had, after all.
And then as if once I’d stopped trying, the memories crowded in, memories I hadn’t looked for because I hadn’t remembered they were there.
The man with the bandaged shoulder. I’d been standing outside the ward for a moment on that last evening before I fell ill. Another Sister had joined me there, both of us struggling with exhaustion and hoping to find in the fresh air, away from the odors of death and disease, a brief, desperately needed renewal. Yes, and I could almost see again how stained and frayed the bandaging was. The man had gone into the small, makeshift canteen, and I’d wanted to stop him and tell him to see to that wound before it turned septic beneath the filthy dressing.
Had he?
For that matter, was it truly a hasty field dressing? Or was it a disguise? There were so many men coming and going, all of them wounded, that one more hardly warranted notice.
With two sisters standing not twenty feet away, why hadn’t he come to either of us to ask for help?
We could have brought him his tea while the wound was being seen to. Why had he turned away?
There had been two officers passing by, limping.
Were they the reason he’d turned aside? Because he wasn’t wounded after all and had just put a dead man in the shed, where he should never have been found by Private Wilson or seen by me?
It was a shocking possibility.
“Stop!” I said to the driver of the ambulance. “We must go back. I-I’ve forgot to pick up something for Dr. Hicks.”
We had not come so great a distance that we couldn’t turn back, but ambulances were badly needed at the Front, and as the driver was reminding me, I ought not be using one for personal errands. But the question I needed to ask Matron would only take a moment, no more. Unless, of course, the Sister was still there.
Grumbling, my driver did as he was told, motioning the remainder of the convoy to continue on its way and reversing as soon as he could. I sat there, trying to recall which sister I’d been talking with. So much of those last few hours before my collapse seemed to be shrouded in a haze.
Sister Burrows, that was it. I’d liked her. We’d worked very well together.
The driver stopped not far from the ward where Matron had her office, and said, “I shan’t turn off the motor.”
A reminder that time was passing. I splashed through the muddy, torn yard and scraped my shoes before knocking at her door.
“Come,” she called, and I stepped in.
“Sister Crawford?” she said, surprised to see me. “Is there an emergency?”
“I had forgot-I have a message for Sister Burrows.” It was the only thing I could think of to explain my returning so impetuously.
Matron frowned, emphasizing how much these last weeks had aged her. “Didn’t you know? She died of the influenza not a week after you left us.”
I didn’t know what to say. Stammering, I finally replied, “No. I hadn’t been told.” Remembering my hasty improvisation, I added, “Nor had the young Lieutenant. I’m so very sorry.”
“She was a fine nurse,” Matron agreed. “She kept you alive, I think, until the crisis came. It was devotion to duty more than hope, but here you stand, living proof of her skill.”
“Did-did nursing me contribute to her own illness?”
“I doubt it. Like you when the influenza struck, she had been on her feet for nearly thirty-six hours working with a new convoy of the infected, although the doctor had told her to take a few hours for sleep. They had turned the corner, most of them, when she fainted outside my door. That too is to her credit.”
“I shall write to her family,” I said. “Thank you, Matron.”
I had turned to the door when her next words stopped me in my tracks. “You’re the second person this week who has asked for her.”
I forced myself to turn again slowly. “Who was he?” I asked.
“How did you know it was a man?” Matron demanded, the frown returning.
“I assumed it must be a patient. Or a former patient.”
“Yes, I see. It was rather odd. His name was Prescott, he said. Colonel Prescott. He told me Sister Burrows had nursed his son, and that he’d come to thank her. It’s always possible, of course, that he has a son in the Army. But Colonels seldom arrive without an entourage.” She regarded me. “Not related to your young Lieutenant, by any chance, is he? I’d feel more comfortable if he were.”
The last thing I wanted was to claim a connection with him. “I think not. My young Lieutenant was named Hennessey, and he came from her village.” I could feel myself flushing as I lied so boldly.
“I expect Sister Burrows is the only one who could have told us what this was about.”
“Do you recall what he looked like? The Colonel?”
“Prescott? Mustache. Dark hair. Very cold gray or perhaps blue eyes. I noticed them in particular. Possibly an inch or so short of six feet. A bulky man.”
I tried to remember what I’d seen of the man with the bandaged shoulder. Surely he’d been fair?
I shook my head. “I don’t think I remember a Prescott in our ward. Perhaps the son was one of those she nursed after I’d gone to England. Did you look at the lists?” We kept records of our patients. I was praying she would tell me he was there.
“No, the Colonel explained that his son was carried to the aid station where Sister Burrows had served before coming here. He’d had difficulty tracking her down, that’s why it had taken so long to speak to her, he said.”
“That could be true,” I replied, thinking aloud. “Still, I’d have thought he was too busy to come in person.”
“I wondered myself. But it’s possible he’s a better officer than he gave me the impression of being.”
I could hear the ambulance horn sounding now. I’d been here longer than I’d expected.
“I wonder if his son could have confused Sister Burrows with someone else,” I suggested, for Matron’s sake. I didn’t want her to be too curious about this Colonel Prescott and find herself his next victim. “Wounded men are so often in and out of consciousness-”
“I should have thought of that myself. It makes sense. Take care, Sister Crawford,” she said. “Don’t work yourself into a relapse.”
“I promise.”
And I was racing back to the ambulance, slipping quickly into my seat almost as the driver let in the clutch, and we were off.
This was the second appearance of “Colonel Prescott.” I needed to pass the information along to Simon or my father. But it wasn’t the sort of thing I could trust to the censors. He and my father had access to the military pouch on occasion, but I didn’t.
I couldn’t ask for leave. With the warming weather the influenza epidemic seemed to be waning, for we were beginning to see more wounded than feverish patients. Still, we were working around the clock, and nurses couldn’t be spared.
But what to make of this visit from Colonel Prescott, whoever he was?
When I reached the forward aid station I was told I wasn’t on call for six hours. And I was grateful-I could feel every mile in that ambulance in the stiffness of my body from clinging to my seat. But instead of sleeping, I found myself lying there, mulling over what to do. Simon had assured me that there was no Colonel Prescott presently on the rolls. He was seldom wrong about such things. The fact that there were rumors that Major Carson had deserted explained why his own commanding officer hadn’t written to Julia. Why had a Colonel Prescott? And why had this same Colonel Prescott come looking for Sister Burrows? Had she seen him later that night when I’d been taken ill? Spoken to him?
I was finally drifting off into sleep when I remembered the orderly carrying a mop and pail.
Hadn’t Sister Burrows promised to speak to him when he came by again, to ask him to bring a basket of clean linens to our ward? And if I’d come asking questions, she might have remembered that, especially if he’d never brought them. She could have described the man, surely.
But why had he risked coming openly to speak to Matron?
