“Horses are anything but monotonous.”
“I suppose if I had a strong, handsome man around to chase after me, should one of the ponies gallop away, then I could be convinced to give them a try.”
“You’re too big for a pony.”
“Why, William. How outrageous you talk. Don’t you know you’re never supposed to call a girl big?”
His thumb stroked over her cheek, tingling her skin to a rosy warmth. “I learned from the second I found you under Lizzie’s motor that the rules of what one is supposed to do and not do don’t apply to you. I wouldn’t want you any other way.”
“Not going by the rules. How out of character for you. You must’ve hit your head harder than I thought.” His hand stilled, the tease gone from his eyes. A perfect moment, and she had ruined it. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.” She reached for his hand and held it between her own, desperate to rekindle the warmth from a moment ago. “My mouth just opens sometimes without thinking.”
“At least it was the truth. Most of the nurses and doctors here put on brave faces and tell us how well we look. How well indeed. We know what we look like. That’s why they have us in this back room.”
“They have you in this back room so you can rest and recover in peace. Up front, they have a table tennis match going. Think you can sleep with that noise?”
“Darling, I’ve slept with shells exploding over my head for the past two years. A tiny ball bouncing around won’t disturb me in the least.”
But he wasn’t sleeping well. Sister Paulette had told her of the violent thrashings and crying when he was first brought in. The outbursts had quieted, but he still trembled.
He yawned, grunting as the muscles in his neck stretched. Slipping a finger into the bandages, he tugged them away from the raw skin.
“Are they too tight? Shall I loosen them for you?”
“No. There’s a safety pin in here rubbing off what’s left of my skin. Some new nurse with shaking fingers stuck me trying to put it in.”
Gwyn bit back the urge to demand her name and training station. She’d find out first thing in the morning and give a demonstration on how to properly secure wrappings. “I think it’s time you got some rest. We can talk more in the morning.”
“You’ll still be here?”
She brushed back a damp bit of hair from his brow. Despite the uniform and commanding presence, the shadow of a nervous little boy hid deep within. “Where else do you think I have to go?”
“The men need drivers, and I didn’t think Lady Dowling would want to lose her best.”
“You need me more. Or at least, I hope you do. If not, you owe me a train ticket.”
He caught her hand and pressed a gentle kiss to her fingertips. “I think I’ve always needed you.”
A heavy breath swelled his chest. His eyelids drooped as he released a sigh. Gwyn sat perfectly still until the deep, even breathing of sleep rolled in his lungs. Slipping her hand from his, she rose and kissed his scarred cheek.
“Sweet dreams, my brave love.”
He loved her. Of that he was certain. Sweeping into his orderly life like a string-pulled top, she’d spun everything upside down, leaving him breathless and out of sorts. Embodying everything he’d been told to steer clear of, her passion for life and its possibilities beyond his boundaries was enough to make the yearnings deep within spring to life.
Struggling to sit up against the thin pillow behind him, William watched as Gwyn stood across the ward instructing a group of curious nurses on how to make a field sling using a belt and puttee. Cheeks pink with excitement, her hands flew about the task with precision. She’d done it a hundred times with a hundred different objects, and the challenge thrilled her to no end.
And now she was stuck inside four walls. She needed fresh air, the wind caressing her cheeks, the sun sparking red and gold in her dark hair, a new adventure just beyond the horizon. Yet she rushed to this festering place. To him.
A dull ache throbbed down his spine and legs as the metal framed bed dug into the bruises covering his back. He shifted to adjust the pillow, but his sore arm cried in protest. Defeated by pain, he slumped back. Little good he was. An invalid with half of his body resembling spitted meat after a camp roast. Just what a beautiful vivacious woman shouldn’t tie herself to.
She glanced up from her demonstration and flashed him a smile bright enough to shame the sun. His heart swelled with desire to hold her close and kiss her soft lips until the world no longer mattered.
It was for that reason he had to let her go.
His scarred existence would only bring her wandering dreams to a halt. Stinson would never accept her with him limping behind, and all those places on her list would forever remain out of reach. She’d resent him for it, and her disappointment would be enough to make him wish that shell had landed right on him. He should never have permitted his guard to falter with her. He had allowed sentiments to rule duty. It was not a mistake he could allow to continue.
“I think they got it.” Gwyn tossed her supplies into the box next to his bed. “How some of these women ever passed the training course without learning field first aid is beyond me. A few more lessons, and they’ll have Florence Nightingale smiling.”
“It wastes time and energy to train women for practices that they’ll never engage in.”
She bent over the box in search of who-knows-what to teach the next session. “It wasn’t a waste of time for me.”
“Because you refused to obey the rules and stay back where you belonged.”
Straightening with a limp roll of linen in her hand, a frown puckered her brow. “If I had stayed where I belonged, men would have died without a chance of rescue or survival. If I had stayed where I belonged, you would have endured an alcohol bath this morning by some green-nosed nurse from Darby instead of the proper Lysol swab your chart instructs.”
With a flick of her wrist, the linen unraveled down to her knees. She wrapped it around and around her two fingers until it was rolled into a tight ball. Her chest rose with several deep breaths that softened the pressed line of her lips. “Are you feeling all right? A nap would do you good after sitting for so long.”
“All I do is lay down,” he said. “And when they sit me up, my body feels like it’s covered in heaping coals.”
She replaced the linen in the box and touched his forehead. He pulled away, unable to stand her velvet-like smoothness.
Pulling up her chair, she sat and opened the worn Bible from her luggage. Her mother’s, she had told him once, longing tingeing her voice. “Another story can help take your mind off the bed confines. How about Samson? He was a bit of a stubborn fellow. You can relate.”
“No more stories.” He noticed a folded piece of stationery peeking out from the middle of the book. “What’s that?”
Excitement lit her eyes. “My acceptance letter to the flying school. I’m to start in October. I wrote them yesterday to say how thrilled I am, but that I’d like to push back my start date until after the war is over. My duty is here. Once you’re back on your feet, I’m sure we can find a way. It’s only a four-week course, but I asked to learn repairs and rebuilds, which pushes it closer to ten months. Just long enough for you to miss me terribly. Once I have that license in my pocket, we can start planning which we’d like to visit first—the horse farm in the Shetlands you want to see or white sandy beaches in the South Pacific where we can finally warm ourselves.”
Her words—her altered dreams—flayed him like a bayonet. “No.”
“No, you won’t miss me? Perhaps I can drag out the lessons to ensure—”
“No ‘we.’ No crossing off anything. No nothing. My burns are punishment enough for me. I won’t inflict them on you too.” He took a deep breath that ached throughout his chest. “Go for your ten months and start your exploring. Leave me out of it.”
Her excitement sputtered like a flame in a harsh wind. “Your injuries aren’t punishment. It took bravery to
lead those men when hell was falling all around you.”
“I led those men into a slaughter. If I were you, I’d take notice and steer clear.”
“Well, you’re not me, and I have no intention of steering clear.” She closed the book and reached for his hand. “William, you cannot blame yourself for what happened to Roland. Or to Tindall and Farrow. Or to any other man who fell when it was his time. I’m still learning that lesson myself.”
“You don’t understand. You never will.”
“I understand better than you think I do.”
He scoffed and pulled his hand away. “You think so? Wearing petticoats and having a few doors slammed in your face is hardly an experience in the injustices of the world.”
The pink of her cheeks blanched white. “Did you get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?”
“How am I supposed to get up?” He flung the dog blanket aside revealing his normal leg—pink with health—and his burned leg, too shredded and swollen with holes of extracted shrapnel to get a proper bandage around. “Perhaps if you could find me a leather strap to bite on so I can swing this foot over without collapsing, then I might be able to wake up on the correct side.”
“Most of your injuries are only skin deep. Dr. Carlington says that in time and with a little therapy—”
“Skin deep.” He laughed, the coldness of it raking down his spine like a rusty saber. “I have no skin left, Gwyn, or did that escape your notice?”
“My notice of you goes much further than skin.” Her eyes sparked with steeled intensity. “I see to who you are inside your soul.”
“You should take another look because everything inside me was burned to ash. There’s nothing in there for you.”
She pushed to the edge of her chair, tipping it forward on its front legs. “I don’t believe that. Last night you told me you needed me.”
“I may have said a great many things under the flicker of lanterns, but this morning, the harsh light of reality has dawned on me as it should you. Go home, Gwyn. Go back to your ambulance and hospital, or back to your father. Go to the people who really need you. I’m not one of them.”
The back legs of her chair hit the floor. “I don’t believe you.”
“Believe me or not, but there’s nothing I can give you. Not now, not ever.”
Ignoring the blinding pain engulfing his chest, he dropped onto the pillow and turned his face to the wall. Her chair scraped the floor as a sob strangled in her throat. Her running footsteps pounded into his head like a hammer.
He squeezed his eyes shut. It was done. But the pain had only just begun.
Redness gone. Swelling down. All visible evidence from the past hour of crying wiped away. Gwyn attempted a smile at herself in the small hand mirror. Hollowness stared back. Taking a deep breath, she emerged from her hiding place behind the storage shelves. And ran directly into Susan Yarling, the busiest mouth in the hospital.
Susan startled, but the surprise expertly dropped to feigned sadness. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it.” She laid a hand on Gwyn’s shoulder in the way all those frilly VADs did to calm the frightened boys. “Sometimes the pain and fear make them say things they wouldn’t otherwise.”
“Pardon?”
Scandal gleamed in Susan’s eager eyes. “Captain Crawford. Everyone knows.”
Thanks to you, no doubt. “The only thing that everyone knows is Captain Crawford has been seriously injured and needs as much care as every other man here.”
“But none of the other men have a personal nurse they declare love to one day and banish from sight the next. It’s for the best, I’m sure. Your type is better suited for driving through the mud.” Gwyn clutched the sides of her skirt to keep from swiping the smirk from the rich girl’s face. “Was there something in particular you needed back here?”
“What? Oh, yes.” Glancing back to the shelves, Susan tapped her fingers over boxes. “Sister sent me back here for new linens to remake the beds.”
“I believe the orderlies did that only an hour ago.”
“For the old patients. They’re being shipped back to England to make room for the new boys coming in.”
Gwyn’s pulse zipped. “When?”
“Why, right now.” Susan’s eyebrows lifted. “Didn’t you know? Oh, poor dear. Perhaps that’s what Sister wanted to talk to you about after you disappeared.”
The hand mirror smashed to the floor as Gwyn knocked past Susan and flew through the hospital. Orderlies jumped back, and nurses shouted warnings as she dodged trolleys of surgical instruments and towering stacks of wash basins.
Sister Paulette stood at the curtain of Ward D—William’s ward—directing the outgoing traffic. “Ah, Gwyn. There you are. I tried to find you earlier.”
“Where is he?”
“Take a breath, my child. Your face is red and eyes wild.”
“Where is he?” Gwyn side-stepped, but the round little woman blocked her.
The lines around Sister’s eyes softened. “Please understand—”
Gwyn brushed past her and ran to William’s empty bed. Stripped clean, no folded uniform at the foot. No blanket. Only her bag and Bible sitting on the floor. No, no. This isn’t real. I’m imagining he left without telling me.
“I’m sorry, my dear.” Sister Paulette stood behind her, her voice quiet and sorrowful. “We received the order less than an hour ago. I wanted to find you, but Captain Crawford said no. I try to respect the wishes of my patients, but sometimes I find exceptions to my own rules.”
A ton of bricks slammed into Gwyn’s chest. “Where are they taking him?”
“To England, on the next boat.” Sister folded her hands in front of her long white robe. “He’s in pain. Much more than we realized. The medics can tend his physical wounds, but it’s the internal ones that I worry about. Don’t give up on him.”
Grabbing her Bible, Gwyn ran out of the warehouse and straight to the docks. She scanned the crowd of white bandages and khakis waiting to board one of the Red Cross ships. Her heart plummeted to her feet. How was she to find him in all this?
“William? William!” Curious eyes turned to stare. She didn’t care. She’d scream herself hoarse before letting that ship sail away. “William!”
Her ears strained for his voice, but the caw of seagulls and thumping of heavy feet drowned out any reply she hoped to hear. Spinning in a circle to examine the faces around her, panic raced down her veins and squeezed her heart. Oh, God. Please help me.
“Mademoiselle!” A French orderly weaved his way through the stretchers. Despite the chilling breeze, a sheen of sweat popped across his sunburned forehead. “Ma’amselle, what are you doing here?”
“I’m looking for someone. A soldier. They told me he’s being loaded for transport back to England.”
“There are many soldiers here today. We are having trouble keeping the incoming separated from those cleared to leave.”
“His name is Captain William Crawford. He was in Ward D.”
The orderly tapped a calloused finger to his chin. “Ward D. That is the burn unit, yes?”
Gwyn nodded, hope flaring. “Yes, yes. The entire ward was taken.”
“They loaded the overflow of wounded first to avoid the glare of the sun in the decks below. Any hospital patients are loaded last onto the available top deck.” He shrugged. “I do not know for sure, but that is how I have seen them loaded before. Good luck.”
“Thank you.” She raced down the wharf. Her heels thumped against the planks as the waves licked through the cracks and pooled into slippery puddles.
“Hey, miss! Slow down!” A sailor holding one of the ship’s ropes leaped back as she sailed past. “Hey! Hey! You’re not allowed on board. Stop!”
Her feet didn’t stop as she barreled up the gangway. “I’m a nurse. Official business.” The ship rolled beneath her feet as she landed on the top deck. Rows of stretchers covered the top deck while others leaned against the foam-slimed rails. She gulped a breath into
her burning lungs. “William!”
“I’m a William,” said a man three stretchers down. He was missing both arms.
“Sorry.” She walked past him. “Not the one I’m looking for.”
She hurried to the front of the ship, calling his name and scanning each face. Several replied that they could be a William if she wanted him to, a few offers of marriage, and one rather rude suggestion concerning her ankles in boots.
“It might help if you tell us which William you’re looking for, miss,” came a thin voice near her elbow. A man with a wiry mustache leaned heavily against the rail while his unwrapped arm tipped his missing hat. “Might make your search go quicker.”
“Captain William Crawford.” She shielded her eyes against the bright sun flashing off the top of waves. “Of the Ox and Bucks. He was in Ward D.”
“Oh, them fellows all bandaged up like mummies? Back there on the port side.” He pointed around the smokestack to the left.
Ward D was laid out like sardines in a can along the port side. William lay at the end of the row, his heard turned from the rest of the men as he gazed blankly out to the foaming sea.
“Trying to sneak off?”
He flinched at her voice but didn’t turn. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Too late for that.” She knelt beside him, casting a shadow over his smooth unblemished cheek. “How could you leave without telling me?”
“Within minutes of the order, we moved out. There wasn’t time to even buckle my belt if I had one.”
“You had time to talk to Sister Paulette. Why, William?”
“Because there’s no reason for you to be here.”
“You are my reason.” She touched his shoulder. “Please look at me.”
His head swiveled to her. Bright blue eyes stared coldly into hers. “Stop wasting yourself on some cripple. You’ll only find disappointment. Go back to driving, go back to planning your life of adventure. You won’t find it with me.”
The boat trembled, its vibrations shaking deep into Gwyn’s bones. One prick, and she was sure they would shatter from the agony splintering deep in their core. “You’re so very wrong.”
Among the Poppies Page 27
