The Thorn Healer

by Pepper D. Basham

  She leaned into him, filling his senses with her honeysuckle scent. “I won’t tell Granny you refused her fried chicken. She might never welcome you back to supper again.”

  “Oh, Mause, you do my heart good.”

  She tilted her face up to him. “The feeling is mutual.” She squeezed his fingers. “I was very sorry to hear of your friend Tom.”

  Only a week ago, two days after Tom intervened in the assault of the two soldiers, he’d contracted the flu. August visited him as the poor man writhed with delirium and finally gave way to the suffocating death.

  “When we return to the hospital, I have something for you. I meant to give it to you before I left Hot Springs, but my train loaded before you came. I hope it will comfort you in my absence.”

  They sat talking quietly, occasionally breaking the silence with a word or a kiss. For a late September day, the air blazed thick and warm around him, growing thicker with each minute, stiff in his throat.

  The cool lemonade slid down his throat and he brushed the glass across his forehead to douse some of the unseasonable heat of the day before snatching another kiss from his lovely companion.

  The world and all of its war and sickness fell away, replaced by a taste of Heaven. August burned the memory into his mind. The way Jessica smiled up at him, her face illuminated by love and sunshine. The fragrant scent of honeysuckle on her skin. The taste of her lips. The way the breeze blew strands of her hair toward him, beckoning him to touch.

  They both felt the hallowed moment, the desperate desire to hold the seconds sacred, and Granny Carter’s delicious food remained untouched as the hours slipped by.

  Jess kept her arm through his until they reached the shade of the hospital. Her kisses had warmed him all over, and even his cheeks tingled from her touch. The heat of the sun followed him into the shadowed building, scorching his face. Had it been so long since he’d felt its light he’d become sensitive?

  The world took on a strange, watery hue. He blinked, but his surroundings didn’t clear.

  “August?” Jess’ voice emerged from far away, shrouded in a strange, otherworldly aura.

  Her cool palms cradled his cheeks, her eyes two emerald jewels staring into his. “No, please no. August, you have a fever.”

  The words registered, slow and dense through his head, and the pleading in her voice pushed him to focus.

  “Do not fear, Mause.”

  “August. Fight this, please.” Her palms tightened on his cheeks, her gaze drilling into his to emerge from the growing fog. “Fight this for me.”

  The heaviness in his head swelled into an ache. He dared not close his eyes against it. There was no certainty of opening them again. He fought the drugged pull of his eyelids. “I will find you, Mause. You are my home.”

  “August, please.” Her voice broke. “Fight. Promise me.”

  He found her face among the swirling world of bright lights and distant sounds, and pushed his words up through his fiery throat. “I’ll fight... you rest.”

  ***

  How had Jess ignored the signs? His lack of appetite, his flushed cheeks. The heat of his skin underneath her touch? She knew better, and yet her pleasure at seeing him, touching him, pushed her medical sense to the back of her mind.

  He slumped toward her, into her arms, almost knocking her to the ground. The guard rushed forward to assist.

  “Is he a patient here?”

  “Yes...” She shook her head, uncertain how to answer. “No, he works here. As an assistant. He’s been helping with the second and third floor patients.”

  The guard examined his face. “Mr. Holden?”

  Jess nodded, keeping her hands on his arms as they half dragged, half pulled his body toward the elevator. Another guard came to the rescue, along with a nurse.

  “No visitors beyond this point, miss.”

  Jess pulled her gaze from August’s liquid-blue eyes to the nurse. “I’m a nurse. I can help take care of him.”

  The woman’s expression firmed, sweeping Jess with a look that took in the limp and the full, delicate ensemble she wore to impress her alien.

  Jess stepped forward, watching them half-carry August into the elevator. His gaze met hers before the doors closed, periwinkle and watery. Her stomach lurched into a pincher grip. She turned her full fire on the nurse. “I know you need help here. Medical personnel are needed everywhere right now, and I’m trained to serve in this population.”

  “Military nurses received different training than civilian nurses, miss.”

  Jess pulled to her full height, adding a proper scowl for effect. “I worked a year in a field hospital in France, almost two years in a war hospital in Derbyshire, and several months in a Casualty Clearing Station. I am well aware of the nature of military work.”

  The woman’s dark gaze took on a fiery glint. “But you have not been approved for our hospital. If you’d like to go through the proper paperwork, we will be glad to take your services, but for now...” She gave her another measured look. “You are a visitor and there are no visitors beyond this point.”

  She slammed her palm against the counter. “I can help.”

  The nurse leveled her with a severe expression. “We house not only our good American soldiers, but the enemy aliens. We take that responsibility quite seriously.”

  Jess met her glare for glare. “I respect your professionalism for both our soldiers and guests, I only wish to give one message to Mr. Holden in person. Please.” One glance. One touch. Just enough to check his pulse and listen to his breathing. To imbue her strength to him.

  “The rules are in place and strictly enforced as a protection for everyone involved. I advise you to go through the proper channels to gain entrance to the hospital. Good day.”

  “Miss Ross?” A young nurse called from the elevator, searching the lobby. “Miss Jessica Ross?”

  Jessica spun from her argument. “Yes?”

  The nurse walked forward, her dark hair pinned back beneath her white cap. “Mr. Rein... Holden asked me to give something to you.”

  “How is he?”

  Her gaze faltered. Jessica’s heart plummeted. “He’s entered a speedy delirium, which is not uncommon in many cases of the illness.”

  In many of the worst cases.

  “His last coherent words were to take this box from his room and give it to you.”

  The nurse offered a small hand-crafted wooden box. Intricate carvings of flowers adorned the top, shining with a gloss finish. Jess took the gift, cradling in her hands. “Thank you.”

  “He has been kind in his service to us, and poorly treated my some.” Her golden gaze found Jessica’s. “He’s offered compassion and prayer for many here, Miss Ross. He comforted my fiancé in the throes of his illness, staying by his side when I could not. I attribute his survival to Mr. Holden.” She smiled, soft and gentle. “And he speaks of you.”

  Jessica’s pulse trembled. She clenched the box close. “Does he?”

  “Even now, in his fresh delirium, he calls for you.”

  Jess sucked in a ragged breath. “Take care of him, will you?”

  “I will do my very best to bring him safe to you, if I can. I give you my word.” She turned back to the stairs, but what was Jessica to do?

  I’ll fight. You rest.

  Rest? Her heart squeezed into a panic strong enough to send her body into a seizure. And they denied her access to care for him? She stumbled out of the hospital, blinking through her tears. Oh God, don’t take him. Please, don’t take him.

  “Do you need a car, miss?”

  A gentle voice pulled her attention to the face of a driver, his black suit trimmed to reveal his profession. Jess looked back at the tall white building, frantically sifting through all the arguments, and possible illegal action, she could take to get inside to him.

  Rest. Trust. Find your hope in Me.

  She’d promised Grandfather to return within the day. He needed her. Granny and Amy needed her. Her heart split
in two from the struggle.

  “Miss?”

  There was nothing else she could do for August but pray. Wait... and pray. That was all.

  And that is enough.

  “I must return home.” She blinked the tears away. “Yes, please take me to the train station.”

  ***

  Everyone sat in their seats, as expected. The crowded train car rocked a gentle motion over the mountainous terrain toward home, filled with people from all walks of life, and all wearing the dreaded masks as a reminder of the rampant dread laced through every part of the world. She closed her eyes. She didn’t need the reminder of human frailty. She saw it drain from the face of one of the strongest men she’d ever known.

  The little box lay in her lap, a problem of labyrinth proportions. A part of her longed to spread wide its contents and reveal the beautiful letters she knew it housed, but another part quivered at the notion—almost as if reading through August’s words sealed his fate.

  The murky suspicions of her Appalachian upbringing surfaced from the past with a Dickensian vengeance. Would this simple, beautiful gift from him provide a radiant comfort or the wrath of Pandora’s Box?

  My hope is an anchor. Trust my love for you.

  She released a long, purposeful breath and pushed the lid wide. His handwriting greeted her. The top letter brought the first sting of tears, addressed in an envelope and sealed as if waiting to be mailed. Her fingers threaded through some of the loose sheets, letters ranging back seven months. Long before he ever met her, or knew her.

  Her lips trembled. Something from her letters, something unfathomable to her, opened his heart to love her, choosing her before they’d ever spoken a word. Her? With all of her often thoughtless and fiery reactions? Her obstinate demeanor?

  She wasn’t gentle and kind like her best friend, Ashleigh. Or passionate and charismatic like her sister-in-law, Catherine. Jess held a more dogged, assertive personality. What was there to love in that?

  With a twist of her nail, she slit the seal of August’s most recent letter, cherishing it all the more after leaving him in the claws of influenza.

  He is mine.

  The whisper reverberated through her spirit.

  You are mine.

  She listened.

  I have loved you with an everlasting love.

  A hot tear slid down her cheek, dropping on the paper as she read.

  Mause,

  I have little time to write to you, as my days are filled into the nights with the sick. You understand, I know, but I wish to write more. Please forgive me. If my thoughts could write letters for you, your arms would be filled every day with words from me. I love you, Mause. It seems I’ve always loved you.

  There is a nurse here, Nurse Riley, who has been kind to me. Her fiancé, a soldier wounded and moved to this hospital, recently contracted Influenza. He has been a bad case from the start and I saw in her eyes the same concern I’ve witnessed in yours for me.

  I could not stand by and watch her fret for his well-being without doing all in my power to help. My service comforted little, but I believe God used my prayers to touch her heart in ways my thin words could not. He opened his eyes this morning with clear vision, and smiled to his beloved. Her face, I cannot describe it with any other word but ‘radiant.’ It is how you looked upon me at my sister’s wedding. You in all your beauty and strength, pleased to see me walk toward you.

  Radiant.

  The vision roams my thoughts, consoling the present pain and dispersing the death shadows on every side. You are my beloved and I am overwhelmed with your love.

  As I write these lines, the memory of God’s goodness and your love sustains me through these dark days. He is here, even in this, whispering comfort, bridging the gap from one world to the next, wrapping these fragile souls with hope. His fingerprints cover our suffering. Should you doubt his grip, remember this: He is with you, wherever you are, whether I can be or not.

  My love follows my words and resides in your heart, but He surrounds you, in joy or pain.

  I am called away. Keep these words close to stay the longing, to warm the loneliness, and to remember my love for you.

  Forever your alien,

  August

  She smiled and wiped at the tears on her face. She’d been a skeptical child, scowling at her classmates mooning over Prince Charmings and fairytales, but August’s letters, the very man he was, exposed the truth. Love—true love—existed... and found her.

  Now she understood Catherine’s statement about the right love being worth the risk, because even in this quaking uncertainty, she held the comfort of memory. These letters were a piece of him. As alive to her as his touch, as real as his voice, and a reminiscence this ravaging illness could never steal from her. His love.

  Yes, it was worth the fear scraping at her faith, because no matter what happened, his love would always be with her. She placed her hand over her heart... right here.

  ***

  August opened his eyes to the dim room, his thoughts floating through a slippery sea of consciousness. His chest ached, sore from his battle for the next breath, then the next. Day moved into night without his knowledge. Sometimes, Nurse Riley stood over him, and other times, emptiness and silence greeted him a second before he succumbed back into a world of mindless sleep.

  He snatched at his thoughts and grappled to steady them. The darkened window showed night, but how many nights had passed? How long ago had Jessica been with him? Was it as much a part of his hazy dreams as everything else?

  His young kinsman, Maximillian Fiennes, lay on a bed beside him. The poor man had only started to recover from typhoid when the symptoms of influenza appeared the same morning August collapsed, if he remembered correctly. They’d joined the Vanderland together as inexperienced sailors and runaways, young, vibrant, and longing to begin anew.

  Now, would they also die together?

  Max’s shallow breath rattled through the room like death chains. So many were sick that cots littered the floor with people waiting to occupy the bed of the next man to die. He wasn’t on the third floor, from what he could tell. They’d placed all the men together—soldiers, internees, and staff alike. The dying ones.

  His mind cleared a little, landing on a firm memory—Jessica’s final plea, her last request of him before his mind fogged into influenza.

  Gott, hilf mir kämpfen.

  ***

  God, help me fight.

  August drew in a breath, forcing his lungs to comply. He moaned at the sharp pain from the effort but forced another, then another. The sick suffocation in his lungs loosened slightly. He fought for another breath.

  Something pinched at his toe. He told his foot to shake. It barely moved enough to slip the sheet free. A tag wrapped around his toe. A death tag. A practice all the nurses began last week to speed the process of body identification.

  Max’s rasped breath made a noisy response to the silence and then grew quiet. August waited for another. Nothing. The knowledge, sickening acceptance, hollowed August’s chest. Wet tears coursed from the edges of his eyes.

  May the boy find peace, God. Rest for his restless heart.

  August grieved for the boy. No one from home would mourn Max’s death, but someone should. A life gone too soon. No one from Germany would mourn August’s death, nor care for his future. No, he didn’t belong in that world any longer. His home was Hot Springs and his family waited.

  He closed his eyes. A vision of Jessica’s face strengthened him to pull through another breath, deeper and longer. Her smile tilted, urging him to keep fighting. To come home. The ache curled through him, battling against his will, but he breathed again. His weary soul, his tired heart, desperately wanted to go home.

  Nurse Riley stepped to Max’s side. Her young shoulders sagged and with quiet dignity, she pulled the sheet over the boy’s face. Another bed free. She moved to August, peering close, the white mask in contrast to her dark eyes. With a gentle hand, she lifted his he
ad and placed a glass to his lips. The cool liquid slid down his throat with the taste of bile and blood, but it cloaked the fire and made him more alert.

  He attempted to push words through his raw throat, or even air from his useless lungs, but nothing came.

  “I promised I would repay your kindness, August,” she whispered, her soft palm against his face. “I’ve done all I can.”

  She moved to the end of his bed and shifted the sheet back around his foot, fumbling with the cloth for an instance, taking the pinch from his toe.

  She moved back to Max’s cot and adjusted the sheet around his feet then, after glancing over some of the other beds, she took hold of August’s cot and pushed him into the hallway. The place where the hopeless cases were left to die.

  Could he truly be near the end? Hadn’t she just spoke of chances?

  He sucked in another breath, attempting to work out words from his voice to no avail.

  He fought to move a finger, a hand, something to let her know he was alive and wanted to live. But the actions drained him, the forceful breaths weakened his already fatigued body, and soon, the darkness flooded back through his mind. Fight, August.

  Sleep closed in. Fight.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Grandpa took influenza the day after Jess’ return, a mild case but enough to employ her waking moments with extra work. News headlines were riddled with the thousands of casualties from the epidemic. The larger cities brought the greatest numbers, but only due to their sizes. Percentages hit highs wherever the flu developed. A new name emerged from the throngs. The Blue Death.

  She’d made one call to the hospital the day after her return to Hot Springs, only to have her questions dodged from one person to the next. Finally, after a heated conversation with a nurse, she learned August Holden was still alive but in very poor condition.

  She prayed through her days as she moved among the patients and on her drive from the farm to check on her grandfather. Those moments, those snippets of conversations and meditations, blanketed her spirit with a powerful peace. A new understanding of God’s love for her shone in the smaller reflection of August’s. His letters proved a constant reminder and sweeping portrait of a faithful, relentless love.