by Erica Nyden
Alone? As in without her?
“I realize my being unaccompanied could prove dangerous,” he added, a dash of sarcasm peppering his tone. “However, you’ve nothing to worry about.”
“Dangerous?” She forced a giggle. “What are you talking about?”
He laughed outright at her awkward attempt at innocence. It was a delightful sound she hadn’t heard in weeks. “Have you forgotten that when one of the senses goes, the others are amplified? In all this blindness, my hearing has become quite sharp. I’ve overheard at least two of your conversations with Mrs. Pollard about how I may off myself if left alone.”
Olivia looked away to hide her smile, though she needn’t. At least he didn’t seem cross.
He searched until he found her shoulders and pulled her forward. “Trust me, Olivia, my nurse and wartime companion, just because I spend the afternoon alone doesn’t mean I won’t be joining you for dinner tonight. I will, and I look forward to it.” His thumb found her forehead and smoothed her eyebrows, sending tingles up her spine. “I appreciate what you’re doing for me—and your patience. But I’d like to retire awhile by myself, if you’ll allow it.”
How close his eyes were to meeting hers. “Yes, William, of course.”
“Brilliant. Come fetch me when it’s time for tea.”
Chapter 14
“It’ll be much easier to shave you this morning,” Olivia said.
A light breeze told William she’d whisked down the bathroom blackout.
“I’ll actually see what I’m doing,” she continued, “and maybe you won’t walk out of here bleeding today.”
She had lost her touch lately, but such a triviality hardly bothered him. He had graver matters to settle with her—and she sensed it.
“William? What is it?”
He wasn’t sure where to begin. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re not going to tell me to replace the blackout, are you?” She sounded sulky.
For once he was happy not to see her eyes. “No, no … I’m sorry for frightening you. I feel like a tremendous buffoon for keeping the house shut up all day, forcing you and everyone else to be as blind to the outside as I am.”
Before he could say more, she was spreading the cool shaving cream onto his face. He continued despite the risk of getting a mouthful of foam. “And I regret telling you the Nazis were coming for me. And why. I’m certain my former captors won’t come after me—at least, I don’t think they will. The idea seems preposterous now. They have plenty of other things to do than avenge the murder of someone who wasn’t very nice to them either.” It was impossible to sound rational. The thought of North Africa infuriated him. “I hope to God we kill every last one of them.”
Her wet hands closed over his.
“I’ve shared things with you that have brought back terrible memories, memories I don’t want anymore. Things I’ve fought bloody hard to forget.” Could she understand enough to forgive him? “Damn it, I hope you don’t think poorly of me. I’m a good person.”
“I know you are. And it was good you told me. You should’ve told me long ago.”
What was she saying? “No, you don’t—”
Her finger grazed his dripping chin. “What you’ve shared with me only nicked the surface of your time as prisoner. It’s no wonder other recollections are filling your mind. But burying them won’t get rid of them completely. That’s why they keep returning. Instead, you’ve got to get them out—not one or two memories, but all of them.”
She made it sound easy. “And how, Nurse Talbot, would you propose I do that?”
“Talk about them—not to me, necessarily. Or don’t talk; write them down. Keep a journal. Any way to purge them. Your memories are like poison. Think of a blister filled with fluid or pus. It festers and grows until it’s lanced and the poison is released. By releasing your memories, you’ll heal.” The brush tickled his nose. “And in the process, it wouldn’t surprise me if your eyesight returned.”
Decidedly the last thing he wanted as of late. “If I can see, then there’s nothing wrong with me—nothing to prevent me from returning to war. They’ll send me back. To kill or be killed.”
“Nothing wrong with you?” Her volume rose, her voice close. “If your vision returned, that would be a wondrous miracle—but you’re nowhere near healed, William, not on the inside. After what you’ve already lived through, to do it all again would kill you quicker than any bomb or bullet.”
She was right, but to agree would be a crime. “Men without the stomach to fight were executed during the Great War, killed for treason by their own government—and rightly so, according to my father.”
“Then we wait,” she said, her lilt returning. She whipped the shave cream. “You don’t have your vision yet anyway. Whatever you decide, we’ll take each day as they come. And in the meantime, let’s finish your shave. And give your hair a trim as well.”
She lathered his neck, her touch gentle yet diligent, like her care for him. In all of this—his paranoia, his fear, and his guilt—at least he had her.
Once William was presentable, Olivia settled him in the sitting room beside the wireless whilst she went in search of her latest knitting project. She scoured every room she’d frequented over the last few days and still couldn’t find it. Mrs. Pollard hadn’t seen it either. Finally, on her third pass through the library, she spotted something in the corner William had huddled in weeks ago. Subtly out of place, the sofa jutted forward; her knitting basket sat tilted behind it.
As she righted the furniture, she spied a flat brown triangle under the fringe of the rug. Basket in one hand, she grabbed what turned out to be an envelope with the other. It was addressed to Major William Morgan, and it had already been opened.
She did only what Dr. Butler would do in her position and tugged the contents from its envelope. William’s business was her business—she was his caregiver, after all.
At once the letter, typed on Royal British Army letterhead, unfolded before her.
* * *
21 December, 1940
Attention: Major William Morgan
We hope this letter finds you well and in good health. We thank you for your loyal service to your country and king these past twelve years.
The initial report given us from Dr. Blair on the HMHS Comfort indicates that you suffered lacerations to your legs, neck, and back whilst held in captivity by the enemy in North Africa. You also suffered blindness. Dr. Butler, your current physician as of your return home, stated your injuries as “healing accordingly” and your blindness as temporary. We are happy to hear this news for your sake and for the sake of your country.
As soon as you recover, we look forward to hearing from you. As a highly qualified asset to our military, it’s crucial you return to our ranks as soon as possible. Our aim is to capitalize upon your strengths and talents and therefore will consider your twelve years of military history and place you appropriately. We will disclose your new position in due time.
In the interim, please have Dr. Butler inform us of your current condition as soon as possible.
Regards,
Colonel Adams
151st Infantry Brigade
Sixth Battalion, DLI
* * *
She slid the letter back into the envelope, tucked it inside her knitting basket, and hurried from the library.
Back in the sitting room, William sat by the window. The look on his face was tranquil, an expression she hadn’t seen in some time. She hated to ruin it.
“William.”
His head shot up.
She deposited the basket into a nearby chair and shook the envelope in front of him. “I found this.”
His brow creased as if he realized exactly what she was speaking of, but she clarified anyway. “This letter from Colonel Adams. Did the captain bring you this?”
He nodded.
“The conversation we had this morning makes more sense now, but I don’t understand why you wouldn’t tell me
about it.”
“I—”
“And your hiding place for it? You did a better job hiding my knitting basket.”
“I’m blind, Olivia, and I was in a hurry.”
“Listen.” She checked the door to confirm they were alone and went back to kneel in front of him. “If your vision returns, we won’t tell anyone. Not a soul. Not Mrs. Pollard, not Dr. Butler, no one. Do you think you could do it? Fake it, I mean?”
“What, pretend I’m blind?”
“Yes.”
“I think so, but—”
“This letter shouldn’t deter you from wanting your sight back. You’ll get it back, and I’ll help you if you’ll let me. But you are not going back to war.” Without realizing it, she had gripped the tops of his knees. “Do you hear me?”
His face softened, his voice quiet. “I do.”
“Forgive me.” She smoothed the trousers over his knees, certain she’d left imprints on his skin. “I feel strongly about this. Do you think I’m being silly?”
“I like that you’re looking out for me. I’m touched, really. But—”
“I’ll ring Dr. Butler this afternoon to update him on your condition. He can write Colonel Adams and give an update of his own. That should appease your superiors for a time. Then when your sight returns”—she refused to say if—“I’ll help you practice your acting around here with the staff, and then with the captain, should he come by, so that you’ll eventually be ready to meet with Dr. Butler. What do you say, Major?”
He raised a hand and finding the curve of her cheek, pulled her closer. “I say that I’m glad you’re here. Thank you, Olivia.”
Olivia’s knitting needles clicked a steady rhythm that was occasionally overcome by the music from the radio. Not sure which to pay more attention to, William sat in the darkness in which he’d grudgingly become comfortable, back straight, hands resting on his thighs. He sat like this often, surely looking the fool. Perhaps if he appeared to be ready for anything, he would be. Unlikely. These days he wasn’t ready for anything other than less milk in his tea.
Thank God for Olivia, though her desire to stand by him only reinforced his cowardice, a trait he had a hard time identifying with. His entire military career had been defined by bravery. He’d even been recognized for great courage during a training mission for recruits in ’39, when a misfire sent an old barn up into flames, the three men inside shouting for their lives. William hadn’t been afraid that day; he’d done what needed to be done, and those three lives had been saved.
Last spring, before North Africa, he’d been sent to protect mines in Norway from the Nazis. He considered himself a steadfast soldier despite the horrors he witnessed. Horrors like the wait time between an oncoming fighter plane and the mortars they released. Horrors like seeing fathers, sons, husbands, and brothers with limbs blown from their bodies, found hours later in sticky bogs. Some convulsed violently as they faced their mortality; others groaned and called for their loved ones. Uniforms were cleaned and sent home as mementos. How many more dead men’s belongings would be sent to the grieving before it was all over?
As soon as war had been declared, he’d wanted to fight. He did his bit and did it well. His father had understood, and it bolstered William to have someone to share it with. But things were different now. The thought of going back to fight riddled him with fear. He’d become a slave to this new emotion. Deep down, he knew what had changed him and when. He knew what plagued his sleep and caused this confounded blindness.
And he wished to God it would all go away.
Chapter 15
The cries weren’t human. Shrill and persistent, they carried on like a defenseless skulk of fox cubs cornered by a predator. Though it wasn’t surprising that the estate had been invaded by the thieving species, this was the first time Olivia had heard evidence of their existence. Were there four? Ten? She sought another pillow, anything to preserve the quiet.
Then the sound changed. The squeals lost their high pitch and transformed into something more intelligible: words.
“Take your bloody hands off her!”
She opened her eyes. All was quiet. Then, “She’s nothing to do with this. It’s me you want. Let her go!”
Light from the corridor ushered her back to reality: This was William as she’d never heard him before.
She left her dressing gown behind and raced to his room. Flat on his stomach he lay, blue pajama top bunched around his torso and his legs akimbo. His blankets lay in a bundle on the floor, and poor Jasper stood next to the bed as though he’d been kicked off. It was a sight similar to the first nightmare she’d ever roused him from, yet somehow different. Four months ago, he’d been frightened and weak; now, his eyes were open and he looked ready to kill.
For her own safety, she decelerated her approach and called, “William!”
A leaden foot struck her hip, and only swift reflexes kept her from sending his wardrobe toppling. Her elbows and palms stung as she smacked into the floor. Sweet Jasper licked her hand as though he knew how she felt. She drew the dog close as his master continued to thrash.
Once again, she approached the bed. “William, wake up!”
He lunged forward, cementing himself to her forearm. She surrendered to his pull and stumbled onto the bed, her face inches from his angry, wet mouth.
“So help me God, I will tear you limb from limb—”
She slapped him hard. “Damn it, William, wake up!”
His body deflated like a punctured balloon. He rubbed his cheek, his jaw shifting left to right as if he’d been walloped in a street fight.
“You’re all right,” she said. Still caught in his weakening grasp, she stayed where she was, teetering on her knees.
“Olivia?” His bobbing free arm found her shoulder and with the swiftness of a brushfire, he drew her into his arms and buried his face in her hair. “Olivia, oh, my dear Olivia.”
She smoothed the damp fabric covering his mutilated back. “What were you dreaming?”
His breathing accelerated.
“You’ve got to get it out, or you’ll return to the damned thing throughout the day tomorrow. You know this.”
He spoke into the safety of her hair. “He had you. He was hurting you.”
“Who had me? Wirth?”
He drew back. Memories deadened his face as though he were hypnotized. “I couldn’t do anything to stop it. And I tried. He was doing it to punish me, and I couldn’t do anything but beg him to stop, and—”
“What were they doing, William?”
He shook his head, pursing his lips.
“What were they doing?”
“They were taking turns.”
“Tell me.”
“You were bound, tied up. In the worst way, they were hurting you and they wouldn’t stop. They were enjoying it, and you were screaming—crying my name—and I could do nothing.”
The hand round her forearm tightened, close to marking her skin, but that wasn’t what troubled her. What troubled her was the question she had to ask next.
“When you were prisoner, were you hurt this way? Did this happen to you, William?”
He dropped his head as sobs racked his body. She pulled him close, steering him back toward the sanctuary of her shoulder. Heavy breaths gave way to a fresh stream of tears that saturated her gown.
His response delivered a heavy blow to her gut. In her wildest dreams, she’d never imagined his experience had included suffering of this nature.
“I wasn’t the only one,” he said. “There were others who suffered. Some lost their lives; no one was safe. We were constantly reminded of that.”
“I can’t even imagine.”
“Then you’re lucky. It’s all I’ve been doing these past six months.”
She reached for the linens.
His grip tightened around her wrist. “Don’t go. Please don’t leave me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” She freely kissed the top of his head, holding him as she
would a child.
Floorboards outside the bedroom creaked. Jasper trotted over to Mrs. Pollard, who stood in the doorway, her mouth agape.
“Everything is fine, Mrs. Pollard,” Olivia said in steely tones. “In fact, would you mind handing me the bedclothes?”
William stayed fixed where he was as Olivia leant forward to take the wadded bunch. Mrs. Pollard’s astonishment deepened to a frown, her disapproval clearly overshadowing her curiosity.
“You may switch the light off as you exit the room, as well,” Olivia continued. “Thank you, Mrs. Pollard.”
With great effort, Olivia spread the blankets over both of them, creating as little disruption as possible to the man grieving in her arms. She hadn’t meant to sound so dictatorial, but the older woman’s expression troubled her. This would not go unforgotten. It didn’t matter. William wanted her there; more importantly, he needed her there.
Mrs. Pollard’s judgment be damned.
Olivia woke to a whimper and a squeeze at her waist. William nudged her, seeking comfort against her rib cage. She slid further down to accommodate the head using her as a pillow. He snuggled in contentedly before suddenly stilling.
William sat up and hastily removed the arm he’d had wrapped around her for hours.
“Good morning,” she said.
She kept her voice light despite her exhaustion. Stinging nettles coursed up and down her left arm and throughout her hand. She opened and closed her fist until the numbness subsided; after a few shakes, she could feel her hand again. The kink in her neck wouldn’t be so forgiving. It was early, just after seven. A sliver of light entered the room between the blackout and windows.
The silhouette of William’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. “You’re still here. I—I didn’t expect that.”
“Of course. How did you sleep?”
