Saints and Sinners

by Karen V. Wasylowski

  “Not long, Inappropriate. I’ve been watching you work. Do you never rest?”

  “No. I don’t seem to need very much.” She put a hand to his forehead, relieved it was finally cool. “Your fever has left. How are your injuries? Do your legs and arms feel painful?”

  “Check for yourself.”

  “Don’t be sassy.”

  “All right, fair enough. Truthfully, everything hurts like the devil.”

  “See, was that so difficult? I’ll give you a bit of laudanum after you eat.”

  “No. No more laudanum. Makes my mind muddled, and I’m muddled enough, thank you. Besides, it’s considered unmanly for a fellow to surrender to pain. We smile through our tears, grit our teeth.”

  “Pity men don’t give birth then. Raise your head a bit and I can adjust your pillow.”

  Mark laughed outright, warmth in his eyes. She was breathtaking up close, and she smelled wonderfully – of soap and freshly washed hair and even the starch in her crisp uniform was pleasant. She was everything he thought perfect in a woman, witty, smart, compassionate; and, with a face and figure of a goddess. “Where have you been all my life?”

  “Covered that in Chapter One, remember? The majority of my life was spent in India and the Crimea. We still are undecided about yourself, however. Look at the time. Let me run into the kitchen quickly, more than likely cook is firing up the ovens for breakfast. You must be at least a little hungry by now.”

  “Extremely – but, first finish what you’re doing. It’s restful to watch you.”

  “Tedious more like.”

  “Inny, there isn’t a man breathing who doesn’t enjoy watching a pretty girl walk about.”

  “Inny?”

  “Short for Inappropriate. I think we’ve made great enough strides in our friendship for me to call you Inny.”

  She knew speaking might be tiring for him, but without him near, without the sound of his voice, she would feel desperately alone. Without his presence she would be lost. She hated to think of his leaving. “Thank you, Bob. You’re very sweet, and very kind. Well, now, how about those memories? How are we faring on that front?”

  “Clouds seem to be thinning. In fact, I have had one vivid memory return to me where I am watching my father – I believe it was my father – reading to me from a storybook, and he was wearing a uniform of some sort. Beautiful thing, good deal of gold braid and brass buttons.”

  “Aha, so you’re a soldier’s brat as well, are you?”

  “Perhaps. He looked to be a giant of a man. I remember, too, that first we all gathered around him, then scrambled on top of him… it was great fun…”

  “You said ‘we’. Do you remember anything else?”

  “I did say ‘we’, didn’t I? Well, there was one odd thing, a mirror sitting beside me on the floor and I’m leaning on it, and we’re laughing and talking.”

  “A twin perhaps?”

  “Yes, yes I think you’re right.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Blast. There’s so much just at the surface, waiting to burst open. Why can’t I remember?” He was growing agitated, anxious, so she covered his hand with her own.

  “Perhaps it’s best you relax, allow the memories to come back on their own.”

  “Inny?” He interlaced his fingers with hers.

  “Martha.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Martha. My name is Martha.” She smiled, warmed by the look on his face. His heated gaze seemed to mirror her own feelings at that moment, an affinity for a stranger now dearer to her than anyone else before in her life. “What did you wish to say to me, Bob?”

  “When will I eat?”

  “Ha!” She blurted out, amused by her own folly. Had she thought he was about to profess undying love? Propose? Poor man was merely hungry.

  “Again?” she sighed dramatically. “The fact is our cook has taken a shine to you and is preparing something special for Boxing Day, but that is for later. Here. While I go down to the kitchen you finish this warm, fresh bread. She makes the most wonderful cakes as well. What is it?”

  “Warm bread. I remember someone – my mother I’m sure of it – at the hearth oven, and hot fresh bread. All of us would be standing around her, waiting with jam pots. Poor dear rarely got a loaf to the table before we attacked.”

  “‘Us’ again. It seems you have a large family.”

  At that moment a door to the ward banged open and two men, struggling to bring in a small tree without waking the patients, were shushing each other, crashing about, disturbing tables, catching bottles in mid fall. Apparently, they were still celebrating from the night before.

  “Gentlemen, please be quiet.”

  “Wot’s that? Ah. ‘appy Christmas, Sister,” one whispered very loudly.

  “And a Happy Christmas to you. What have you there, Mr. Banks?”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “What are you hiding behind your back – and very poorly, I might add.”

  “Wot? Oh, this? This ‘ere’s a tree. Found it in street. Thought it’d be a fittin’ tribute to our late prince.”

  The sniffling man beside him blew his nose and nodded. “Lord love ‘im.”

  “Mr. Banks. Aren’t you late for work?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Also, do you expect me to believe you found this tree in the street, with berry garland and candles already tied to the branches?” It was comical to watch the cook’s assistant and his brother look at each other, and then her, as they attempted to think up some logical response. In their current inebriated state, however, all either finally managed was a grin.

  “We thought it be nice to ‘ave a bit of cheer for our bare-arsed, beaten fella there – ‘e’s a celebrity o’sorts, comin’ back from dead an’ all; and, for our sad ‘olidays so to speak.” After wiping his nose with his sleeve Banks held the tree up as if it were a plucked goose ready for the oven. “Point o’fact, we found two o’these beauties layin’ about near unlocked windows. And, no one caught us neither.”

  “You are impossible, Mr. Banks.”

  “That’s what me missus says as well. Can we stash it – I mean, can we put this one up in ‘ere, Sister?”

  She scowled at them for only a moment and then laughed. “I think that would be lovely.”

  Stumbling, tripping, trying but failing to hold back their laughter, the brothers set about propping the badly mangled tree up in the corner of the room. “That’s a beauty, that’s what that is. Wait, nearly forgot. Found this as well, Sister.” The fellow pulled a mass of mistletoe from his pocket. “Thought we’d put some o’these up outside nurses’ rooms, and at other, what you might call, strategic places in ‘ospital. Here ye go.” With a flourishing bow he handed Martha a sprig. “Now ‘ow’s about you give this poor young chap a kiss?”

  “Mr. Banks! You should be beaten with sticks.”

  “Me old lady says that too. Well, best report to the kitchens, Neddy. Sister Clarke, beaten bare-arsed fella, felicitations of the season to ye.” He winked at them both. “Don’t do nuffin I wouldn’t do!” Laughing at the blush spreading up her cheeks Mr. Banks then flung his arm around Neddy and they both stumbled out the door.

  “My goodness,” she muttered to herself, fanning her face with her hands. “Those two are dreadful.”

  “I thought they made great sense.”

  “Yes. Well.” Martha came to her feet immediately. She began to putter about, trying desperately not to look at him, placing her folded towels on a nearby shelf and studying bottles of medicine in a cabinet with great intensity. “My goodness it is nearly five in the morning. I should bring this dish to the kitchen. Cook usually needs all the plates at hand for breakfast.”

  “Come here first, please. I have something I wish to say to you.”

  Martha hesitated before turning. “Yes, all right, I’m here. What was it you wished to tell me?”

  “Could you come a bit closer?”

  She approached slowly, her hands clutched behind her
back.

  “I should like a kiss.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “I know you heard me.”

  “Yes. I mean no. No, no, no. Ridiculous. That’s just not done.” Martha knew she must try and sound more forceful, less breathless, hide the desire that at that very moment was drying her mouth to dust. She certainly should. Yes indeed. That he tempted her at all was merely concern for a very battered, vulnerable man.

  At the very least she should explain how common it was for a patient to form an attachment with their nurse, then clarify the hospital policy forbidding fraternizing with someone to whom she was providing medical assistance.

  She should.

  But, she didn’t.

  She just couldn’t.

  “Lick those pink lips one more time and I’ll go raving mad. You know, it sounds to me as if everyone is sleeping, no one would be the wiser. Come closer, hold that mistletoe aloft, and kiss me. Just this once. It is Christmastime, after all.”

  Even as she came forward, she was shaking her head no, then scowling as she settled slowly on the edge of his bed, fiddling with the mistletoe in her hand. Her mind was a muddle. She had never betrayed her oath before. Never. But, neither had she felt so alone in the world, or so lost – or desired a man as she desired this one. It was a pull of nature that made no sense to her.

  After all, gynecological doctor William Acton's ‘Functions and Disorders of the Reproductive Organs, in Childhood, Youth, Adult Age, and Advanced Life, Considered in the Physiological, Social, and Moral Relations’, stated that the majority of women (happily for them) are not very much troubled by sexual feeling of any kind.

  So, then what in the world is my difficulty? I must be devoid of all morality, completely flawed. A wanton. Why else should I want nothing more than to crawl into bed with Bob Cratchit?

  Whatever would Charles Dickens say?

  She attempted to study him objectively, his bruised face, his swollen lip, his bloodied eye. He was still the handsomest man she’d ever seen. “You are a sight only a mother could love you know.” Nervously she placed the mistletoe beside his head and leaned down to press a chaste kiss on his cheek. At the feel of his skin, however, a charge shot straight through her, tingling her heart, heating her stomach, burning her skin. She found herself staring into those dark blue eyes… then at his lips…

  Lips so close she could feel his warm breath.

  Initially, Mark had resigned himself to that disappointing peck on his cheek; but when he saw her staring at his lips her desire was plain. He cupped the back of her head and pulled her mouth to his. Tender at first, the kiss soon gave way to passion and desire. His tongue swept and suckled hers, their heads angled, the kiss deepened, and Martha was absolutely lost. Her arms enfolded him as kiss gave way to kiss, and then again and again. His hand began to fondle her breasts, kneaded them gently while she moaned… until the clanking of a cart coming down the hall broke the spell. Struggling with her own passions she pushed away from Mark. It was the hardest thing she’d ever done.

  “I believe my fever has returned for good,” he mumbled, his hand reaching for her again.

  “No. I… I must see to the other patients. Breakfast will be here soon, there’s so much to do.”

  “You’ll come back?”

  Martha pretended not to hear. Over the years other patients had formed attachments to her, their joy at being alive after a traumatic illness or accident mistaken for true affection. It rarely lasted and was easily transferred from one nurse to another. She had never remotely returned these feelings before, certainly her heart had never been threatened. This man could be married, could have a family – the very idea made her gasp for breath.

  “Have I offended you with my forwardness? I’ll behave from now on, I swear.”

  “Yes. I am afraid I must insist you do.” Did she even want him to behave? No. Definitely not. And that, in a nutshell, was her problem. She straightened her cap, patted her hair. “Truthfully, though, I blame myself for this, not you; this was terribly unprofessional of me. No, please, allow me to speak. I am very disappointed with myself,” she had to stop for a breath, tears were so close. “I have dedicated my life to the nursing profession, to elevating it to a respectable standard. However, I seem to have no common sense around you.” Another fortifying breath secured her resolve. “If this should ever happen again, I must ask another nurse to take over your care.”

  Mark had felt her passion equal to his but kept that observation to himself. He could see how upset she was, how hurt. She was a soldier’s daughter as he was a soldier’s son. No matter the circumstances, you understood what was deemed right and wrong in a soldier’s house. “No need. I promise to conduct myself as a gentleman. And, one more thing, Sister.”

  She turned around too quickly, felt her knees buckle at the sight of his beautiful smile. “Forgive me for this, but I can’t remember ever knowing such a wonderful Christmas before.”

  “How is our patient this Boxing Day, Martha?” Sister Kelly stood beside her friend, placing a hand on her shoulder.

  “He slept well thanks to a small dose of laudanum I slipped into his tea.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, yes. Why would I not be all right?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. You seem to have grown quite fond him. You were at his side all day yesterday.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, he’s my patient. I know nothing about the man.”

  “Oh. Well. Sorry, Martha. I meant no offense. Um, has he remembered anything?”

  “A little; his memory seems to be coming back slowly. He believes he has a very large family.”

  “What sort of large family? Brothers and sisters? Wives and children?”

  “Neither wife nor child have come to mind yet.”

  “Well, that is surprising,” her friend enthused. “Such a fine-looking man, I was certain some fancy woman would have snatched him up long ago.”

  Martha fought back a rush of jealousy. “Sister Kelly, might I remind you that we do not engage in flights of speculation, or gossip, here.”

  “Ha! That’s news to me.”

  “If I may be allowed to continue, I believe his father was, or is, a soldier, serving at the same time as my father. I shall contact the War Office, inquire if anyone has reported a son missing.”

  “You know you need not go so far out of your way as that, he’ll be gone before you know it. Was Bleedin’ Bridges attending last evening?”

  “Annie!” Martha almost laughed out loud. The woman meant well but she had so much yet to learn regarding hospital politics. “You mustn’t call him that. Yes, he was here; however, he was already late for a gathering and I stalled him to such an extent that he had no time for one of his horrid procedures, saints be praised. Oh, but Annie, he was furious with me.”

  “You are a brave one.”

  “Foolhardy is more accurate. The truth of it is he was livid. I could be dismissed with a bad character and then no other hospital will have me. Hopefully, the yule season will soften his heart – if he has one – and good cheer will keep him occupied long enough for our patient to regain strength.”

  “I think he has his eye on you, and not as a nurse. Martha, you be careful. He’s a dark one.”

  “Annie Kelly, you are being deliberately provocative.” Her friend was beginning to annoy. “The man is beaten, bruised, feeling alone and vulnerable. It must be very frightening to have no memory of your past. He’s merely reaching for someone, seeking kindness...”

  Grinning, Sister Kelly searched Martha’s face with real interest now. “I was speaking of Mr. Bridges.”

  “Oh.” She turned a bright pink. “Of course you were. I see. I can’t think what came over me.”

  “Are you certain about that?”

  “Yes!”

  “All right, all right, don’t get on your high horse again. Well, Martha, forgive me for saying it, but if you don’t wish to frighten this fellow to death when he awakens you’d be
tter get hold of yourself, you look positively hideous. Have you had any sleep at all? Have you eaten at least?”

  “You are sweet to be concerned, if not continuously insulting.” Martha patted the hand resting on her shoulder. “I’ve napped, was able to enjoy a bowl of soup and some boiled chicken last evening with Mr. Cratchit here, took time to wash my face and hands, of course.” She smiled wistfully. “You were right about one thing – I do rather like him. Bob and I spoke often yesterday, and then again last evening. Made the time very enjoyable. I sincerely believe he’s a good man.” She thrilled at the memory of their kiss. “If he continues improving, he should be well enough to leave soon.” It was wrong of her to wish he’d stay, of course – it was the man himself she dreaded leaving, not a patient.

  “I knew I saw a sparkle in your eye.”

  “That is probably spittle. Mr. Hobbs had another coughing fit only moments ago.”

  “Lovely. Why is there a burnt tree in the corner?”

  “A gift from Father Christmas caught fire.”

  “I see. Evidently, he does not approve of charity hospitals. Did he bring the mistletoe as well?”

  Martha nearly leapt from her chair. “What? Why do you ask?”

  “Sister Clarke, the weed is hanging everywhere and there are two very inebriated cooks wearing it in their waistbands.” After a moment of stern silence both women burst into laughter.

  “Well, that’s a lovely sound.”

  “Ah, your Romeo is awake and calling for you.”

  But Martha didn’t hear her friend’s comment. She was already hurrying to his side.

  Chapter 15

  The George Darcy family arrived for Boxing Day late as usual and handed over their coats, hats and boots to Mr. Winters and his son, both greeting them at the door –one seated, one standing. Most of the house’s servants had this day off to spend with family, but not the Winters. The Darcy’s had been their family for as long as memory.

  “A happy Christmas to you, Messrs. Winters.”

  “And to you and yours, Mr. George. Thank you most heartily for the kind gifts from you and Mrs. Kathy.”