Angel of the Somme: The Great War, Book 1 (20 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Lily trudged down the back hallway, trailing a hand along the wall. She was dead on her feet. Though she’d gone forty-eight hours without sleep in the past, she’d never known true weariness before now. She felt as thin and fragile as an egg shell. She’d crack with the slightest pressure.

The zeppelin raid on the train station had taken seventeen lives. Most of the dead had been injured soldiers arriving on the hospital train. Five of the lost were from New Bedlam. Rose and Sister Newell were among them.

The attack was a mortal wound to New Bedlam. Everyone sensed it, staff and patients. They shuffled around in a state of shock. It wasn’t just the loss of so many. The hospital would be useless without a functioning rail station. Though New Bedlam still had a heartbeat, her death was only a matter of time.

Lily entered the officers’ ward and cast an eye to the corner of the room where Sam and Gordy lay. She could see the outlines of their silhouettes in the early morning light, but neither of them yet stirred. Sam was likely still in the drugged sleep that he’d been in since he’d awoken after the bombing.

She checked the sterilized cabinet to find it empty, as she expected. She’d need to organize a group for autoclave duty—another task on her endless list. Since the previous day’s events, Lily had shuffled from emergency to emergency in a numb fog along with the rest of the staff.

Before she would be needed for breakfast duty, she made her way to the matron’s office for the moment she’d been dreading. The matron had suffered a terrible leg burn while tending to the wounded and would be bedridden for a few days. Lily didn’t fear being discovered. She feared confirming Sam’s bizarre fear when she read through the list of the dead.

She gripped a little slip of paper tightly. On it, she had written the dates of Sam’s seizures along with the names of the men he’d purported to heal—purported to kill, as he now claimed. She shook her head. It was too impossible. Sam was wrong. Distraught from Rose’s death. There was some other, more reasonable explanation. There had to be.

She walked around the lemon tree and settled in behind the desk. She pulled out the clipboard that contained the list of killed in action. After glancing at the scrap of paper, she rifled through the sheets until she found August tenth.

She ran her finger down the list, scanning through the line of names.
Bonham, Bowman, Buchanan.
Her finger hovered over the name.

Buchanan, Pvt. George R. of Manchester. Died at Albert.

Lily inhaled a shaky breath and closed her eyes for a moment, hoping it was a coincidence, but knowing better all the while.

She flipped through the stack of papers, searching for the other date she’d memorized: August twenty-first. She took her time now, even though her tired muscles ached and she longed for the respite of sleep. She dreaded finding the name, knowing what she’d have to tell Sam. Eventually, she came she came to the ‘O’ section

O’Reilly, Cpl. Glendon of Ulster. Died at Pozières.

Oh, Sam.

It was exactly as he’d feared.

She dropped the list back onto the desk, not even bothering to tuck it into its proper spot. Lily no longer cared about the matron’s wrath. In the last twenty-four hours, she’d learned the harsh lesson that there were much crueler beasts afoot in this world.

She leaned against the desk, her tired legs at last giving out. After holding in her tears all day, she let them flow at last. Pouring down her cheeks in rivers. She wept for Rose, for Sister Newell, for all those who were lost. She wept for O’Reilly and Buchanan, who were far more than inky blurbs on paper, but someone’s beloved sons. And she wept for Sam, sweet Sam, who had fought so bravely to save others, only to have it all go so wrong.

After a long cry, she dried her eyes and found her brave face. Sure, it was only a disguise, but if she fooled others, she might just manage to fool herself. She slipped out of the matron’s office and trod down the hall toward her bedroom. Rose’s parents were due to arrive for the funeral service and would collect her things. Rose had always been such a tidy person and would want her clothes to be folded and packed before her mother arrived.

Feeling weariness down to her bones, Lily twisted the knob and entered her room with a heavy heart.

The following day, Lily woke before dawn and slipped into the officers’ ward, eager to speak with Sam. It was not to be, however. Sister Cudahee was on duty and had reported that she’d just given him another full dose of morphine.

Since Dr. Raye had ordered a combined service for the lost staff members, the staff scrambled to prepare for the influx of visitors. The hospital was barely keeping up as it was. The loss of the railway hadn’t just translated to a loss of new patients—it also meant the end of steady supplies coming into the hospital. Worried cooks sorted through paltry supplies and sent the word to the village, which already had nothing to spare. Lily spent the rest of her morning organizing a shipment of standard army rations which had just arrived. The men would be dining on the same food that was served in the trenches: bully beef. It was better than nothing, but just barely.

As Lily finished up that task, the first of their visitors began to arrive via Army convoy from the closest functional rail station. The group was a contingent of the families of the dead, as well as a General and several Corporals from Headquarters.

Dr. Raye attended to the families first, inviting them into the day room. He asked Lily and a few other staff to accompany them. After making quick introductions, he offered words of condolences to the small gathering. He often faltered and cleared his throat while speaking. He looked so very weary and his voice broke with emotion as thanked the families for their sacrifice.

When Dr. Raye was finished speaking, Lily made her way to Rose’s parents, the Lewises, who stood awkwardly in the rear of the room. Even if she hadn’t been familiar with the photograph Rose kept at her bedside, she’d have recognized the couple by their resemblance to their daughter. Her father had Rose’s build—tall and thin. Her mother shared her daughter’s fair skin and blonde hair. In the photograph, they’d struck a regal pose by a fireplace mantle. Today, they looked crumpled and worn. Rose’s mother’s eyes were unfocused, as if she was searching for something far away and not quite certain what the item looked like.

The Lewises were polite but said little. After an awkward silence, Lily asked if they’d like to come to see their daughter’s room. They nodded and followed Lily toward the rear of the building, to staff quarters. Mrs. Lewis gripped her husband’s arm like an autumn leaf clinging to a tree.

After entering her room, Lily handed them the small suitcase containing Rose’s possessions. Mrs. Lewis accepted it with a polite nod and a murmured “thank you.” She gripped the handle tightly with one hand while not letting go of her husband with the other.

“Perhaps some fresh air?” Lily suggested. Being in Rose’s room seemed to be very difficult for Mrs. Lewis.

“Yes,” said Mr. Lewis. “That would be fine.”

Lily led them on a walk around the building before ending up in the back garden. She gestured toward the bench near the makeshift fountain. “This is a lovely shaded spot. Would you like to rest here while I attend to a few duties?”

“Thank you,” Mr. Lewis murmured, not taking his eyes from his wide-eyed wife. “You’ve been more than kind.”

Lily returned to the kitchen, hoping that a few moments alone would help ease the Lewises.

The day had been so busy that she’d had few chances to step into the officers’ ward. Whenever she checked on Sam and Gordy, they looked the same. Sam slept while Gordy stared out the window. Though Rose’s loss felt like a constant weight around her heart, her chest wrenched sharply whenever she looked at the pair of them.

Sister Cudahee interrupted her thoughts. “You know the officers’ ward the best.” She handed Lily a clipboard with a list of names. “Dr. Raye wanted you to sort through this list and mark which patients should be scheduled for the hospital ship.”

“We’re evacuating?” Lily asked.

“General Rainey will make that decision. In the meanwhile, you’re to help with this list.”

“I see,” Lily said, taking the clipboard.

“When you’ve finished, please leave it on his desk.” Sister Cudahee turned and left the room.

Lily gripped the clipboard, got out her pen and set to work. When she came to
Dwight, Samuel
, she marked him down as fit for travel. Her fingers hardly trembled at all.

As soon as she finished the list, she stepped out into the garden to check in on Rose’s parents. They had been joined by Mrs. McKeen, the working class mother of one of the ambulance drivers who’d died in the blast. Though back in England a wide social gap lay between them, they sat together in the corner of the garden, united in grief. Death had a cruel method of equalizing the classes.

Lily approached the trio. “The service will begin shortly. Would you like to walk or shall I arrange transport?”

“I think a walk would be fine as long as you’ll join us to show us the way,” Mr. Lewis said.

“Certainly,” Lily replied. Most of the staff had already gathered by the front door, leaving a skeletal crew behind. Lily had volunteered to remain at the hospital, but Dr. Raye had insisted she attend.

They walked the short distance to the village cemetery in silence. By the time they arrived, most of the staff had already gathered. A line of ambulances lined the side of the road.

The cemetery perched on the edge of the woods, with a lovely view to the river valley below. The hospital staff and families stood in a ring closest to the graves. Matron Marshall stood determinedly in the front, her legs swathed in bandages near the general and colonels freshly arrived from HQ. A line of local French women ringed the gathering, their black dresses flapping like crow’s feathers in the breeze.

Lily led the Lewises and Mrs. McKeen to the front of the group, where the priest stood beside the piles of freshly dug earth. Glancing down, Lily saw that the villagers had lined the grave walls with flowers and vines.

Mercifully, the service was brief. Lily could scarcely keep track of the words being said because her mind was filled with the faces of those she loved: Rose, Sam, Gordy. Each time she inhaled, it felt like a blade pressing into her chest. Halfway through the service, she felt the gentle pressure of someone’s hand patting her shoulder. When she looked up, she saw Dr. Raye, looking concerned and more fatherly than she’d ever seen him.

The gathering walked back to New Bedlam following the service. The officers from HQ were billeted at the hospital, but the visiting families were to be returned to England, and out of harm’s way, as soon as possible. Lily said goodbye to Mr. Lewis and couldn’t resist embracing Mrs. Lewis, who responded by nodding numbly. Once the families had settled themselves in the waiting ambulances, the little convoy set off down the cobbled road. Lily watched their pale, forlorn faces fading in the distance—together and yet alone.

As soon as their guests departed, the hospital staff set to work on supper. Since most of them had attended the funeral, supper would be a meager affair of more bully beef and potatoes.

Lily joined a line of VADs silently opening tins. As she worked, she caught herself looking up from time to time. It took a moment to realize what it was she was looking for. Or who.

Rose.

She’d grown so accustomed to checking on her roommate throughout the day, sharing a smile or exchanging a look when the matron was being difficult. And now Rose was gone, just like that. Lily’s world felt impossibly out of balance.

She closed her eyes for a moment.

With her eyes closed like this, Lily could almost imagine that she was dreaming. That at any moment Rose might shake her awake and whisper, “You’ve slept in, Lily! And the matron’s listed you for batwoman again, the old beast.”

If Sam could somehow enact visions, why couldn’t Lily? Why shouldn’t she be able to wish very hard and somehow turn this horrible chain of events into a fantasy?

She could open her eyes to see Miss Lewis just down the line, fumbling with the tin opener. She’d give that little English Rose smile, and then she and Lily would push their carts back onto the ward. Gordy would be waiting for them, grinning shyly. Perhaps today would be the day when he’d work up to calling her “Rosebud” to her face. And sweet, dear Sam would share a secret smile with Lily and tease Gordy about river sharks again.

Lily opened her eyes.

The sorrowful VADs continued to open the tins, wordlessly. The world had not bent to her wishes. Rose lay in the ground. Gordy sat in sorrowful silence. And Sam was lost to a drugged slumber—blaming himself for everything.

Lily blinked away her tears and reached for another tin of beef.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Wake up.”

Sam lifted his heavy lids to see Lily’s bright green eyes. He was happy for a moment, a few heartbeats, before reality landed on him with a thud.

The train station. Rose. The Angel of Death.

He swallowed and took a deep breath.

Killer.

“You’ve been sleeping for quite a while. How are you, Sam?” Lily’s voice broke with concern. Now that his vision had cleared, he could see her eyes were red-rimmed. She’d been crying, again. And he’d been the source of her tears, again.

He dropped his gaze. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but could think of nothing to say.

“I’m afraid that supper isn’t much.” She lifted a forkful of potato pie to his mouth. He glanced down to confirm that his restraints were still attached, as unnecessary as they were. He’d never been less eager to trigger a seizure.

Lily nudged his bottom lip with the fork. “Come on, Sam. You need to eat.”

He didn’t have the heart to oppose her and parted his lips. It tasted like sand. He forced it down his throat as though it was a much deserved punishment.

When Lily refilled his fork and lifted it to his mouth, he shook his head, waking his headache.

“The names?” he asked. “Did you check the records?”

Lily blinked a few times. “Another bite, Sam. Come on.”

“Did you check the names, Lily? Buchanan? O’Reilly?” His voice was a little louder than he’d intended, a little shriller. Lily looked over her shoulder, then scooted closer to him.

“I did.” She bent down, her voice urgent in his ear. “It was…as you thought.”

“Killed in action? Died during my seizures?”

Lily kept her face near him and with his restraints, he had no way of pulling back to gauge her expression. When she spoke it was with great deliberation, like walking across a mine field. “The dates of their death matched your seizure activity, but that doesn’t mean…”

Her words faded out and Sam felt the world sway. A wave of nausea crashed against him. He closed his eyes.

Killer.

He felt her fingertips gliding along the back of his hand. She entwined her fingers with his. The warmth of her hand, the solidness of her, was almost too much to bear. Strapped to the bed as he was, he couldn’t pull away. And damn his weakness, he didn’t want to. To feel her warmth was a gift he didn’t deserve, but he clung to it all the same, weak man that he was.

“I know it’s hard, but you’ll get through this, Sam. I know you will.”

He shook his head and his headache screamed in response.
Good. He deserved pain.

“I miss you, Sam. Please, talk to me.”

He tried to think of something to say, but the words caught in his throat.

After a long moment, she leaned closer. He could feel a strand of her hair had escaped her scarf and it tickled against his neck. “I’ll be back later.” she said. There was a brief pause and then, “Nothing has changed, darling.”

But she was wrong. Lily was so brave and so wise about so many things. How sad to see her so very wrong about this.

Everything had changed.

The VADS drew the blackout curtains and lit the lamps. There was no evening cocoa after supper this evening, however, and the ward remained eerily quiet. Gordy had scarcely stirred since Sam had woken. He simply stared out the window. The only movement was the occasional head wobble.

He’d glanced at Sam only once. His eyes held that glassy-eyed look of a man too long in the trenches. He nodded at Sam, then turned back to the window. Sam had to wonder how much Gordy had heard of his conversation with Lily. If he had any idea of the role Sam had played in Rose’s death.

Guilt pressed against Sam with a crushing weight. Though his headache had kicked in after supper, he didn’t bother requesting morphine. He’d been in a drug induced daze since the bombing, which was beginning to feel like the coward’s way out. It was time for him to rejoin the land of the living. God knows, he’d done enough work in the land of the dead.

Just as the VADs were finishing evening rounds, a large cluster of uniforms made a tour through the ward. Medical brass by the look of them. A general and a group of colonels and majors. Sam feigned sleep to avoid conversation. After a bit of glad-handing, Dr. Raye escorted the bunch out the front door and, presumably, on their way.

The VADs dimmed the lights for the night and the men settled down to sleep. The usual chattering buzz on the ward had been so destroyed by recent events that the noise level was now the same at noon or midnight. Sam stared at the ceiling. His arms ached from the restraints and his head throbbed dully. From the corner of his eye, he could see Gordy, staring out the window, his head still bobbing in the dark.

Sam recognized the soft click of Lily’s footsteps approaching in the otherwise silent ward. Her silhouette slipped between his and Gordy’s beds. She pulled the chair out and settled herself between them.

After a moment of silence, she spoke. “General Rainey came by today. Did you see?”

Neither he nor Gordy replied.

“He’s had a meeting with the staff about the recent events,” she continued. “They’ve come up with a plan for New Bedlam and what’s to be done.”

Sam tried to muster up some interest or think of something to say to her, but her presence stole his words. He was awash in shame and disgust. She was the only one who knew what he really was. How she could stand to be near him, he couldn’t imagine.

“What will happen, then?” Gordy’s voice was so quiet that it took Sam a second to recognize him.

“Without a station, it’s no use as a hospital anymore,” Lily replied. “They don’t have the luxury to repair it with a war on and with sixty other base hospitals in France, they won’t have to. They’ll ship most of you back to Blighty and the rest will be transferred to Rouen or LeHavre.”

“Soon?” Gordy asked.

“Within the next three days.” She stole a glance at Sam. Her eyes shone brightly in the dark. “I checked on you two specifically and wanted to let you know. You’ll be going to Rouen, Gordy. The same place I’m reassigned to, actually.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. “Thank you. For letting me know,” Gordy said. When Sam didn’t respond, Gordy pressed on. “And what about Sam?”

“He’s bound for Blighty at last,” she said, her voice trembling. “They’ll begin the transfer tomorrow.”

Sam knew he needed to respond, but could simply think of nothing to say. His heart and mind felt as blasted as No Man’s Land.

“Back to see your parents and your sister, Evie. Maybe you can help catch Lady P.” Her voice was so full of false cheer that he could hardly bear it.

She leaned over, blocking Gordy’s view. She pulled close to Sam, her face only inches from his. “Come on, Sam. Talk to me.” She reached out to cup his chin. He closed his eyes, willing himself not to turn away. Not to be that cruel.

“I’m hurting too, darling,” she said. “I understand.”

But she didn’t. Couldn’t. He’d been the killer. While Lily had dedicated herself to saving people, he’d been murdering them. They were nothing alike.

Lily leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Please don’t keep me out. They’ll take you away from me soon enough.”

“No, Lily. Please.”

She swallowed and took a deep breath. Still cupping his face in her hands, she reached down and brushed her warm lips against his. He shuddered, knowing it was their last kiss.

When she pulled away, tears shone in her eyes. “I love you, Sam. Nothing is going to change that.”

“I’m sorry for that.” It was brutal, but true. He might be a killer, but he could be honest. He owed her that much, at least.

Her eyes widened as though he’d slapped her.

“I don’t want to be unkind, but it is better if you leave me alone, Lily. It’s better if you forget me.”

“What?” Her voice trembled. “Sam, you can’t…” She watched him guardedly, as though she was trying to work out the position of an enemy sniper.

“I mean it. Stay away from me,” he said. Goddamn him to hell for saying it, but he would hurt her either way. Better to wound her with distance. A girl like Lily deserved better than…whatever he was.

Killer.

He turned to face the wall. After a moment, he heard her footsteps retreating. And then, silence.

The hours crawled by. Unable to turn to look at the clock due to his restraints, Sam could only guess at the time. It had to be past midnight. The rest of New Bedlam’s inhabitants had fallen into a collective deep sleep—only instead of this being an enchanted slumber, it was a cursed one. In the corner of the room, the weary VAD on night duty had fallen asleep in a very uncomfortable looking wooden chair. Carrying sorrow was an exhausting business.

Though the ward lights were off, the moon shone brightly through the windows. Gordy continued to stare out the glass panes as if Mr. Mesmer had put him in a trance. It was bloody unnerving. Sam clenched his jaw and closed his eyes, prepared to wait the night out.

“Sam?” Gordy’s voice was whisper.

“What is it?”

“I need you to do something.” Gordy swung his legs around and stood beside Sam’s bed.

“Anything,” Sam replied without a thought.

Gordy leaned down and unbuckled Sam’s restraints.

“I need you to come somewhere with me.”

“Might that get us into trouble?” But Sam knew better. Since the bomb, New Bedlam was currently barely able to keep track of the severely wounded. Doing a bed count would be quite beyond their present capacities.

“It’s important,” Gordy said. “Besides, from what I can see, those fits of yours come in through your eyes. Bright lights and such seem to trigger them—not walking about.”

“That’s true enough.” Sam stood. His legs felt weak, but strong enough to support him for a brief while.

Gordy didn’t waste any time. He walked quickly, if a little unevenly considering his bulky cast, ahead of Sam, waiting for him by the rear door. How strange for Gordy to head toward the kitchen. Perhaps he intended to lead them to the garden, toward that spot just beyond the window that he kept staring at. If it would bring some peace to the lad, Sam was more than happy to comply.

They took a few steps into the kitchen, then Gordy stepped around Sam and pushed the door closed. When he turned to face him, Sam noticed that Gordy carried a small, canvas sack in one hand.

“What’s this all about?” Sam asked.

A storm of conflicting emotions played out in Gordy’s eyes and his head began to wobble from side-to-side.

“Gordy, please tell me what’s going on.”

“I’ve got a few things to say. But first, I want to thank you.” Gordy shifted the sack to his left hand and extended his right to shake Sam’s hand.

Sam made no move to return the gesture. Oh, the bitter irony. “Believe me, Gordy. You don’t know what I’ve done. You have nothing to thank me for.”

“You tried, didn’t you?”

Sam could think of no response.

Gordy reached out and gripped Sam’s uncooperative hand anyway. He shook it, his grip painfully tight. Sam was helpless to resist him. When Gordy dropped Sam’s hand, he began to speak, his voice low and measured. “I’m in the very next bed, Sam. I can’t help but hear what you and Lily talk about. And I know there was something funny going on with those seizures of yours. And that you went and had yourself another seizure to try to help Rose.”

“But I didn’t save her.”

Gordy shook his head. “I understand more than you think I do, Sam. In fact, I think I understand a great deal more than
you
do. You did your best. You tried.”

“Trying doesn’t matter if you—”

Gordy interrupted him. “Trying is the only thing that matters when you’ve got nothing left to do.”

Sam opened his mouth to explain, but the words clung to his throat.

Gordy pointed his wobbling chin in Sam’s direction. “Now, you’re going to do something else, whether you want to or not. You’re going to keep trying.”

Sam gave Gordy a puzzled glance.

“You’re going to talk to Bluebird.”

“I’m going to do nothing of the kind,” Sam said.

“We’ll see about that.” Gordy placed the burlap sack on the floor and it clinked in a strangely familiar way. He stepped toward Sam. “The way you talked to her today, it wasn’t right. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you’re going to go down that hall and try to mend it.”

“You don’t know what’s going on, Gordy.” Sam tried to step around Gordy, but Gordy thunked his cast to the left and effectively blocked the door. For a man with a leg in a cast, he was impressively mobile.

“Don’t need to know what’s going on.” Gordy’s voice was as serious as a churchman. “If the war has taught me nothing else, I’ve learned that each day might be our last. I have regrets, Sam. Regrets about Rosebud. I’ll be goddamned if I let you have those same regrets about Lily. Telling her to leave you. Shutting her out. You hurt her.”

“I’m only doing what’s best,” Sam said.

“Bollox.” Gordy raised his fists in a fighting stance and leaned forward on his cast. If it weren’t for the burning intensity behind his eyes, Sam would have had to laugh. Gordy’s head wobble resembled a boxer, weaving in the ring.

“I mean it, Sam.” The determination in Gordy’s eyes underlined his words and put an exclamation mark on them.

“You don’t understand,” Sam said.

“Stop saying that. I don’t need to understand.” Gordy took a step forward, his cast thudding on the kitchen tile. “You either talk to her or hit me.”

Sam just stood there numbly.

“Do you want me to take the first swing?” Gordy jutted his chin toward Sam. “‘Cause I’ll bloody well do it.”

Sam took a step back. “I’m not going to fight you.”

“Wise choice.” Gordy dropped his fists and relaxed his stance. Before Sam had a moment to react, Gordy picked up the canvas bag and gripped Sam’s elbow with his free hand, steering him down an unfamiliar hallway. Sam followed along. He could think of nothing else to do that wouldn’t cause a scene and result in a great deal of trouble for Gordy.

They stopped in front of a nondescript door and Gordy placed the sack on the floor. He turned and gripped Sam’s shoulders. “You love her and she loves you, you bloody idiot. You might not have much time, but you have now. You have tonight.”