Angel of the Somme: The Great War, Book 1 (16 page)

Sam lay back on his bed and closed his eyes, awash in relief.

At last. At long bloody last, he finally had something that proved he wasn’t mad. Someone—Lieutenant Colin Daly, to be exact—had seen him outside the hospital. And Corporal O’Reilly for that matter. Whatever was happening was more than visions.

It was real.

Sam didn’t merely have a vague place or part of a name. He had eye witnesses. He had some confirmation. He could finally tell someone the truth about what had been going on. Most importantly, he could tell Lily.

This made all the difference in the world.

Chapter Nineteen

The local villagers had scheduled a play for New Bedlam on Friday afternoon. Luckily, the weather had cooperated and the sun shone brightly on the back garden.

Since most of the patients were well enough to attend the show, the wards were nearly empty. Matron Marshall had taken the opportunity to order the beds stripped and the floors mopped. Lily and Rose were making a bed in the officers’ ward when they were interrupted.

“Miss Curtis?” Sister Newell placed her hand on Lily’s back. “While the ward is still, you should tend to that one.” She gestured toward Sam, who had apparently been demoted from
captain
to
that one
. “He needs a shave. All the other VADs are afraid to go near him. His restraints are a bit…off-putting.” She puckered her lips in thought, squinting across the room at Sam.

Lily gave Rose an apologetic glance and set the sheet on the bed before making her way toward the back of the room to gather shaving supplies.

She shook her head. Perfect. Shaving Sam. Though she’d shaved patients since she was fifteen, the procedure always made her a little nervous. Suturing a deep wound, removing shrapnel—those were not a problem for her. They were medical procedures. Shaving, however, felt strangely intimate. And one thing she didn’t feel up to, even after three days, was any kind of intimacy with Sam.

Lily stocked her cart with shaving supplies, then prepared a dish of hot water and set it on the top shelf. After checking the razor for sharpness, she ran it down the strop a few times. Though she told herself the razor was dull, deep inside she knew she was only stalling.

She’d seen Sam throughout the last few days—feeding him, administering medication and mostly just checking to make sure he hadn’t done anything crazy. They’d been among the most painful days in her life. She’d thought she knew him so well, yet he’d triggered a seizure knowing full well it could kill him. How could she have misjudged him so? She knew that head injury victims could be emotionally unstable, but she thought he’d long since passed that marker.

One day he was a sweet, sincere man wooing her in the garden, telling her he loved her. The next he’d suddenly transformed into this other creature that would injure himself—kill himself—for no apparent reason. She’d never been so wrong about a person and that knowledge shook her foundations.

At least Sam hadn’t made any demands. Since being placed in restraints, any time she’d fed him, he appeared contrite. He wordlessly obeyed her every command.

His meek manner only made her feel worse. She gave the razor a final swipe, then knowing she could delay no longer, pushed her cart through the kitchen door and onto the nearly empty ward.

Sam watched her approach. As she pulled her cart next to his bed, she was shocked to see that his expression was unabashedly…chipper. There was no other word for it.

His cheerfulness served as fuel for Lily’s anger. She jerked her cart to a halt, splashing a little hot water on the tiles.

“I’m here to shave you,” she said.

At her tone, his expression turned serious. He nodded and looked away.

Lily splashed a bit of warm water into the shaving mug. She began to whip the shaving brush across the disc of soap at the bottom, building up a good frothy mixture.

“If you’d tilt your head back, please,” she said.

Sam complied in silence.

She lifted the brush from the mug and spread the frothy mixture up his throat, to the base of his chin. She placed her fingers on his throat to steady him. His pulse was warm and comforting against her fingertips.

“Lily…” he began.

“It would be better if you don’t speak,” she interrupted.

“We’ve not talked for days and no one is about just now. Please, who knows when we’ll get another chance like this?”

“Well, as I’ve got a blade right next to your throat, it would be a good idea if you kept your words for the moment. When you talk, you move my target about.”

He clenched his jaw. She steadied her trembling hand, dipped the brush back into the mug, then slathered his chin with shaving cream as well. After a moment’s thought, she dipped the brush back in and covered the rest of his face, hiding his clearly aggravated jaw from sight.

She placed the blade at the base of his throat and slid it upward, just to his chin, then dipped the razor in the basin of warm water. “Look to your left.”

Sam complied.

Once she finished his throat, she began on his chin, working her way up to his cheeks. Every time she wanted him to move, she tilted his head this way or that by tugging on his chin with her fingers. And during the whole procedure, his eyes followed her every move. It was fantastically unnerving, but she couldn’t admit that to him. She willed her hands not to shake as she completed the shave as quickly as she could.

When she finished, she wiped off the excess with a towel.

“That is much appreciated,” Sam said. When she didn’t reply, he continued on. “I was beginning to feel like a bit of a vagrant. I never could grow a proper beard. Thank you, Lily.”

“Don’t do that,” she said.

“Don’t do what?” He tilted his head to the side.

Don’t look at me like that,
she wanted to say.
Don’t confuse me so. Don’t be so foolish as to do the things you’ve done—take such terrible risks with your health.
“Don’t call me that. If the matron heard, it could get me into trouble.”

Lily placed the shaving towel on her cart and began to push it away.

“You can’t leave,” Sam protested.

Lily hesitated.

“My mail,” Sam said. “It’s been piling up for days.”

Lily glanced over at his bedside table. Four unopened letters sat on top in a tidy stack. The top one was addressed in Evie’s familiar, looping script.

Lily looked back over her shoulder to see how Rose was progressing. Miss Frederick had joined her and they were already nearly half way through the rest of the ward. She supposed she should take a few moments and read his mail to him. No sense in giving him some foolish excuse to try to read his own letters again.

She settled down in the chair beside his bed and grasped his mail basket. “You have four letters, no five. The top one is from your sister. Would you like me to read it first?”

Sam paused for a moment and something moved behind his eyes. He looked at her, as if considering something, then spoke. “I’ve changed my mind. Now that I think of it, I owe quite a few letters. Would it be all right if I wrote something instead?”

Lily shrugged and put down the basket. She pulled out the small sheaf of papers from the bottom shelf. She plucked a pen from her belt and set it down at the top of the paper, ready to write.

“How about ‘Dear Evie’,” Lily suggested.

“I’d like to leave the recipient blank for now,” he said.

“Very well.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know quite how to begin this letter,” Sam began.

Lily looked at him. “You’d like to begin with that?”

“Yes,” Sam said. “If you’d just, please, write that?”

“‘I’m afraid I don’t know quite how to begin this letter,’” she repeated. After jotting the line, she waited, pen poised.

“Are you well? Are you tired? Sad? I have no way of knowing. You’re so far away from me, even though you’re seated at my side.” Her hand froze. She forced her eyes on the page before her. If she looked up at Sam, she’d become undone.

Sam continued. “Lily, I miss you terribly.”

Tears welled in her eyes.

He couldn’t do this. She couldn’t bear it.

“I’m so sorry, darling. I can see I’m causing you pain and I hate myself for it. It seems no matter the path I take, I cause you pain, so I’ve decided to tell you the truth. I only hope you’ll give me a few moments to tell you all of it.”

He was talking far too fast for her to keep up with him now. Though she kept her eyes on the page, she wrote only random words.
Sorry. Darling. Truth.

“I have a strange thing to tell you. Perhaps you’ll think me even madder than you do already. Perhaps you’ll think it’s a side-effect of the seizures. But, just perhaps, you’ll believe me. I hope you choose the last one.

“Something very peculiar has been happening whenever I undergo a seizure. I didn’t mention it at first because I thought it was only a dream or a delusion. I couldn’t tell you because I thought you’d think me mad. But it’s not a delusion and I’m not crazy. It’s real. I know that now.”

Lily gripped her pen, staring down at the sheaf of papers instead. As difficult as this was for her, it had to be harder for Sam.

“This part will sound unbelievable. I know that. But I know you, Lily. You’re not the sort of person to rush to judgment. And even though my actions have caused you pain, I think deep down, you know there’s more to it than that. You know I wouldn’t risk my life, wouldn’t risk hurting you, without a very good reason.”

A tear splashed down Lily’s cheek, landing on the mishmash of words she’d written on the paper.

“Since my very first seizure,” Sam said, “though my body remains physically in this place, there is a part of me that travels to the battlefield. I’m only there a few moments, only long enough to make a difference in one soldier’s life. I reach out. I touch them. They are healed.

“I know it’s difficult to believe and sounds a little, well, delusional. But I have proof. I’ve talked to a man who saw me during my last episode. He’s an eye witness to the fact that I was miles away, healing a soldier named O’Reilly at the very moment I was here in New Bedlam enduring my most recent seizure.”

He paused for a long moment. She just sat there, too overwhelmed to move. Her tears were falling more freely now. She lifted her hand to wipe them away.

“I’m not mad and I’m not suicidal. I’m trying to make a real difference in this miserable war, darling. Surely, you above all people can understand the desire to make that difference, to save a life.

“Please understand. I say it again—I’d never try to hurt myself and most of all, I’d never try to hurt you. But if you’d been given a gift like this—a chance to heal those on the edge of dying, wouldn’t you use that gift?”

She couldn’t raise her eyes to look at him, too afraid that she’d fly into a thousand pieces at seeing him. She sat and stared down at the nonsensical words scribbled across the page as her tears fell down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry that I’m making you cry, that my hands are lashed to this bed and not drying your tears right now, but I—”

A door opened at the end of the ward, cutting off whatever he’d been about to say. Startled into action, Lily furtively dried her tears with the back of her hand before turning to look.

Sister Newell had entered the ward pushing a cart with sterilized linens. She cast an expectant eye toward Lily.

“I…should go.” Lily kept her eyes on her lap, blinking in a futile attempt to make herself appear clear-eyed.

“Just like that?” Sam asked. “Look at me, Lily, please. Won’t you say something?”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Just tell me that you believe me.”

Lily took a few deep steadying breaths, then began to tidy the soggy papers she held in her lap. “When I say I don’t know what to say, it’s not a figure of speech, Sam. I truly don’t know what to say to you. I’m sorry.”

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.”