'Bloody hell, whatever is the matter with you?'
Iris sat up in bed and looked across at Maisie who, in her sudden wakefulness, lay on her back staring straight toward the top of the main tent pole, her violet eyes following drops of rainwater as they squeezed through the canvas and ran down to the ground.
'Are you all right?'
Iris leaned over and nudged Maisie.
'Yes. Yes, thanks. Bad dream. It was a bad dream.'
'Not even time to get up yet. Brrr. Why doesn't it ever seem to get warm here? Here we are in the third week of May, and I'm freezing!'
Maisie did not answer, but drew the blankets closer to her jaw.
'We've got another half an hour. Then let's get up and go and get ourselves a mug of that strong tea,' said Iris, making an attempt to reclaim the comfort of deep sleep.
'Looks like we've got some 'elp coming in today, ladies.'
One of the medical officers sat down with Iris and Maisie, ready to gossip as he sipped scalding tea and took a bite out of the thick crust of bread.
'Lord, do we need it! There's never enough doctors, let alone nurses,' said Iris, taking her mug and sitting down on a bench next to Maisie.
'What's happened?' asked Maisie.
'Think they're coming in from the hospital up the line. We've been getting so many in each day 'ere, and someone pushing a pencil at a desk finally got wind of it. Some docs are being moved. Down 'ere first.'
Maisie and Iris looked at each other. She had written to Simon only yesterday. He had said nothing to her about being moved. Was it possible that he was one of the doctors being sent to the casualty clearing station?
'Mind you, they might not like it much, what with them shells coming in a bit closer lately,' added the medical officer.
'I thought the red cross meant that we were safe from the shelling,' said Iris, cupping her hands around her mug.
'Well, it's supposed to be safe. Red crosses mark neutral territory.'
'When will they arrive . . . from the hospital?' asked Maisie, barely disguising her excitement. Excitement laced with trepidation.
'End of the week, by all accounts.'
It was late afternoon when new medical personnel began to appear. Maisie was walking through the ward, with men in various stages of recovery waiting for transportation to a military hospital in beds on either side of her, when she saw the silhouette she knew so well on the other side of the canvas flap that formed a wall between the ward and the medicines area. It was the place where nurses prepared dressings, measured powders, made notes, and stood to weep, just for a moment, when another patient was lost.
He was here. In the same place. They were together.
Without rushing, and continuing to check her patients as she made her way toward Simon, Maisie struggled to control her beating heart. Just before she drew back the flap of canvas, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, then walked through into the medicines area.
He was on his own, looking through the pile of records, and familiarizing himself with the stocks of medicines and dressings. As Maisie entered, Simon looked up. For a moment neither moved.
Simon broke the silence, holding out his hand and taking hers.
'Why didn't you tell me in your letter?' whispered Maisie, looking around, fearful that someone might see her speaking with Simon.
'I didn't know I'd be sent. Not until yesterday.' He smiled. 'But now we're together. Couldn't believe my luck, Maisie.'
She held his hand tighter.'I am so glad. So glad that you are here. And safe.'
'Good omen, don't you think? That we're here in the same place.'
In the distance Maisie heard a wounded soldier calling for her, 'Sister. In 'ere. Quick.'
Simon held onto Maisie's hand for a second before she rushed to attend to her patient.
'I love you, Maisie,' he said, and brought her hand to his lips.
She nodded, smiled, and ran to her duties.
Working side by side was easier than either had thought it might be. For three days, wounded were brought in to the hospital and, time and time again, Maisie saw another side of the Simon she loved, the Simon who had stolen her heart as she danced in a blue silk dress. He was a brilliant doctor.
Even under the most intense pressure, Simon Lynch worked not just to save a life but to make that soldier's life bearable when the soldiering was done. With Maisie at his side, ready to pass instruments to him even before he asked--to clear the blood from wounds as he brought shattered bones together and stitched vicious lacerations-- Simon used every ounce of knowledge garnered in the hospitals of England and in the operating tents of the battlefield.
'Right, on to the next one,' said Simon, as one patient was moved and orderlies pushed forward with another soldier on a stretcher.
'What's waiting for us in the line?'
