by Stacy Henrie
“Hey there, soldier,” she said in a soft voice. “Let’s get you warm, all right?”
She unpinned the medical card from his jacket and drew the blankets up over his shaking form. As she waited for his shivering to subside, she read through his card. Sure enough, the scrawled notes indicated a broken left arm and shrapnel in his right thigh as well as damage to his pelvic area.
“I’m going to get you some water, okay?”
Though his eyes remained closed, he dipped his chin slightly, an indication he’d heard her. She procured a glass of water from the pitcher on a nearby table and returned to the bed.
“I’ll hold the glass,” she instructed, “so all you need to do is sip.” She lifted his head gently off the pillow with one hand and brought the cup to his cracked lips with the other. He took a long swallow.
“Thanks,” he murmured, but he gritted his teeth as she carefully set his head back down.
“I know you’re hurting, soldier. But we’re going to get you into surgery as soon as we can. Most likely by tonight.” At least she hoped. There would be others with much more immediate need for a surgeon, but she wanted him to know he wouldn’t be forgotten. “In the meantime, I’m going to change that loose bandage for you.”
From the supply closet, she removed a fresh bandage, a pair of scissors, and a bottle of iodine. When she returned to the man’s bed, she pushed the blanket aside, just enough, to reach his leg. His eyelids flew open, revealing hazel eyes, and a flush of embarrassment crept up his face as she bent to cut away the old bandage.
“Tell me where you’re from, soldier.” If she could get him talking, she knew it would help ease the discomfort and pain of having his injury rebandaged.
“Iowa.”
“Did you grow up on a farm?” So many of the doughboys she’d nursed here in France were sons of farmers.
“Yes.”
Evelyn lifted her head to shoot him a smile. “Me, too. I’m from Michigan.” Once she had the soiled bandage off, she applied some of the iodine. She’d grown used to the acute smell, though it seemed much stronger now that she was pregnant. The man flinched as the chemical met his torn flesh.
“So your name is…” She glanced at his medical card, which she’d set on the bedside table. “Corporal Joel Campbell.”
Campbell? She read it through again as a snatch of conversation with Ralph repeated in her mind. He’d been talking about his squad leader and best friend whom he simply called “Campbell.”
“Which regiment are you in, Corporal?”
He murmured the number. It was the same as Ralph’s. A flicker of eagerness and concern darted through Evelyn. Campbell was a common enough last name, but what if this was the man Ralph had spoken of with respect and familiarity? The possibility sent her hope rising, until another thought jerked it down. If this was the Campbell, then Ralph would have been in the same battle.
The worry flared to fear inside her. Was Ralph safe or not? There could easily be a number of men with the name Campbell in their regiment. But if these two men were in the same company…
“What company are you in?” She did her best to keep the dread from her voice as she wrapped his leg with the fresh bandage.
“Company F,” Corporal Campbell replied in a tight whisper.
His answer stilled her fingers. He and Ralph belonged to the same company—this had to be his squad leader. Was Ralph here, too, or had he escaped injury? She shot a look across the room to the door. Could he be in another ward of the hospital right now? Evelyn’s heart beat faster at the notion. If only she could see his handsome face and kiss those masculine lips. Assure herself that he was alive and well.
Her gaze refocused on the man lying before her. She no longer had any doubt that Corporal Campbell knew Ralph. Which meant he alone could grant her peace or confirm her worst fears that Ralph had been injured, too.
She directed her next question toward the bed to appear as nonchalant as possible. “Do you by chance know Private First Class Ralph Kelley?”
Silence from the bed sounded louder in her ears than the continuing racket in the room and hallway. She finished with his bandage and lifted her head to find Corporal Campbell staring at her. Astonishment had replaced the weariness on his haggard face.
“Are you all right, Corporal?”
Instead of answering, he countered with a question of his own. “Are you…Evelyn?”
A soft gasp escaped her lips before she could check herself. “Yes.”
The man not only knew Ralph, but knew her name, too. She picked up the iodine and scissors and gripped them hard within her fingers. Anything to occupy her trembling hands. A maelstrom of nausea had begun churning in her stomach, making her regret what little she’d eaten at lunch.
“H-How do you know my name?”
His hazel eyes remained fixed on hers. “Because Ralph said it several times today.”
He’d spoken with the man she loved, this very day. Fresh panic and wild optimism pulsed through her veins. She searched his face for any glimpse or clue of where Ralph might be.
“And?” The single word from her lips was no more than a whisper.
Corporal Campbell broke eye contact first, releasing the turmoil inside her. The torrent of emotion engulfed her body, choking her throat and filling her ears with a dull roar. Evelyn had to lean forward to hear his softly spoken reply.
“He said your name, Evelyn, right before he died.”
Chapter 2
Bright light pressed against Joel’s eyelids. He sensed a bed underneath him and not the rickety cot he’d lain in at the field hospital. His clothes felt different, too, their material softer than his Army uniform. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, trying to recall the last thing he remembered before sleep had claimed him. The motion, though small, intensified the pain radiating from his arm and leg.
He pried his eyes open, hoping for answers, and blinked as sunshine from across the room momentarily blinded him. Where am I?
Confused, he attempted to raise himself off the bed, but his left arm had been tucked inside a sling and was nearly useless. He managed only an inch or two before his body protested the slight movement and he collapsed, his jaw clenched.
Memories crashed over him at the same time the noise in the hospital room registered in his foggy brain—the ravine full of Germans, waiting to ambush his squad, the pain from his injuries, the jostling ride on the stretcher, his best friend’s dying words.
Evelyn.
He’d only heard the name for the first time yesterday, though Ralph had talked quite a bit about the nurse he’d met on leave. Today, though, the name conjured up a pair of vivid dark eyes. Eyes that had filled with anguish when he’d told Evelyn the news of Ralph’s death. The raw pain in her expression, and the guilt he felt at being its cause, had temporarily numbed the agony of his physical injuries almost as well as the ether they’d given him before his surgery.
“I see you’ve woken up, Corporal. I’m Nurse Thornton.” A petite, red-headed nurse approached his bed. “How are you feeling?”
“I’ll like things better when I’m back with my squad.”
She gave an amused sniff as she popped a thermometer into his mouth. “Can’t say I haven’t heard that one before. But you’re better off accepting the fact you’re here to stay. At least until you can walk and use that arm again.”
The second she removed the thermometer, he plied her with the question foremost on his mind. “I will be going back, right?” He didn’t like the idea of being sent home early, not when he felt certain he still had the strength to lead his men, serve his country, and help end the war.
“I don’t see why not,” the nurse said as she jotted down his temperature in a ledger.
“When will that be?”
Nurse Thornton shrugged, snapping the ledger shut. “Depends on how compliant you are with instructions. If you take it easy, you’ll probably move onto the convalescent home in three to five weeks. If you insist on getting ou
t of bed before you’re ready, then longer.”
He could be compliant, even if it meant forcing himself to stay in bed. Whatever it took to be out of here faster. The sooner he left the hospital and the convalescent home, the better. He’d help finish the war, return home, and hope there was at least one unattached girl left in the county by then. Before long he’d have a farm and a family of his own—a home as bustling and full as the one he’d grown up in.
That promise, that hope, coupled with his faith in God, had often been the only thing to keep him slogging through another day in a foul-smelling, rat-infested trench. Kept him running full out toward a wall of smoke and shellfire during a battle. Kept him encouraging his men, even as their friends were cut down around them.
What would keep Evelyn going, after the bomb he’d dropped into her life yesterday? She’d stumbled away from his bed toward the bathroom, he guessed, her face pale in color, one hand clapped over her mouth. He hadn’t seen her since.
“Do you know what happened to the nurse who helped me yesterday?” He didn’t know Evelyn’s last name, but he wouldn’t risk giving her first name and appearing too familiar with her. The last thing she needed, after learning about Ralph, was for Joel to get her in trouble.
“You mean Nurse Gray?” Nurse Thornton shot him a suspicious glance as she whipped back his blankets. “Why do you want to know?”
Joel refused to regret the question. After all, it was an innocent one—he only wanted to learn if Evelyn was all right. Sure she was pretty—very pretty—with her black hair and red lips, but he wasn’t planning on making any kind of overture toward her. First, she was his best friend’s girl, even if Ralph was gone. Second, he was in full agreement with the rules about soldiers and nurses.
“She left in a hurry, like she might be sick.” He leveled the nurse with his own direct look, one he’d used on his men before. “I just wanted to know if she was feeling better. And…” He searched his brain for something else. “To thank her.”
Nurse Thornton removed his bandage, her wary expression fading. “Nurse Gray is fine. She’s on night duty this evening, so she’s resting now. You can thank her tonight.”
Once she’d finished examining his leg, she left his bedside, only to return with a jar of some sort and an assortment of red tubes.
“What’s this?” Joel asked.
He hated how little he knew about the workings of a hospital. As squad leader, he was briefed on his squad’s responsibilities before a battle, and while the outcome was never certain, he knew exactly what was required of him and his men.
“We’re going to irrigate your wounds with sodium hypochlorite, or Dakin’s solution. This jar hangs above your bed and the solution runs down through the holes in the tubes.” Nurse Thornton began to set up the irrigation elements. “You married, Corporal?” Her no-nonsense tone confirmed she wasn’t flirting, merely making conversation.
“No, not yet.”
“Got a special girl waiting for you? Someone who ought to know you’re here at the hospital?”
Unbidden, Rose’s pretty face and soft smile loomed in his mind’s eye. She could’ve been at home waiting for him, but things hadn’t worked out as he’d planned.
“No.” The word came out harsher than he’d intended. “Just my family,” he amended.
She nodded, oblivious to the memories she’d conjured up with her inquiry.
“Can you tell me how my surgery went?”
While he was no doctor, from the brief look he’d gotten at his leg yesterday, Joel felt confident the limb would heal. Which meant, God willing, he’d still be able to run as much as he wanted and work the land on his future farm.
Nurse Thornton moved to the bedside table to pick up her ledger book. “Says here they successfully removed the shrapnel from your leg and set your arm.”
Optimism rushed through him, making him almost dizzy with relief. “Does that mean I get to cut down a week or two in this place?”
She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth quirked up. “We’ve got to make sure your injuries don’t get infected. Especially the one in your pelvic region. That’s why we’re irrigating all your open wounds.”
Joel opened his mouth to ask her what she meant about his pelvis, then thought better of it. Discussing it with the surgeon, if he got the chance, would be far less humiliating than asking the details from Nurse Thornton. Whatever the issue, he couldn’t imagine it would prevent him from leaving as soon as he could walk. He was in pain, yes, but he was alive.
Unlike his brother Tom…and Ralph.
He fisted his hand, choking the blanket within his grip. The grief he felt at losing his two greatest friends would drag him down to a place of unyielding despair if he let it. Then he would never leave this bed, never return to his men, never move on with the life he’d been granted. He had to resist this soul-tearing sorrow, and the accompanying guilt at not preventing Ralph’s death. It would destroy him from the inside out if he didn’t.
Stick to the plan, he reminded himself. Get better, get out, finish fighting, and go home. Somewhere, sometime, he’d likely have to mourn, but for now, he would focus on returning to the front as soon as he could. Things wouldn’t be the same without Ralph around as his right-hand man, but he’d make it through. He had to.
“Are you married?” he asked Nurse Thornton, anxious to occupy his mind with something else. When she paused in her work to throw him a frown, he hurried to add, “Just making conversation.”
“No, Corporal. I’m not married. And like you, no special person waiting either.” She checked the tubes as she spoke. “I’ve got three brothers in this war already. Don’t see a need to be worrying about another boy gettin’ hurt.” She folded her arms and stared him down. “That’s all the information you’re going to weasel out of me today. Anything else I can get you? Something for the pain perhaps?”
He almost agreed. After all, his lower body felt as if someone had stuck several pitchforks into it and forgotten to pull them back out. But he hated the mind-numbing fog the medicine created, the inability to know what was going on around him or to him.
“No, thanks. But I’d take my personal effects.”
“Sorry, Corporal. I’m not trekking all the way downstairs for one bag. I’ll bring it up when we serve lunch in about an hour.”
He wouldn’t last an hour—not without something to drive away the painful awareness of his injuries or the memories. With a little effort, he shot her the smile his mother used to say could coax the tail off a fox. “Please?”
Nurse Thornton shook her head, but she was smiling. “Oh, all right. I’ll locate your bag.”
“Thank you.”
While he waited, Joel let his gaze stray to the other occupants in the ward. Most slept or read. Two men across the room were playing checkers. One soldier near the opposite corner had both legs and an arm suspended by pulleys. Even from a distance, Joel could see his bleak expression.
Joel’s own injuries might not be as severe or permanent, but he could understand that look. He’d seen that same hopelessness on the faces of others, had even felt it on his own the day he received word of Tom’s death and again right after Ralph died. There likely wasn’t a man here who hadn’t felt the same way at least once.
They would return home different, too, regardless of the variety of their physical wounds. Not one of them, including himself, was the same person who’d eagerly enlisted. The war had damaged more than their bodies; it had tampered with the very fibers of their souls. Every one of them would carry home internal scars. Ones Joel could only hope and pray would ease with time and the help of God.
“Here’s your bag, Corporal Campbell.” Nurse Thornton set it gently next to him on the bed. “I’ll bring you some broth for lunch.”
Broth for lunch? Joel frowned in disgust. How was a man supposed to get stronger on something so thin and tasteless? Was Nurse Thornton punishing him for persuading her to get his bag or did they serve the same drivel to
all the men?
“Sounds delicious,” he said with a grimace.
She sniffed in amusement and left him to rummage through his bag.
He removed the photograph of his family first. The picture had been taken the day before he and Tom had left for the Army. His parents sat on chairs in the middle of the group, holding hands. The younger kids were gathered around them: Allen, Mary, Charlie, and little George. Behind them Joel and Tom stood with Livy between them. The three of them formed their own little cluster, just as they’d done as kids.
Joel studied Tom’s eyes. They were lit as if he was laughing at some private joke, which he probably was. He and Tom couldn’t have been more different. He liked to plan, to analyze; Tom liked to dive into a situation with no forethought, to sniff out adventure in the unlikeliest places. But he was loyal, too, and kind to a fault. Being a soldier hadn’t been so bad when Joel remembered his younger brother was doing the same thing.
A lump of emotion lodged itself in his throat. He’d never expected his brother to precede him in death, not even in war. The dark-haired kid with the cockeyed grin had always been around, at least in Joel’s memory. He’d imagined the two of them growing into old men together, still arguing over stupid things but loving each other just the same.
He coughed to dislodge the strangling ache and pinned his focus on Livy’s face next. His little sis was twenty years old, five years his junior, and married now. She’d written a while back to tell him she had fallen in love with a farmer—a German-American one—after she’d taken a teaching job away from home. The wedding had been planned for the beginning of the month.
Her news had taken him by complete surprise, especially given the rumors he’d heard about anti-German tension escalating back home. Any concern he felt at her marrying a German-American, though, faded completely by the time he’d finished reading Livy’s letter. His sister’s happiness was evident in every word. As her oldest brother, and occasional confidant through the years, he’d hoped Livy would find a man she could trust, a man who would treat her with the utmost respect. And clearly, she had.
