“Brycie curls, Brycie curls, he’s got hair just like a girl’s!”
The details of the day, or that corner of it, came to mind, of a stoic young man doing his best to ignore the taunts of younger cousins. He’d always been a serious sort, Claire recalled. Consequently, he wouldn’t complain, but it didn’t surprise her that he’d signed up for the army as soon as he was old enough.
“Can I help you, Doctor?” The nurse had followed Claire to stand by Bryce’s bed.
“I’m here as family, actually.”
“I was wondering when I saw your last name mentioned in some of the hospital papers,” the nurse said. “Normally we don’t allow visitors to this area, but since you’re a doctor, I won’t tell anyone. Plus he could use some encouragement when he wakes. We were all hoping he’d be able to keep that arm.”
“The need for amputation must have been a grave disappointment.” Claire sensed a deeper sorrow from the nurse than was appropriate for a patient. Did she and Bryce have some sort of arrangement? If so, Claire wouldn’t blame either of them. It must be nice to have someone there for you in a war zone.
“It’s part of life here, and I only hope it wasn’t done too late. He still has a fever, so we’re worried the infection spread before the arm was taken.”
Claire touched Bryce’s remaining hand and found it to be hot and dry. She couldn’t help but notice—
“You two have the same long, pretty hands,” the nurse commented before Claire could think it. “Or did. Would you like a stool? It will make sitting with him more comfortable.”
“Yes, thank you.” Claire took Bryce’s hand and looked at his face. The one in her memory was rounder, younger, but still had the same large eyes and dreamy quality, especially with his tangle of curls. He had been there at some sort of party.
She was glad for the stool because the pain that shot through her skull would have brought her to her knees otherwise. There had been a party, but what kind, and for whom? If her brain wouldn’t let her remember, she would ask Bryce when he woke. If it wouldn’t be too bad for him.
“Would you mind putting the cool compresses on his head and arms, er, arm?” the nurse asked. She brought a deep tray with cloths soaked in water and set it on the bed. “I have bandages to change, and I can’t be in two places at once.”
“I’m happy to,” Claire said. She did as she was asked under the careful supervision of the nurse, who could have done it herself if she was going to just watch. “Like that?”
“Yes. Do you mind if I ask you a potentially personal question?” The girl’s cheeks turned pink.
“No.”
“You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want. When he came out of surgery, he was delirious from the chloroform and of course what had happened, but he kept mumbling, ‘Don’t tell Claire, can’t tell Claire.’ Do the two of you have some sort of arrangement? He and I have gotten friendly, and I’ll be honest and tell you I hoped it was turning into more.”
“No, no arrangement. We’re cousins, that’s all, and I haven’t seen him since he was a boy. Did he say anything else?”
“No. Well, if you get an idea of what he meant, please let me know. And I’ll tell you if I find out anything or hear more. Honorable men don’t keep secrets from the people they love.”
“I agree. And thank you for telling me.”
Claire took Bryce’s hand again and looked at his face. His eyebrows tilted closer together in an almost frown. Was he in pain? They seem to have given him enough laudanum. Or was it something else? What was he not supposed to tell her? Anything about her past? That hardly seemed fair, especially when she craved to know what had happened and what had been blocked.
Her stomach twisted, and she put a hand over her mouth. It was happening again, the blocks fighting against her desire to move past them. Normally she would back off, but a new sensation—rebellion—surged through her.
No, Doctor Maurice, I’m not fine with you having blocked out my past and stolen my memories of my loved ones. I would have worked through the accident eventually. I only wanted the chance to try, and I’m going to fight you with all I can to do it now.
Chapter Eighteen
Fort Daniels, 26 February 1871
Chad didn’t think he would sleep so long, but when he woke, it was dark. He came to consciousness in stages, the final one with an annoying knock.
No, someone was at his door.
He opened it to find the base postmaster Percy Quarles at the door with two urgent telegrams.
“Wanted to make sure you got these,” he said with a tip of his hat.
“Thank you.” Chad took them and opened the first. It was from Iris Bailey and read, Heard news of battle. Hope all is well. Had odd vision. Be careful w EE.
Chad rubbed his eyes, which told him he wanted more sleep, and wasn’t this all too strange to be awake yet? Could his dream from the previous day have been more than a dream?
No, he was a man of science. There had to be a logical explanation.
The second telegram shocked him further, both for its content and the speediness of its arrival. There was no originating address, only a string of characters—LFATB—and the cryptic message, No such thing as coincidences. Remain aware. Will be in touch. HD.
Chad’s mind translated the letters—Light Fantastique at the Théâtre Bohème—before he could think about it too much. That’s the advantage of getting strange notices upon awakening, I suppose. H.D. must be Henry Davidson. He must have gotten my inquiry. Perhaps he can also look into what was done to Claire, although he’s more concerned with larger affairs.
The Parisian inspector, who, it turned out, worked with an international counter-espionage organization, had been keeping track of those who were interested in the Eros Element for nefarious purposes such as the Clockwork Guild, the neo-Pythagoreans, and American entrepreneur Parnaby Cobb, who had also disappeared after the incident at the Théâtre Bohème after the opening night of the winter play Light Fantastique. Chad wondered what he had dug up, but he’d have to wait.
It would be so much easier if there was some means of talking with someone across the globe, having a real conversation rather than the dribs and drabs that come through in telegrams.
He dressed and washed his hands again in the trickle of water that came from the faucet in the barracks washroom. The water pressure would be turned up higher later for those who wanted to bathe, but for now, it was diverted to the stables. It would be nice to get back to a real city with consistent water service and patients who didn’t need limbs cut off all the time. He thought he’d gotten all of Bryce McPhee’s blood off his hands, but he thought he found a couple of flecks. Or perhaps it was his imagination and guilt playing tricks with his exhausted mind.
Just call me Lady MacBeth.
He was mentally composing his reply to Henry when he walked into the hospital and encountered Claire coming out.
“You’re here late,” he commented. “Already working with patients?”
“No.” She folded her arms against the outside chill, and he shut the door. “Sitting with Bryce.”
“Oh. Did he wake?” So much for that warm spell. Must have been a fluke of the Southern weather.
“Barely.” Now she rubbed her arms as though she felt a chill from within. “He said something about not telling me. It seemed to disturb him, so I’m not sure I should go back.”
Chad’s heart sank to his stomach. Would every attempt to protect her blow up in his face?
“I’ll speak with him, see if I can settle him. He might have been delirious from pain and the shock of the procedure. It may not have had anything to do with you.”
She nodded, but she didn’t look at him, and a tear sparkled on her cheek. “It would be nice, you know, to reconnect with family. They’re all scattered now. Not many left but my mother and aunt.” Now she looked a
t him with a slight smile. “And some family isn’t worth reconnecting with. I remember never liking my aunt, but when I was back after being in Europe, I found myself really not liking her. I can see why Bryce ran away and joined the army.” Now she frowned. “In spite of her buying him out of his draft? Is that right? Did I know that somehow?” She rubbed her temple. “That darn hypnosis. I so want to know what happened, what was in my past.”
“Do you?” He resisted the urge to touch her and focused on calming his racing heart, which had leapt back into his chest with a flash of hope.
“Yes, but every time I try, I feel pained or ill. Didn’t you say you were working on something that could potentially help cases like mine?”
“I was, but a shell landed on the workshop. It didn’t explode, but the space is closed until it’s safe again. Are you sure?”
“Yes.” She tucked the strand of hair back into place. The hairstyle had held up surprisingly well. “I’m having dreams about the past, and I would rather have some control over how it comes back to me.”
“I can’t promise control. Hell, I can’t even promise if my process will work, and I don’t want to hurt you further.”
She cocked her head, a familiar gesture from young Claire when she caught him expressing doubt in his abilities. “You need to have more confidence in yourself, Doctor Radcliffe. Now if you’ll excuse me, I told Beth I’d meet her after her shift for dinner.”
“Beth?” A memory of blonde curls flashed through his mind.
“Yes, the nurse who was caring for Bryce and the other post-op patients. She doesn’t like Nanette, either.”
“She actually said that?” He couldn’t have his staff sowing division.
“Oh no! I, uh, could just tell by how she looked when Nanette walked in.”
“Good. I need to speak to Nanette. Have a pleasant evening, Doctor McPhee.”
“You too, Doctor Radcliffe.” She touched him on the arm, and the point of contact tingled. He held the door for her and watched her disappear into the gloom.
I’m perfectly confident in my abilities. Except when I could potentially hurt you.
* * * * *
Claire met Beth at the mess hall, where the nurse exchanged hostile glances with a table that included Nanette and her friends. Lillian sat with them but kept her eyes downcast.
“Bunch of useless peahens,” Beth scoffed. “We all used to get along before she arrived.”
“You mean Nanette? How long as she been here?”
“Yes, and she arrived on base just before Doctor Radcliffe and his Irish friend.” She put a hand on her abdomen, which rumbled so loudly Claire heard it. “And my tummy is joining the conversation. Are you ready for dinner?”
Claire nodded even though the conflict in the air made her stomach sour. While she was glad to find an ally, it was one more thing to deal with, and her soul felt raw as it was. Plus, every time she chased after the memory of the last time she’d seen Bryce before her accident, it slipped away and left only a dull ache behind. Sure, the ache was an improvement over the sharp pain, but she still couldn’t get to the memory.
During dinner, she and Beth talked about where they were from. Beth came from Missouri. Her family hadn’t owned slaves, and they’d remained loyal to the union.
“So as soon as I could, I went to school to be a nurse and joined the army,” she said. “How did you get here?”
Claire gave her a rough outline and glossed over the fact she’d been a patient at the Salpêtrière Hospital, only that her family had sent her to Europe to recover from her accident.
“And what happened to the guy who was driving the steamcart?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen him again.” But that last statement didn’t seem right. “I think? All my memories around it are blocked.”
Beth nodded and pointed to a table of soldiers. A few were missing limbs. “See those? They were in the last big battle here. If you ask them what happened, they all have different memories, and a couple of them have recall like Swiss cheese, lots of holes.”
“Battle hysteria?”
“Yep. Sounds like you have something similar. Just give it time. It’ll come back if it’s important.”
“Thanks.” But she wasn’t so sure, especially since the memories had help disappearing.
Claire still pondered the conversation when she went back to her quarters that night. The people in the common room nodded and smiled, friendly enough greetings, but no one invited her to join them at their tables. It was a lonely feeling, especially with the aura of polite distance she sensed. Would she ever fit in anywhere?
Soon after she arrived at her room, Calla knocked.
“I was wondering if you need help getting ready for bed. I can tie your hair up so you don’t mess it up sleeping.” She patted the braids and more intricate parts of the style. “It held up well.”
“Yes it did, thank you.” She sat on the stool at the low table, and Calla took a cloth and wound it around her head. Claire watched her reflection in the window as the turban took shape on her head. It reminded her of the head wrap worn by the ghost and she tried not to shiver. She hoped she wouldn’t have any supernatural visitors that evening.
“There you are, Miss. I can help you get it off in the morning.”
“Thank you, Calla. I would feel like I was deceiving you if I didn’t tell you I don’t have the money to pay you. I lost my coin purse when the general’s house was shelled, and I don’t know when I’ll be getting paid, but it won’t be enough for a ladies’ maid.”
“That’s all right, Miss. While my daddy did say that honest work is best, and working for free is for slaves, I don’t mind for now. You can pay me when you can, and if you can’t, will you help me find a position? With this war about to be over one way or another I know I can’t stay on this base forever.”
“I’ll do my best. I’m sure you could find a position in Boston.” At the very least I can do that for her. “Where are you from originally?”
“I’m from down in Mississippi. My sister and I escaped, or tried to, when we heard this part of Tennessee got taken. It didn’t seem like that far, but she didn’t make it.” She rubbed the tears from her cheeks.
“I’m sorry to bring up sad memories,” Claire said, her own eyes watering from the stab of grief and an echo in her own chest.
“No, it’s good for me to remember the price I paid. We were going across a field, and the landowner heard something and set his dogs on us. They got her. I went up a tree and watched her get torn apart.” The last sentence came out with a sob, and Claire stood and held the girl as she cried.
“That’s horrible!” Claire stroked Calla’s hair, which was up in its own complicated style. Claire sensed that Calla tried to put her broken world in order one hair at a time. She understood the need to use order to keep darkness and grief and confusion at bay.
“Thank you, Miss,” Calla said and stood back. She wiped her eyes, which still spilled tears. “I haven’t told many, but all of us here have stories like that—family who didn’t make it.”
“You can come talk to me any time. And please call me Claire.”
Calla nodded and slipped out of the room.
Claire closed her eyes and tried to clear the nervous energy from having absorbed Calla’s grief and hurt as well as Beth’s frustration. Both young women were kindred spirits with whom she’d discovered unexpected commonality.
“Perhaps I’m not so alone after all,” she said.
“Of course you’re not!” The reflection of the general’s daughter appeared in the window beside Claire’s. “And look! We’re twins now. When do I get to tell you my story? Oh, and someone wants to say hello to you.”
A tall figure with short strawberry blond hair and tired eyes over freckled cheeks appeared. Claire turned to see a familiar figure standing behind her.
>
“Father?”
Chapter Nineteen
Fort Daniels, 26 February 1871
He held out his arms, but she stayed where she was. Her legs wouldn’t allow her to move. He was a ghost. It meant he was dead, and she would pass right through him. Her mother had lied to her. So had her aunt.
“What happened?” she asked.
“They said I couldn’t handle it,” he said with a sad shake of his head. Now he rubbed his own arms. “The guilt. Over what happened. But I had help coming to this state.”
The memory felt so close, like a leaf fluttering from a tree overhead, and if she just sat where she was, she could catch it. If she moved, grasped too hard for it, the motion of the air would make it elude her.
“What happened to you?” she asked. “To me?”
“If you don’t remember, dear girl, it’s a mercy. You were so…” He shook his head, his eyes squinted shut against the pain of memory. His feelings echoed through her—he didn’t want to remember, didn’t want her to remember.
Claire held up her hands so he could see the scars. “I know it was bad, but I need to remember what happened. I need to remember my life. Who I am!”
“I can’t tell you, dearest daughter. I don’t have the time. I’ve only come to say goodbye and warn you that those closest to you are treading a dangerous path with the aether.”
“What? No!” She stood and reached for him.
He faded, still shaking his head. His last words before he vanished were, “All in good time, my dear. The good doctor knows…”
And then he was gone. Claire sank back into her chair.
The general’s daughter crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “And…?”
Claire looked up at her and tried not to roll her eyes. “And what? Could you give me a moment here?”
The ghost girl pouted. “You say you’re interested in people’s stories, but you haven’t wanted to hear mine.”
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