Angel of the Somme: The Great War, Book 1 (9 page)

Chapter Twelve

When Sam woke, his headache had faded to a dull throb. He opened his eyes cautiously to find it was early evening. The lamps flickered across the yellowed walls and he heard the squeak of the meal cart as a VAD wheeled it amongst the rows.

“Had another one of your spells.” Gordy looked over at him, a rare serious expression on his face.

Not knowing quite what to say, Sam gave no reply at all.

Gordy turned and shouted across the ward. “Oi, miss? Can you send for Miss Curtis? She asked to be told when the captain woke up.” There was a pause and then, “Thank you.”

For the first time since he’d arrived at New Bedlam, Gordy didn’t attempt to engage him in conversation. He didn’t ogle the VADs or tell stories about fictional Canadian wildlife. He simply watched Sam with a disconcertingly somber expression.

When Sam heard the familiar
click click
of Lily’s footstep, he felt a blanket of dread settle over him. He’d only ever looked forward to seeing her before and didn’t know quite what to do with this new, unfamiliar feeling. When he heard the rustle of approaching skirts, he forced himself to look up.

Lily gazed down at him with raised eyebrows. Her arms were crossed over her chest. For such a beautiful creature, it was startling how intimidating she looked.

“How are you feeling, Captain?” Her voice was clipped.

“Headache.” He knew exactly why she was angry at him, but hadn’t the ability nor the energy to say much of anything at the moment.

“You’re aware that you had another seizure?”

“I am.”

She pulled the chair up beside the bed and settled into it, moving closer until her face was mere inches away and they could talk quietly. Her scent—of soap and lavender—filled his senses, made it difficult to concentrate. As if the headache weren’t enough.

Sam knew it was best just to cut to it. “Are you angry with me?”

“I am. Very.” Her eyes flashed, her expression fierce.

He longed to drop his gaze, but that would have been the coward’s way out. “The seizure—it wasn’t…” he began. It was foolish, but he had to try.

“You triggered that seizure. Do you deny it? You were told not to read and you went against orders.” Her anger was beginning to ebb and just beneath he saw the glimpse of another emotion. Pain. Oh, not that. He could withstand her anger, but knowing he’d wounded her was just too cruel.

“Can you meet my eyes and tell me that it was an accident, Captain?”

He could not, damn him. He could only look at her like a beached fish.

“What’s worse is I think I know why you did it.”

She couldn’t know about his trips to the trenches, about how he’d been able to heal men. She had no way of knowing this. It was impossible.

She twisted her hands together on her lap, staring down at them as if searching for the right words. “You feel hopeless,” she said at last. “I’m trying to understand. So many of the lads feel the same way. But you’ve got to hang on. Though it might seem like taking your life is the only way out, once you get back to England, you’ll find that—”

“No,” he interrupted. He held up his hand, but it shook in a way that reminded him too much of Gordy’s head wobble and he let it fall to the covers. “It’s not what you think. The very last thing I am is suicidal.”

She frowned at him. A little crease formed between her brows. He had a strong urge to soothe the line away with his thumb. He was only grateful he hadn’t been given morphine and wouldn’t horrify himself by stating that out loud. Or worse, indulging the impulse.

“Lily, I give you my word of honor that I am not trying to do myself in.”

“I don’t understand.” She shook her head. Now that her anger had boiled away all that remained was her pain and her concern for him. Her small fingers touched the back of his hand. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Sam? Do you deny that you tried to cause the seizure?”

“No, I would not lie to you.” He paused, gathering the correct words. “And yes, I meant to cause the seizure.” He owed her his honesty, or as much of it as he could afford to spend.

“Why?” Her voice cracked and the wire around his heart sliced inwards.

“It’s impossible to explain,” he said.

“Impossible?”

When he nodded, his headache tore at his mind with savage claws.

She stared down at where her hand lay on top of his. Devil take him for causing so much distress to someone who’d only tried to help. Yet he could never begin to explain why he’d been compelled to cause the seizure. Better to have her think him suicidal than completely mad.

He forced his gaze up to her face. Tears swam in her green eyes and she looked terribly lost. “Well, if you can’t explain why, perhaps you could promise not to do it again? I’d settle for your word, if that’s all you’re willing to give.”

He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. He’d been pudding-headed enough to bring up his foolish honor in the first place. He was damned if he told her the truth and damned if he didn’t.

She leaned in farther, her crisp, blue sleeve brushing against his forearm. “You can’t even do that? You can’t promise to stop doing this to yourself?”

“I…” He couldn’t finish. What could he say?
I promise to lie in my bed and do nothing while I could be saving my comrades on the field? I promise to be a selfish bastard and let others die for England?

And, he had to admit, there was the possibility that he was simply going mad.

“Do you understand what happens to you during a seizure?” Lily gripped his hand tightly. “You thrash about, risking injury every single time. You deprive your body, your brain, of oxygen. You risk contracting meningitis. Your heart could stop. People die when seizing. I’ve seen it.” She ducked her head down quickly, but not before he could see an errant tear streak down her cheek. She released his hand and brushed her tear away with the back of her hand. “You could die, Sam.”

Which poison should he take? Hurt Lily or to allow his comrades to fall?

“A week then,” she said. “Can you promise not to trigger any seizures for a week?”

She looked at him, her large green eyes pleading like words never could. To her mind, it was such a small request and for his own good after all.

He was helpless to deny her.

“A week,” he capitulated.

She sighed. “And after a week, we’ll talk about it again. Perhaps by then, you’ll be able to explain yourself.”

“Fine.”

She raised her brows and gave him an expectant look. “Your word of honor?”

Sam felt miserable, a coward of a soldier, a failure of a man. He had no choice. “As an officer and a gentleman, you have my word.”

Chapter Thirteen

Lily slept as though she’d been dosed with morphine, solid and dreamless. When Rose shook her awake for morning rounds, it took a few moments before she could lift her heavy eyelids. After grabbing some toast in the kitchen, she slipped into the morning meeting, a little late.

Matron Marshall was in the midst of issuing marching orders for the day and for once, her all-seeing eye didn’t spot Lily’s tardy arrival. There’d been fresh fighting outside the village of Albert, a particularly nasty encounter with a lot of hand-to-hand combat.

Sister Cudahee would be running a quick class on wound irrigation therapies for the new VADs while Lily and the more seasoned women completed breakfast rounds.

The cook had prepared waffles and ham, and the men were full of compliments at the extra effort. Once Lily had finished delivering the rest of her meals, she headed toward her captain. Though she’d checked in on him several times since confronting him, she’d been unable to talk to him. She was eager to dispel the awkwardness that now lay between them.

Lily pulled a chair next to his bed and gave him a smile. He looked up and returned her smile with one of his own, though it was very weak and didn’t bring out the dimples in his cheeks.

“Sleep well?” she asked.

“The sleep of the drugged,” he said. The dark circles beneath his eyes told her that it hadn’t been a restful slumber.

“Breakfast is a corker, Bluebird.” Gordy’s voice sounded full of energy. She couldn’t help but smile at his boundless enthusiasm.

“I’m pleased to hear that,” Lily said as she turned to check on him.

Gordy was feeding himself with no mishaps at all. His head wobble had improved to the point where it only appeared when he was very tired. It felt wonderful to see these small successes, especially in light of Sam’s disturbing behavior.

She perched Sam’s tray on her lap and cut a forkful of waffle, no doubt cold by now. Sam opened his mouth and accepted her offering without complaint.

Apart from a few murmured “May I have a drink?” types of requests, he ate his breakfast in relative silence. Though his body was in the bed beside her, his mind was in another place entirely.

After she placed the last bit of waffle into his mouth, she paused. A smudge of jam clung to his bottom lip. She reached up to dab it away with the napkin, making sure to compose her face to an efficient and nurselike expression. His skin was warm, and the stubble on his chin prickled against her fingertips.

This strange new formality hung between them in a thick cloud. She sighed heavily, then placed his tray on the bed side table and reached for his mail.

“There’s a letter here that needs reading, as I remember. That is, unless you don’t feel up to it.”

“Yes.”

She tilted her head toward him.

“I mean no. I feel quite up to hearing my mail.” An awkward pause, then, “Thank you.”

She reached into the basket for the unopened letter on top, ignoring the badly crumpled letter from Bad which had brought on the yesterday’s seizure.

“Shall we start with the one from your sister?”

He smiled weakly and the corners of his eyes crinkled in a way that made her heart give an uncomfortable thud. She busied her hands by opening the letter.

In the past few days, she’d missed reading to him. She could never confess to him that sometimes, after a particularly grueling shift on triage, she comforted herself by imagining his life there. A peaceful existence on a country estate with a loving family.

“‘Dearest Older Brother Who Owes Me More Than a Few Letters,’” the words read. Lily tucked her head down to hide her grin.

“‘The rains have gone now and the crops are looking fine. I’m already planning for the harvest. You’re not to worry about it, darling Sam. Since the McCarty boys are also needed at the Powell farm, Mr. Lou has signed up to help as well. He’s older than God, but we should be able to do a respectable job. Mum and I will pitch in as well. I’m getting quite good at so many things, Sam. I think you’d be impressed.

“‘I manage to keep Father away from the heavy tasks, but I will confess, it’s no small job. He still struggles under the delusion that he’s twenty-one and can lift a bull with just willpower and charm.

“‘Mum has been busy converting the downstairs study into your new bedroom. I told her that you’d likely be able to still climb stairs, but she wouldn’t be deterred. She’s been worried about you terribly and it gives her something to do. Besides, it’s a charming room that we weren’t really using anyway. You’ll have a lovely view over the back garden. No doubt when Baden sees your upgrade, he’ll be putting in for the front parlour.’”

Lily turned the page.

“‘Over the weekend, we went up to London to see the picture show that is all the rage:
The Battle of the Somme.
I suppose you’ve heard of it. It’s got two hours of actual footage from the trenches and was playing at thirty-four cinemas just in London. I’d hoped the film would ease Mum’s mind, but it seems to have had the opposite effect. Poor Mrs. Finchner was in a faint when she saw her boy, Simon. He was reported Missing In Action after the first day of the offensive and they fear the worst.

“‘I’m just glad we’ve got you, Sam. Even if you can’t write. I suppose my topics are terribly transparent, aren’t they? That you won’t have to work hard once you return and that we have a place ready for you. We want you to come home, Sam. Simple as that. It doesn’t matter a fig if you’re not the same as you used to be. You’re my brother and always will be. Please do all you can to return to us.

“‘With all my love, Your sister, Evie

“‘P.S. Just as I was ready to post this, Mum came in from the market. Apparently Lady P had been seen yet again. She’s grown quite wild—avoiding town all together. Something must be done, but I’m not quite certain of what. Mrs. Gill reports seeing her by the old mill pond bridge where several young lads were taking turns trying to ride her!’”

When Lily heard the captain’s burst of laughter, she nearly dropped the letter.

Several young lads trying to ride a lady? In public? And this amused Sam? Lily knew the English had their peculiar ways, but Sam had seemed so sweet, so normal. She bit her lip, unsure of what to say.

She folded the letter and placed it back inside the envelope, taking as much time as she could as she composed her thoughts. After she tucked his sister’s letter away, she reached back into the basket for the crumpled bit of paper, the one that had caused his seizure.

“You needn’t read the letter from Baden,” Sam said.

“You don’t want me to?”

“I’ve already heard it.” He looked past her shoulder toward Gordy, with a guilty expression.

“You promised you wouldn’t—”

“Gordy read it to me,” he interrupted.

She whirled around to glare at Sam’s neighbor.

Gordy was all smiles and innocence. “What’s got you so bothered, Bluebird?”

“You got out of bed and read the Captain’s mail to him?”

“Well, yes. Was trying to help, I was. Don’t go giving me your Severe Sister look. Thought if it was so important that he’d risk pitching a fit, I ought to give it a go.”

“So you climbed out of bed, unescorted, when you know better,” Lily said.

“And performed a heroic deed for a poor, sad wounded fellow,” Gordy said. “Thing like that deserves a reward, not glares—by my reckoning. Maybe even a medal. Or a kiss.”

“Incorrigible,” she muttered, but she couldn’t really stay angry at Gordy for any length of time. She turned to face Sam. “I’m scheduled for triage at the train station now, so if that’s all you need, I should be off.”

Sam reached and touched the back of her hand to stop her. His fingertips were warm and gentle.

“If you could tell me something. I was wondering if you could check on recent admittances.”

“Another friend of yours?” she asked. “Does he have a name this time?”

“Surname of Buchanan. He would have arrived sometime in the last twenty-four hours. He was wounded near Albert.”

She perked up at that. “We’ve gotten quite a few wounded from Bert. Most of last night’s hospital train.”

An expression of relief flitted across his face.

“Though you know we’re only one of half a dozen hospitals that could have taken him in,” she quickly amended.

“Thank you,” he said. “It’s very important to me.”

She stood and slid the chair against the wall. “Why is it important?”

“It’s difficult to explain.”

“You have a lot in your life that’s difficult to explain, Captain.”

“And my brother swears I’m the simplest creature on the face of the earth. Compared me unfavorably to a sheep more than a few times.” He smiled and his cheeks creased, making him look like an impish schoolboy. She had to smile in return. Seeing him relaxing again was like a balm to her heart.

“Miss Curtis.” Sister Newell’s voice broke their conversation. “The ambulance is waiting for you. Now, if you please.”

Lily nodded toward the matron. “Yes, ma’am.” When she turned back toward Sam, she cut directly to the point. “Does your request have anything to do with why you caused the seizure?”

“I’m not sure but—” he sighed “—I think so, yes.”

She scooted the letter basket under his bed. “All right then. I’ll do what I can, Sam.” She reached down and patted his shoulder. “Be good while I’m gone. Keep your promises, right?”

“I gave you my word, Lily.”

“Then I give mine. I’ll do my best to find your soldier. Even if you can’t explain who he is or why you might need to know.”

“Thank you,” he replied.

She scurried to the far end of the ward where Sister Newell waited, arms crossed and glaring daggers at her.

Lily didn’t return to New Bedlam until nearly midnight. After her long day, the moonlit red brick walls of the hospital were a welcome sight. She climbed the stairs to the back entrance with weary, protesting legs. She was covered in a disgusting combination of blood, sweat and vomit.

The latest disastrous Allied charge had resulted in a shocking number of casualties. Even worse, the men had been loaded onto the hospital trains in filthy conditions. More than half a dozen men were sure to be lost to sepsis. A simple thing like cleaner transport conditions could save so many lives. She was helpless to do a thing about it, but every time she lost a man due to a filthy wound, she felt culpable in his death.

Feeling a mix of rage and weariness that went bone-deep, she longed to tuck her aching limbs into bed. She was halfway down the staff quarters hallway when she remembered her obligation to her captain.

No.
Not
her
captain.
The
captain.

She slipped back into the kitchen and rummaged around in a drawer until she found the emergency candles. She grabbed one, lit it, and headed down the short hall which held the hospital’s offices.

Since Matron Marshall kept the records in her office, at least Lily knew where to go. There was no light spilling from beneath the matron’s door, so Lily lifted the latch and stepped inside.

These rooms were officially off limits to VADs. Lily had always supposed it was because the matron thought only RAMC nurses were capable of filing paperwork. The office was as tidy and regimented as Lily would have expected, save for one glaring exception—a large, potted lemon tree squatting in the corner by the window. It had been planted in a beautiful bright yellow ceramic pot and several small lamps were perched on a bookshelf beside the tree, their shades pointed in the plant’s direction.

How surprising to find the stolid woman had a soft spot for…a tree.

Lily moved behind the desk. Recent admittances hung on a clipboard on the wall. Lily removed it and ran her index finger along the column of names. In the previous two days, New Bedlam had admitted fifteen from the Albert area, all from the same botched gas attack. They’d been identified and there was not a Buchanan among them.

Not wanting to tempt the fates when it came to the matron, Lily hurriedly blew out the candle and slid past the lemon tree and out of the office. At the end of the hall, instead of turning right and taking the few steps down the hall to her room, she turned to the left, toward the officers’ ward. He likely wouldn’t be awake, but it wouldn’t hurt to check.

She walked through the silent room, the sleeping men outlined in gray and black framed by white sheets. Lily glanced around and was relieved to see that the night duty VAD was busy attending a patient at the far end of the room. Lily should have an easy time of it. She stepped softly down the aisle toward Sam.

By the volume of his snores, Gordy was sleeping soundly. Her captain, however, was wide awake. She could see his eyes, watching as she approached his bed. Her breath caught in her throat and she swallowed nervously as she leaned down to him.

“You should be sleeping,” she whispered.

“So should you.” Even though he was in shadows, she could see his smile, dimples creasing his cheeks.

“Did you get your injection tonight? The Phenobarbital should be making you sleepy.”

“Just not tired, I guess,” was all he replied. After a pause, he met her eyes. “Are you all right, Lily?”

“Me? Oh you mean…” She gestured toward her grime covered apron. “Long day.”

Worry shone in his eyes. “You look quite exhausted.”

She could only nod. Though she knew her duty required that she keep things professional with Sam, the truth was she missed that feeling of intimacy, of trust, that they used to share.

She said, “I came by to tell you that I looked in the main office—to see if your soldier had been admitted here. Private Buchanan?”

He looked up at her hopefully. She hated to crush the hope in his eyes. “I’m afraid he’s not.”

His face fell.

“I’ll have a word with some of the other fellows who were wounded near Albert tomorrow after rounds,” she said. “Perhaps they know of something.”

“Thank you, Lily. It means more to me than you know.” He managed a weak smile and something warm fluttered in her chest. It was a wonderful and slightly terrifying sensation.

She caught a flash of white from across the room. The night shift sister had entered and was conversing quietly with the VAD near the door.