I read the story, and for the most part my audience was attentive. I saw two or three men gingerly stirring in their chairs as if in pain, and made a note of it. One fell asleep almost on the first page, which I took to mean he had been given medication before the midday meal. His face was slack, as if the relief from suffering was a blessing. The others applauded Mr. Holmes’s acumen in solving the case, and then it was time for exercises. Patients were divided into groups where the affected limb was strengthened.
I assisted the doctor in charge of one such group, helping men work on the muscles in damaged arms, clenching and unclenching their fists, gently encouraging their bodies to remember how to respond to lifting and carrying without dropping things, and to learn anew the skills to compensate for weakness and the pain they were still experiencing.
Next I made the rounds with the sister in charge of giving medicines. After that I walked with three men recovering from broken limbs, their canes tapping across the drive as we headed toward the park. We moved slowly, chatting as we went, and I learned that one had been wounded by shrapnel, another had had a bullet through his knee, and the third had broken his tibia in a fall down a shell hole, catching his boot in the loose earth, and bending his leg back in such a way that the bone snapped.
After dinner, where I fed several patients who hadn’t yet recovered their dexterity with fork and knife, I was asked to help change bandages for the night. For the most part, the wounds were healing well, although I could see Dr. Gaines’s concern over one patient whose wound was still draining.
“I don’t want to operate again,” he muttered to himself. “No, that wouldn’t be at all wise. Still…”
By the time I got to bed that first night, I was very tired and all too aware of the fact that I was not yet healed enough myself to keep up the pace. I wondered how I would have managed in France, where we were chronically short of staff and sometimes worked four-and-twenty hours without relief.
Still, I settled into my routine easily and soon discovered what Sister Harrison meant about the American.
He was polite, always there to open doors or carry heavy burdens, though his limp grew more pronounced when he did, and I scolded him for not taking proper care of his injury.
He smiled. “I’m bored to tears, Sister. And you shouldn’t be hauling those baskets of linens down to the laundry. There are orderlies to handle the heavy work.”
It was true, of course, but the orderlies were busy enough that I sometimes preferred not to wait for them.
“And I shall be blamed if you inflame that wound while being chivalrous.”
He grinned. “My mother,” he said, “taught me to treat the fairer sex with deference and courtesy. Whatever the cost.”
“Yes, well, she wouldn’t be best pleased with me, Captain, if your leg has to be amputated because you were being silly.”
But there was no discouraging him. “My leg,” he said loftily, “is healing better than expected. I’ll be back in France before the summer.”
His name, I soon learned, was Thomas Barclay. His father had made a fortune in railroads, especially running lines north through the state of Michigan, and then he had had the foresight to realize that a ferry could carry the new flood of holidaymakers across to Mackinac (pronounced, I was informed, Mackinaw) Island to the famous hotel there, or to the Upper Peninsula, which abutted on Canada. Railroads, shipping, even a monopoly on the horses used in lieu of lorries and even motorcars on the island had been quite lucrative, and a yearly regatta (which he claimed he’d won more than once) brought even more guests to the north. This explained to some extent his decision to join the Canadian forces, as did the fact that he and his father had often gone north across the border to hunt with friends living there.
Sister Harrison said one morning as she settled her cap over her sleekly brushed auburn hair, “You have made a conquest. The Yank follows you about like a forlorn puppy.”
“Have you looked at his leg? He refuses to let me see it. I’m rather worried about him.”
“Don’t be. Dr. Gaines gives him a tongue-lashing when he doesn’t take care of it properly. I think he rather likes making you fret over him. One way to be certain of your attention,” she added with a grin.
The next day was my free afternoon, and I had given some thought to my plans. It was not more than twenty miles to where Julia Carson lived in a village called Nether Thornton. Twenty miles was farther than even I could manage on a bicycle.
Dr. Gaines owned a motorcar, which he kept in an outbuilding on the grounds. I had been told this in passing by one of the officers, and I had seen it as well when he drove to London with a patient to consult a specialist.
I went to his office and asked respectfully if I could borrow the motorcar for a few hours, explaining that an officer in my father’s old regiment had been killed recently and that I should like to offer my condolences to his widow, having been unable to attend the memorial service.
He peered at me over the rims of his glasses. “Ah. You had the Spanish Influenza,” he said, as if that was how he remembered who I was.
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you
“I understand, sir. I’ve driven motorcars, ambulances, and even lorries.”
“Yes, that’s in France, I think, where roads are rather poorly defined, and there’s room for error. This is Somerset, where brick walls and hedgerows tend to hem one in.”
I smiled. “I have driven in England, where the roads are often nearly as narrow, twisting, and ill made as in France.”
“So they are. Well. I shall allow you to borrow it this time. On the condition that you take someone with you.”
I didn’t want anyone with me while I spoke to Julia.
“Humor me, Sister,” he said, reading my expression all too clearly. “It will give me peace of mind to know you are well protected should any problems arise. Matron would not enjoy informing your father that we have misplaced you or injured you on our watch.”
Reviewing the patients I had come to know, I cast about for a suitable escort. But Dr. Gaines had already made up his mind.
“Take the Yank with you. He’s impatient, trying to push his recovery. An outing of this sort will do him good. And he’s presentable enough. You needn’t worry about upsetting the family.”
The last person I wished to have with me.
But it was clear that I shouldn’t be allowed to take the motorcar at all, if I insisted on going alone. And there weren’t many patients, for that matter, well enough to accompany me. I tried to put as good a face on it as possible and thanked him for the use of his vehicle.
And so it was that Thomas Barclay and I set out for Nether Thornton in early afternoon. Captain Barclay was in good spirits, glad to be free of Longleigh House for even a few hours.
“My father’s great-grandfather was English,” he said happily, as if this forged a bond between us.
“A great many Americans have English forebears,” I replied repressively, turning out of the drive onto the main road. “After all, it was once a British colony, was it not?”
“There are Germans living in Michigan,” he informed me. “Lutherans, most of them. I find it hard sometimes to think that the Germans I’m ordered to shoot aren’t their cousins or former neighbors. When we take prisoners, I can’t tell the difference.”
I too had met Germans who were not the ogres of the popular press. “Yes, I understand. My father told me once that nations are often at war, but people are not.”
“A wise man, your father. Army, is he?”
“Yes. His regiment was sent to India shortly after I was born, and my parents took me with them. I was educated there, rather than being sent home to school. I’m very grateful to them for that decision.”
“I’d been to Canada, of course, but otherwise I was never out of the States until I sailed for France. Still, I’ve traveled widely in my own country. My father saw to that. He had many interests in railroads and shipping, and my mother and I went with him as often as not. I know Charleston and New Orleans, San Francisco and New York, Denver and Boston. Ever been to America?”
“I haven’t.”
“Well, when the war is over, you’re invited to visit. My mother and sisters would like you. They’d take you to
