“I don’t know.” I look at the ground. Stare at my feet. “I’m bleeding,” I say dumbly.
He looks down to see little rivers of blood slide across the tops of my feet.
“You need a doctor. I’m taking you to the field hospital.”
“No.” I gaze into the woods and wonder if Wes is out there searching for me. He knew that I had gone back in time. He must have followed me here. Why?
Why didn’t he tell me the truth?
What am I supposed to do now?
“Yes. You’re bleeding.” I look up at Lucas, startled out of my thoughts. “And you’re disoriented. Let me take you to the hospital.”
“No. I’m … I shouldn’t be here.” I try to step backward but I stagger and start to fall. Lucas grabs my arms, catching me.
“Come on.” He pulls me against his side. “It’s not far.”
I make one more effort to pull away, one more effort to stand on my own, but the adrenaline has worn off and I barely have the strength to keep my eyes open. Lucas guides me forward and I move with him, the warmth of his body seeping into my own. As we slowly walk toward the white buildings, one thought runs over and over through my head, a song I can’t turn off.
I’ve gone back in time.
I’ve gone back in time.
I’ve gone back in time.
CHAPTER 6
“Miss?”
I shift my body. My feet sting, and I rub them together under the blanket.
“Lydia?”
I open my eyes slowly. There’s a man leaning over me, his green eyes inches from mine.
“Oh good, you’re awake.” He stands up and consults a chart in his hands. I sit up carefully and glance around the room. There are six other cots lined against the walls, though all of them are bare, with folded white sheets resting on top. The room has pale peach-colored walls and two windows that look out onto the forest. One of the windows is open, and a strong breeze tugs at the yellow curtains.
“Hello.” My voice is rough with sleep. I’m wearing a white cotton nightgown two sizes too big, and it billows around me like a sail in the wind. “Who are you?”
“I’m your doctor.”
My doctor has a short beard and dark hair sprinkled with gray. I notice his white coat is open, and I can see suspenders and blue shirt sleeves rolled up. “How are you feeling this morning?”
I stretch. My muscles ache, but otherwise I’m not in any pain. “Good. I feel good.”
I hear voices outside. We must be near the mess hall, or the barracks. Bits of conversation and the acrid scent of cigarette smoke float in through the window.
“Do you know where you are?” The doctor looks down at me over his square, wire glasses. There’s something familiar about his eyes and the full shape of his mouth. I nod. “The field hospital.”
The doctor smiles, and I wonder if I just passed some sort of test.
Sunlight streams through the open window. “What time is it?” I ask. I’ve been here since last night, when Lucas handed me over to the Red Cross nurse on duty. She cleaned the cuts on my feet and helped me into bed, even though it was only early evening. Despite the sick feeling I couldn’t shake, I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
“A little after ten.” The doctor sits down on a chair next to the bed. A heavy stethoscope swings against his chest. “Do you mind if I look at your feet?”
I shake my head and he peels back the edge of my blanket. I have a small scrape on my right heel and tiny puncture marks scattered on both soles.
The doctor picks up a cloth and wets it with alcohol. I stay still as he cleans the cuts. He picks up one foot, then the other, prodding each scrape with his finger. Finally he straightens, pulling the blanket back over me. “These will heal in a few days.”
“Thanks, Doctor … I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t.” He stands and places the used cloth onto a tray. “It’s Dr. Bentley.”
Oh my god.
“Did you say Bentley?” My voice sounds unnaturally high and piercing.
He tilts his head and looks at me oddly. “Yes. Are you all right?”
“I’m … I thought you said something else.” I stare at him. We have the same green eyes, and the way he stands so straight and tall reminds me of my grandfather. We have to be related somehow.
I’m pretty sure my grandfather told me that his grandfather had been a doctor, and that he was still working during World War II. Could Dr. Bentley be Dean Bentley’s father?
I try to sound casual when I ask, “Do you have any children?”
“I have a daughter and a son.” He sits back down next to the bed and studies my face. I squirm under his strong gaze. “But I’d like to talk about your family, Lydia, and how you got into Camp Hero. Can you give me your full name for our records?”
“I—” My mind races. I didn’t think that I’d have to come up with some kind of cover story. “You said you have a daughter. What’s her name?”
He leans forward with his elbows on his knees and watches me. Finally he says, “Her name is Mary. She’s about your age.”
“Mary?” I whisper. Without thinking, I ask, “Is your son Dean?”
“Yes.” He raises an eyebrow. “How did you know that?”
I stare at him, my mouth half open. It takes a minute for me to realize that Dr. Bentley just asked me a question. Think, Lydia. “I thought I heard one of the soldiers mention a Dean Bentley last night. I took a guess.”
Dr. Bentley smiles and looks a little less curious. “Yes, Dean is an officer stationed here at Camp Hero. He’s part of the reason I volunteer when they need a doctor. Mary’s also here today. She’s downstairs right now nursing a soldier who was knocked out during training.”
Dean. Mary. I fall back against the pillows, staring at the tall, dark-haired man in front of me. Dr. Bentley is my great-great-grandfather.
I close my eyes. Meeting my ancestor has shifted something inside me. I’m no longer disoriented, no longer in shock. I can’t pretend that yesterday was a dream or a nightmare or anything but the truth.
I traveled in time. It’s 1944.
I feel the bed move and I open my eyes to see Dr. Bentley leaning over me. “You look pale,” he says, placing one hand on my forehead, the other against my wrist. “Are you sure—” He’s interrupted by the door opening.
“Hiya, Dad!” A girl with curly, dark red hair bounces into the room. “Nurse Linny says she needs your help.... Is this the girl everyone’s been talking about?”
“Mary, this is Lydia.” Dr. Bentley straightens.
“Lydia!” Mary smiles at me widely. Her teeth are startlingly white against bright red lipstick.
Dr. Bentley looks from me to Mary. “I need to go downstairs to see to a patient. Will you stay with Lydia until I come back?”
Mary skirts her father, skips over to me, and plops down on the bed. I lean back, pulling my nightgown quickly out of the way. “Don’t worry, Daddy. We have so much to talk about.”
Dr. Bentley smiles at her and turns to me. His eyes narrow slightly. “When I get back I’d like to hear that story of yours, Lydia.”
I nod and bite my lower lip.
Dr. Bentley shuts the door behind him as he goes.
Before I have time to start inventing a story, Mary leans in close. She has deep Bentley-green eyes and full, arched eyebrows. Her face is heart-shaped, with high cheekbones and full lips. I stare at her for a minute, startled. She and I have the same hair color, the same high cheekbones. We could be sisters.
“So.” She pats my hand. “Tell me everything. We’re all so curious.”
I start with the truth. “My name’s Lydia …”
“Well, I know that. They’ve been talking about you all morning. Lucas had to tell the story a hundred times—finding the poor, lost-looking girl wandering around Camp Hero in factory clothes and no shoes.”
“Factory clothes?”
“The dungarees, silly.
So are you a factory girl?”
“I don’t—”
“Are you some kind of spy? That’s what my brother, Dean, thinks. He says we should interrogate you! That you might be working for the Germans or something. Isn’t that crazy? He’s flipped his wig. You’re only a girl!”
“I’m not a spy,” I gasp, though I guess I shouldn’t be so shocked. In school we read about the four Nazi spies who landed on the beach in Amagansett in 1942. They were carrying explosives and American money and caught the train to New York City before they could be apprehended. Thankfully one of them confessed before they carried out their mission—to destroy key military factories on the East Coast. The remaining spies were executed.
Remembering the real spies sends a cold shiver down my spine. I can’t forget that this is wartime. People are afraid, spies could be anywhere, and I’m a stranger with no proof of my identity who just popped up on a military base wearing bizarre clothes and missing my shoes. I should be grateful they didn’t shoot me on sight.
“Of course Lucas told Dean that’s a crazy theory. He said you were really upset when he found you, and does that sound like how a spy would act? And Dean said ‘Maybe that’s her cover,’ and then Lucas got mad and stormed out.”
I smile, surprised but grateful that Lucas defended me.
“Which is odd, because they never fight. They’ve always been great friends, even though Dean outranks Lucas. He’s a first lieutenant, you know, and Lucas is a sergeant. They met at the base and now Lucas is always around Dean’s house and our house, too. He comes over for dinner at least once a week.” She leans forward again. “So why were you out there all alone in the woods?”
I try to process everything she’s just said. It’s 1944, World War II is happening right now, and I’m talking to my seventeen-year-old great-great-aunt. Somewhere out there, my great-grandfather, Dean, is still alive, and my grandfather is only a little boy.
I press my hand to my forehead.
First I need to come up with a story.
As if on cue, the door opens again to Dr. Bentley.
“I was just finding out all about Lydia, Daddy!” Mary jumps up from the bed. For the first time I notice that she’s wearing a nurse’s uniform: a gray, button-down shirtwaist dress with a red cross stitched on the sleeve.
“No doubt she found out more about you, my dear. Our Mary could talk an ear off a chicken.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.” Mary flips her hair to the side and it floats around her shoulders. It looks soft and romantic, even with her short and tightly curled bangs.
Dr. Bentley chuckles under his breath before sitting in the chair near the bed. “How are you feeling, Lydia?”
“Better.”
“Are you ready to talk now?”
A vague story starts to form in my mind. I press my hands together on top of the blanket as I frantically think of the details.
“Yes, I think so.”
“What’s your full name?” Dr. Bentley pulls a fountain pen from his pocket and picks my chart up from a small table near the bed.
“It’s Lydia Ben—net. Lydia Bennet.”
Mary squeals. “Like in Pride & Prejudice! That’s my favorite book.”
Why didn’t I put that together first?
“Yes, my parents loved Pride & Prejudice.” I shift from side to side, already uncomfortable with the conversation.
“How did you end up in Camp Hero?” Dr. Bentley’s voice is kind, but I know I need to have a good answer before they all start to think I’m a spy.
I stare down at my hands. I really don’t like to lie. As a journalist, it’s my job to report the truth. I guess it’s time to put aside those convictions.
I get a sudden flash of Wes in the woods, saying there were things he couldn’t tell me. Maybe I’m starting to realize what he meant.
“My mom died,” I hear myself say. “My dad was killed last year fighting in the Pacific and it was just the two of us.”
Mary makes a small squeaking noise, and she grabs my hand, squeezing it tight.
“We were living in New York City … but she caught a fever and died.” The lies tumble out of me. “I couldn’t pay the bills and I was evicted from our apartment. I had nowhere to go, but then I found the name of a distant relative in my mom’s things. A great-aunt. Her name is …” My mind goes blank. A random name pops into my head and I grasp at it. “Julia Roberts.” I wince, but they’re both unfazed, waiting for me to continue. “Julia Roberts is my great-aunt.”
I have an out-of-body feeling, and it’s as if I’m floating on the ceiling, no longer connected to the words that are coming out of my mouth. “I found an address for her in Montauk. When I got off the train, I asked someone where it was and they said it didn’t exist.”
“What was the address?” Dr. Bentley asks.
“Oh, um, behind the Deep Hollow Ranch?” I give them the vague location, knowing that it’s not too far from Camp Hero.
“But there are no other houses over there!” Mary exclaims.
“That was the only address I had, so when I realized there was nothing there, I just started walking. It must have been the … grief that led me out here. It hit me all at once … that my mom is gone. I don’t remember much after that. Then I had no shoes, and … Lucas was there.”
Dr. Bentley’s face is soft and sympathetic. If I ever make it out of here I am definitely joining the drama club.
“But why were you in those clothes?” Mary wrinkles her nose at the thought of wearing jeans.
Good question. I get a sudden flash of the Rosie the Riveter poster, with her fist curled up and her bandanna pulled tight.
“I was a factory worker. In the city. For the war effort. I was a riveter.” Not that I have any idea what a riveter does, but luckily they don’t push it. “I quit to come here.”
“Don’t you go to school?” Dr. Bentley asks.
Should I tell him I’m about to be a senior? Or will that just complicate things? “Not anymore. I’m seventeen, but I graduated early so I could work in the factory.”
“What are your plans for when you leave here?”
“I … honestly don’t know.” They feel like the only true words I’ve said all day.
Mary clasps her hands together, her eyes shining. “You’re like a character out of a novel!”
“Mary, hush.” Dr. Bentley stands up. “It sounds like this has been a very trying time for you. Is there anything else you need right now, Lydia?”
Access to a time machine?
“No thank you, you’ve been so kind already.”
He smiles. “We’ll leave you to rest then.”
“But—” Mary starts.
“We both have patients. Rest now, Lydia.” He gently takes Mary’s arm and pulls her out of the room.
As soon as they leave, I flop back onto the bed and stare up at the ceiling. It’s made of interlocking wooden beams. A spiderweb covers one corner, the silver strands glistening in the sunlight. Was it just yesterday I was looking up at the ceiling of my own bedroom? It feels like a lifetime ago.
I think about Mary’s question—What are your plans for when you leave here?
I wish I had a good answer.
The only way to get home is to find the time machine. But the idea of going back into the underground labs fills me with dread. Am I ready to face those white corridors, those pounding footsteps again? Guards who would kill me if I was found?
And what about Wes? Who is he? He moved so quickly and so deliberately, like a soldier. Normal people don’t move like that. He had training. And he also had a key to the concrete door.
So why did he help me? And where is he now?
My mind stops on another missing person: my grandfather’s father, Dean Bentley. Only he’s not missing in this time. He’s somewhere in Montauk right now, alive and well. He might even be at Camp Hero. I might meet him. The realization is startling. What will he be like?
A knock at the door interrupts my t
houghts. “Come in!” I call out.
It’s Lucas. His eyes are soft and concerned, and he holds his cap in his hands.
I sit up and pull the blankets closer around my body, painfully aware that I’m only in a thin nightgown.
“I just saw Mary.” He fidgets with the brim of the cap. “She told me what happened.” He comes closer to the bed but stops a few feet away. “Why didn’t you tell me when I found you?”
I fold my arms over my chest, tucking the blanket against my side. “I was disoriented, like you said. I just lost my mother. I was confused and sad.”
“I know. I understand.” He looks down, but not before I see his jaw tighten. “I lost my father in the Pacific.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry.”
I’m a terrible person.
“Where was your father stationed?” Lucas asks softly.
There’s only one attack in the Pacific I can remember from American History. “Pearl Harbor. It was a while ago.”
“My pa died in the Battle of Midway. Japanese fleet got him. Actually, it was Pearl Harbor that made him enlist in the first place.”
“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “He must have been really brave.”
“He was. He used to run the farm where I grew up. I joined up right after he died, as soon as I turned eighteen.”
“How old are you now?” I study Lucas in the sunlight. His skin is lightly tanned and freckles dot the bridge of his nose. He has the kind of complexion that makes his cheeks look rosy all the time.
“Twenty years old, miss.”
“You don’t have to call me ‘miss.’”
“Well, what should I call you?”
There’s something about the way he looks up at me through his eyelashes that makes me think of Wes. I don’t know why. Wes’s gaze was so different—more intense and probing, as though he was trying to read my thoughts. Lucas is lighter, easier, and being around him feels comfortable.
“Lydia. Call me Lydia.”
“Then you can call me Lucas.” He smiles. His teeth are slightly crooked on the bottom.
So Close to You (So Close to You - Trilogy) Page 6