your way.”
“You want me to type a donor, sir?”
“I do. And as quick as you’re able.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Five minutes,” Dr. Raye said. “No longer.”
Lily didn’t waste precious seconds on a reply. She flew out of the room.
She tore open the door to the ward and rushed to the supply cabinet. She grabbed a small tray then gathered a handful of syringes, some tape and a pen. As an afterthought, she threw a few plaster bandages on top. With her few supplies piled onto the tray, she spun around, only to be blocked by the solid wall of starch and disapproval that was Matron Marshall, arms crossed.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Dr. Raye has asked me to—”
“The doctor is not your direct supervisor. I am. And I’m asking you what you’re doing.”
“I’ll have to tell you later. I don’t have time for you right now.”
“What?” Matron Marshall’s face turned a pinkish shade.
“Later,” Lily shouted.
The matron glared at her.
Lily took two quick steps back, then ran around a cabinet and stepped into the far aisle, circumventing Matron Marshall all together.
The entire ward immediately went silent. All eyes shifted between Lily and the rapidly reddening matron. Dear God, there was no going back now. Her heartbeat thundered up her throat, but Lily ignored it.
At least now she had the men’s attention. With that, hopefully their cooperation would soon follow.
She darted a glance around the room, then saw Gordy, standing in his new cast against the west wall. His arm was raised in dramatic fashion, as though he’d been caught mid-joke and was suspended in time. He stared at Lily.
Lily rushed toward him. She slammed the tray down on the table.
“I need your help,” she said in a loud voice. In the stunned ward, it carried quite effectively. She pulled out one of the syringes and checked to confirm that it had been sterilized. “Rather, a countryman does. He’s been bleeding and needs a transfusion right away.”
“Certainly.” Gordy rolled up his sleeve, needing no further explanation.
Lily slipped the needle into his arm as gently as she was able, then quickly withdrew it.
“Aren’t you going to need a lot more than that?” Gordy asked.
“This is a test to see if you’re compatible.” Lily scribbled Gordy’s name on the tape, tore it with her teeth and stuck it to the syringe.
“Who’s next?” she looked up at the crowd of faces. A wave of relief washed over her when they responded by rolling up their sleeves. “Thank you, darling men.”
Lily poked a needled into an outstretched arm. “You’re Lieutenant Turner, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he responded with a nod. “Can I ask what you’re doing?”
Lily withdrew the needle and began writing his name on the tape. “People have one of four types of blood. If the blood matches, you can save a man’s life. If it doesn’t match, the donated blood could kill him.”
“And how can you tell if it’s the good sort?” Gordy asked.
Lily reached out to stick her needle into another outstretched arm. “Greyson,” the volunteer shouted as Lily plunged the needle in.
“We’re going to inject a small amount of your blood into the arm of the patient. Just a pinprick. If he has an allergic reaction at that spot, we know you’re not a match,” Lily explained. She pulled the needle out and quickly marked the syringe.
Come on, come on. We don’t have much time!
“Three more volunteers? Just to be safe,” Lily said.
She jabbed three more arms and scribbled down names as fast as she could manage. Once she had a total of six, she felt the odds were in her favor.
She cast a quick glance up at the matron, who stood blocking the center aisle, arms folded and wearing a scowl that could curdle milk.
“How about we come with you?” Gordy asked.
“I believe with a half dozen of us, we could form a proper rugby scrum that would get you right past the matron,” Turner said. “And we’d be closer to the operating room for that transfusion.”
“Thanks,” Lily said without a backward glance. “I’ll take you up on that. Let’s go, boys.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Sam tried not to worry about Lily, but it did little good. For the rest of the day, all he managed to do was look for signs of the outcome of her confrontation with the matron. He wasn’t alone. The entire ward joined in speculation, gossiping amongst themselves. When the blood donor, Lieutenant Turner, settled back into his bed shortly after supper, the men gathered around, peppering him with questions. He could only speak of the transfusion procedure. Lily Curtis’s fate remained a mystery.
The next day dawned, and Sam watched the ward aisles, expecting to see her on her usual rounds. Other girls served the meals, however. First breakfast, and then lunch. By the time supper rolled around, speculation on the ward was rampant. Since Rose was the one pushing the meal cart, Gordy was ready for her.
“Is Bluebird all right?” Gordy asked.
Rose cast a guilty look over her shoulder to where the matron stood in her usual spot, by the rear door. “I can’t engage in gossip. You know that, Lieutenant.”
“Gossip is all we lads have been doing since the skirmish between Bluebird and the Warden yesterday and I’ve lost all interest in it. What I’d like is the truth.”
Rose gave Gordy a patient look and handed him a tray, then settled down beside Sam, preparing to feed him his meal.
“Lily’s all right, isn’t she?” Sam persisted. “Please, Rose. Tell me something.”
She lifted a sandwich to Sam’s mouth. He took a bite and gave Rose a patient look of his own.
“Fine,” Rose sighed, her voice a whisper. “She’s well enough. The matron has assigned her to be batwoman for the rest of the staff. She’s on laundry duty for now.”
“Demoted to servant? Bluebird?” Gordy sounded downright murderous.
Rose spun around to hush him. “Be a good lad and don’t cause a scene, will you?” Turning back to feed Sam another bite, she spoke in a tone loud enough for both men to hear. “Dr. Raye doesn’t know. He was off duty today. When he returns, I feel certain she’ll be returned to her regular duties. She’s too valuable to be assigned batwoman for long.”
“I should think so,” Gordy grumbled.
Rose jutted her chin out. “I’ve written a letter to Dr. Raye regarding the issue. All the VADs signed it.”
“Spectacular, Rose,” Sam said. “Couldn’t such a thing get you into a bit of trouble with the matron?”
She smiled shyly. “That’s the good thing about everyone having such lowered expectations of me. She’d never suspect I
’d organize such a thing.”
Sam had to marvel at Rose’s transformation in just his short time at New Bedlam. From delicate flower to this bolder creation who seemed ready to engage the matron in a little hand-to-hand combat.
“If that battle axe punishes Lily for doing the right thing, I just might…” Gordy trailed off.
“You might do what?” Rose asked.
“I might forget I’m a gentleman.”
“I’m disappointed, Lieutenant,” Rose said. “The last thing I’d consider you to be is a gentleman.” She burst out in laughter, leaving Gordy speechless, possibly for the first time in his life.
Sweet, shy Rose teasing Gordy? Perhaps Sam had truly become delusional after all.
The next morning, the ward gave a collective sigh of relief when Lily appeared at Dr. Raye’s side. As Sam had hoped, and a great number of patients had wagered good money on, the doctor had trumped the matron. Though the outcome was pleasant, Sam imagined that Matron Marshall wouldn’t have capitulated without a lengthy skirmish. Poor Dr. Raye, from patching up wounded in one battle to fighting with the matron in another arena.
Over the next hour, the duo worked their way through the ward. The doctor flipped through charts while Lily bustled around with bandages and thermometers.
Sam twisted in the bed. He was anxious for the doctor’s good opinion and knew his latest actions would hardly garner that. Immediately following Sam’s latest seizure, Dr Raye had quizzed him only briefly. Though the doctor hadn’t stated it directly, by his unusually cool demeanor Sam was sure that he shared the staff’s opinion that Sam was suicidal. Dr. Raye had seemed less angry and more disappointed in Sam, as though Sam had let him down on a personal level.
When they approached his bed, Gordy cut them off at the pass.
“It’s about time!” He sounded quite indignant.
“Good morning,” Lily said.
The doctor smiled. “Terribly anxious for an exam, aren’t you, Lieutenant?”