by Stacy Henrie
“Non pas de pain,” the cook responded. She slammed the door in the boy’s disheartened face and muttered under her breath. Throwing a pointed look at Evelyn and Alice, she returned to her table and began whacking dough with a stick.
“Come on, Evelyn.” Alice retreated back toward the entrance to the large dining hall. None of the twenty nurses at St. Vincent’s liked spending much time in the kitchen with the cantankerous cook.
“I’ll be along in a minute. You go ahead.”
The moment her roommate left, Evelyn took both the half-nibbled rolls from their plates and discreetly put them into her free pocket. While she might not be able to stomach much food, that didn’t mean someone else should go away hungry. She retraced her steps to the dining hall and let herself out one of the hospital’s rear entrances. A welcoming breeze loosened bits of her dark hair from underneath her nurse’s cap. Evelyn tucked them back and eyed the sky. Gray clouds overhead promised rain.
Before her, the back lawn of the hospital extended long and wide, bordered by forests of beech and oak trees. The hospital itself had originally been a château, rebuilt in the 1860s and bequeathed to the Sisters of Charity. The living quarters for the hospital staff stood to her left in what had once been the orangery and beyond that sat an ancient stone church. Though different from the clapboard building she’d attended as a child, she couldn’t help wondering each time she saw the old building how many weddings, funerals, and services had been held within its rock walls. Would it see another hundred years’ worth of worship and poignant moments or fall, ravaged by the war like so many other towns and villages?
Out of the corner of her eye, Evelyn caught sight of black hair as the beggar boy rounded the hospital. “Wait! Attendez!” she called out as she jogged after him. “Please, wait.”
He stopped so suddenly Evelyn nearly ran into him. Large black eyes peered up at her from a dirt-smudged face. They looked neither sad nor angry, but resigned and weary, though the boy couldn’t be more than six years old. That wizened look constricted Evelyn’s heart more than the other signs of poverty about him—the cuts on his shins and the disheveled state of his shirt and trousers.
“Parlez-vous Anglais?” she inquired. She hoped he spoke English. Her French was still quite rudimentary, despite the months she’d spent in his country as a nurse.
He cocked his head and nodded.
“Wonderful. What’s your name?”
“Loo-ee. Louis Rousseau.”
Evelyn smiled. “Bonjour, Louis. I’m Nurse Gray.”
“Got any coffin nails or chocolate?”
She bit back a laugh at the familiar term for cigarettes. “You learned English from some soldiers, didn’t you?”
Louis shook his head. “Ma grand-mère taught me the English. But ma mère takes our vegetables into the market and sometimes the Americans buy some. She didn’t sell much yesterday. I was trying to beg some petit de pain off that tête de chou. That cabbage-headed cook. But she just say ‘non, non.’”
The brief glimpse into the boy’s day-to-day life made Evelyn all the more grateful she’d taken the uneaten food to give him. While she understood the cook and her staff had to keep an entire hospital from going hungry, Evelyn still believed a little kindness in these dark times was equally important.
“Tell you what, Louis. I didn’t finish all my bread today and I’d like you to have it.” She removed the rolls, which were slightly squished now, and held them out to him.
His eyes widened as he stared at the bread, then at her.
“Go on. You can have it.”
He carefully took the rolls from her. One he bit into at once, but the other he held in his free hand. “Ma mère can eat this one. Merci.”
“You’re welcome.”
A flood of emotion filled her as she watched him lean against the hospital wall to eat the meager meal. He was clearly famished, but he ate the bread slowly. Watching him, her thoughts turned to the life growing inside her.
Perhaps the baby would be a boy—a little dark-haired fellow with an impish glint in his black eyes just like his father. She could imagine her and Ralph and their child, and hopefully the other children that would follow, sitting on the porch of her grandparents’ house—her house—laughing and sipping lemonade. The loneliness she’d experienced since her father’s death would disappear, and the large, empty house would be filled with laughter and life and people.
She’d always envied those of her schoolmates with large families and two living parents. While she never doubted the love her father and grandparents felt for her, she still used to pretend she had a whole slew of brothers and sisters—a complete family. Soon, that dream would be realized. Once she and Ralph married, she would be a wife and eventually a mother, with a family of her own.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” she asked Louis, reluctant to return indoors. The heat and smells inside the hospital made her nausea worse.
Louis shook his head. “It’s only me and ma mère.”
Did Louis long for more family as she did? “Where’s your father?”
The boy lowered his gaze to the grass. “He was a soldier…but he got killed last year.” His brow pinched with sorrow, the same emotion tugging at Evelyn’s own heart. So many men gone…
Losing her father had been devastating, and she hadn’t been a child. Even now, there were countless moments when she missed him with an intensity that made his death feel as fresh as yesterday. The similarities between her and the young boy poking at the ground with his big toe ran deeper than she would have guessed.
Squatting down in front of Louis, she rested her hands on his thin shoulders. “My father died, too.”
“Was he a brave soldier like mon père?”
“In a way. He was a doctor, so he helped people fight battles of illness and disease.”
Louis lifted his chin to look her in the eye. “How’d he die?”
“His heart stopped working one day.”
“Et votre mère?”
And your mother? Seventeen years without a mother still hadn’t erased the longing Evelyn felt whenever people asked. “My mother died when I was five years old. But she’d been sick for a long time.” The word cancer settled on her tongue, but she swallowed it back. The boy didn’t need to know and probably wouldn’t understand the whole ugly truth about her mother’s condition.
Louis’s brow furrowed. “Who takes care of you?”
The inquiry was said with so much seriousness that Evelyn didn’t dare laugh. She chose not to say “myself,” despite its being the truth. She’d been taking care of herself, more or less, since her father’s death. But she recognized what Louis was really asking. Did she have any other family or was she all alone in the world? She cringed inwardly at the thought of having no one. “My grandparents are waiting for me back in America.”
Her answer seemed to satisfy him.
“I’d better go,” he said, wiping the crumbs from his mouth with his sleeve.
Evelyn stood. “So should I. Do you live close by?”
He pointed south. “La Troumont.” Evelyn recognized the name of the nearby village. “Au revoir, Nurse Gray.”
“Au revoir, Louis. I hope to see you again soon.”
He grinned, then spun around and darted into the trees.
* * *
When he disappeared from view, Evelyn retraced her steps to the rear entrance of the hospital. It wouldn’t do to be late to her assigned ward, especially if Sister Marcelle chose today to make her inspection.
Evelyn passed through the empty dining hall. The sounds of her footsteps echoing off the high walls and marbled floors accompanied her as she moved toward the opposite end. The room that now housed long tables and benches for meals had once been a ballroom.
She liked to fancy herself in a silk dress and Ralph in his Army uniform waltzing around the ornate room, her cheek to his stubbled one, his hand firm against her back. He’d murmur funny or complimentary endearments in her ear as
he had when they’d danced on leave two months before. The memories made her shiver with yearning and anticipation. Perhaps after the wedding, they could find a place to honeymoon for a few days so they could dance or explore again.
Smiling at the thought, Evelyn climbed the stairs to the wards on the second floor. The stone walls of the old château kept the place from being completely miserable now that it was the middle of summer, but she still felt the air growing warmer as she ascended. At the top, she smoothed her apron. She tried to recall from her days assisting her father how early a woman’s belly began expanding when she was pregnant. Four months? Five? Hopefully Ralph would be the first in his regiment to get leave, so she wouldn’t be showing too much by the time he came for her.
“There you are, Nurse Gray.” Sister Henriette met Evelyn outside the door of her assigned ward. The woman’s face glimmered with sweat beneath her wide, white headdress. It reminded Evelyn of the sailboats she’d seen as a child on Lake Michigan.
“I’m sorry I’m late, Sister. I had a quick errand to do first.”
Sister Henriette waved away her apology. “Sister Marcelle wishes to speak with you.”
“With me?” Something akin to panic wormed its way up Evelyn’s spine and, with it, a new wave of sickness. She hadn’t committed any infractions since transferring to St. Vincent’s six weeks ago. Did that mean Sister Marcelle, the hospital administrator, had discovered her secret?
“You’re not in trouble, child. She only wishes to ask you about a change in assignment.”
Relief made her shoulders droop and relaxed her tight jaw. Evelyn dipped her head in acknowledgment. A new assignment she could handle, though it did seem odd Sister Marcelle wouldn’t simply ask Sister Henriette to pass on the information.
“She is waiting in her office. Just report back to the ward when you are finished.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She strode down the hallway with new confidence, passing the open doors of the other wards on both sides. The murmur of voices and occasional laughter floated out to her. After climbing another set of stairs, Evelyn paused outside the worn wooden door of Sister Marcelle’s tiny office. She knocked once and an alto voice called out, “You may enter.”
After stepping inside, Evelyn stood before Sister Marcelle’s large desk. Stacks of papers and ledgers stood in neat piles on one side. The only other furniture in the room was two wooden chairs, one occupied by Sister Marcelle. A large crucifix hung on the wall behind the sister. Just as Evelyn had on her first visit to this office, she avoided looking directly at the cross.
“Ah, Nurse Gray. Thank you for coming.” The sister’s blue-gray eyes, the same color as the dress she wore, shone bright with kindness. Unlike the other sisters, she spoke with nearly no trace of a French accent.
“Sister Henriette said you wished to see me.”
“Yes.” Sister Marcelle motioned to the chair opposite the desk. “Please have a seat.”
Evelyn perched on the edge of the chair.
Sister Marcelle folded her hands on top of the desk. “As I am sure you are aware, Sister Pauline is in charge of Sister Henriette’s wards at night. However, as the oldest sister here at St. Vincent’s, she is finding it more and more difficult to manage the irregular sleep schedule. And we certainly cannot fault her.” The sister’s lips curved into a smile, increasing the laugh lines around her mouth. “I think she has finally concluded she is no longer as young as she was when she came here at twenty-five.”
Evelyn smiled back. She’d heard from some of the other nurses that Sister Pauline mostly slept during the night shift. But she couldn’t blame the older woman for dozing. Lately Evelyn could hardly keep her own eyelids from closing at the end of a day shift.
“Sister Monique will be taking Sister Pauline’s place, but her sister is ill and she has asked for time away from the hospital to tend to her. In the meantime…” Sister Marcelle leaned forward, her gaze intent on Evelyn’s face. “I would like to propose that you supervise Sister Henriette’s wards during the night shift. The other ward nurses will report to you, and you will have access to the books and keys. It should only be a few weeks at most, until Sister Monique returns.”
Evelyn’s eyes widened with surprise. The sisters were in charge of all the wards in the hospital, while Evelyn and the other girls from the Army Nurse Corps served as ward nurses. The extra responsibility showed Sister Marcelle’s trust and confidence in her. But would she be able to perform her best? Especially when her pregnancy sapped her stamina? She’d actually been grateful her turn for the night shift hadn’t come up yet.
These were concerns she didn’t dare voice, though.
“I’d be happy to help, Sister Marcelle.” Her voice carried more assurance than she felt.
Sister Marcelle’s ready smile appeared again. “Thank you. Sister Henriette praises your meticulous work. You have undoubtedly proven to be a great role model for all of our nurses.”
Evelyn blushed, feeling less than worthy of the sister’s last compliment. She trained her eyes on her lap. What would Sister Marcelle say if she knew Evelyn had broken the rules to be with Ralph, and now carried his child?
“I will need you to be especially diligent about not overusing supplies.” Sister Marcelle’s admonition interrupted Evelyn’s troubled thoughts. She lifted her chin and gave a determined nod. No matter what physical discomforts she had to endure with this new assignment, she would do it. Anything to keep her secret safe until she and Ralph married. “We will need to use pain medications sparely at night. If you will see that the other nurses adhere to this.”
“I will.”
Sister Marcelle studied her for a moment, causing Evelyn to shift on the hard chair. What did the sister see? Could she read Evelyn’s secret in the tense line of her shoulders or the exhausted furrows on her once smooth face?
“Do you enjoy nursing, Nurse Gray?”
The question surprised Evelyn almost as much as the new assignment. No one had ever asked her if she enjoyed what she did. “It’s the same line of work as my father, when he was alive. My grandparents were very proud of him. Naturally they hoped their only grandchild would follow in his footsteps.” The explanation sounded weak, even to herself. Of course she enjoyed nursing. Didn’t she? If not, why had she worked so hard, for so long, at her grandparents’ expense no less, to be right here. “I—I do enjoy helping others, if that’s what you mean.”
Her expression thoughtful, Sister Marcelle sat back. “And we appreciate your help, I assure you—”
The splatter of raindrops drummed the window behind her, but that didn’t seem to be the sound that made Sister Marcelle twist in her chair. Evelyn heard it, too—the distant rumble of automobiles.
“It appears we have our next round of patients.” The sister released a quiet sigh as she stood and crossed to the window. Evelyn joined her. Through the rain-splotched panes she could see the line of ambulances making their way up the curved gravel driveway.
“More than usual,” Evelyn murmured as much to herself as to the sister beside her.
Sister Marcelle’s face had grown somber. For the first time, Evelyn noticed the weary lines around the older woman’s eyes. “We do what we can.” But she seemed to leave the sentence hanging at the end, like a question. The hesitation lasted only a moment, but in those few seconds, Evelyn caught a glimpse of the burden Sister Marcelle carried as director of the entire hospital.
Clearing her throat, the sister straightened to her full height, a few inches taller than Evelyn. A tight smile pulled at her mouth. “You may return to your assigned ward for today, Nurse Gray. Can you start the night shift tomorrow evening?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Unsure whether to show the religious woman deference by curtseying or not, Evelyn settled for a quick nod and let herself out the door. She hurried down the stairs to the wards. With each step, the cacophony of sound from below grew louder.
Evelyn emerged onto the second floor into a world boiling over with
movement and noise. Nurses rushed in and out of the wards on the heels of the ambulance drivers, bearing mud-splattered stretchers between them, or assisted those of the wounded who could walk. The clatter of boots, the urgent commands, the scent of unwashed bodies all bounced off the stone walls and mixed together, creating a giant cauldron of sound and smell.
When she’d first come to France, the organized confusion had been overwhelming. Evelyn was used to working in a hospital where patients trickled in, not fell upon the place en masse as they often did here. Now she found the chaos almost comforting, the adrenaline a boon to her depleted energy. Her father used to say that adrenaline was the only thing that got him through those first agonizing minutes when he had to accurately and quickly assess an emergency situation and take action.
Elbowing her way through the crowded hallway, Evelyn reached her assigned ward. A quick glance told her what needed to be done in preparation for the new arrivals. Two of the empty beds had been refitted with clean sheets, but the third stood bare.
Evelyn grabbed up the remaining sheet and blankets and hurried to the bed in the far corner. The energy throbbing through her replaced any lingering sense of nausea as she heard Sister Henriette call loudly, “Bring those three in here.”
She finished with the bed and pulled back the blankets at the same moment two of the ambulance drivers approached. The man on their stretcher had his eyes shut tight, his body shivering uncontrollably. His rain-dampened hair was coffee-colored, though the lighter scruff along his jaw and chin were evidence his hair wasn’t that dark when dry. He had a nice-looking, unmarred face, but it was the dried blood on the lower half of his wool uniform and the loose bandage around his leg that drew Evelyn’s attention.
Most of the men in her assigned ward had injuries of the pelvis, thighs, or legs. At first glance, she suspected the soldier had shrapnel wounds in his right leg, while the sling on his left arm meant a fracture or break.
She moved out of the way to allow the men to place the soldier on top of the bed. Once they rushed off, she took their place at his side.
