The Lost Princess [Hamliza Anastasia AU]

Chapter Six: No Memories But These

Sunday, December 30, 1917. Buffalo, New York.

Betsy Griscom wrapped the scarf tightly around her neck, then hefted the grocery bags into her arms and stepped outside into the freezing winter air. A flurry of snow, probably blown from the roof of a building by the wind, swirled into her face and she shuddered. One of her colleagues might make a dry comment about how even the weather didn't like the new government, but Betsy wasn't like that. She stayed quiet and got by. 

Like just yesterday, a military truck had driven into Buffalo, probably come straight from Albany. Officially, it had been here to announce George Fredrick as the new General Secretary of New York. Unofficially, who knew. It had been heavily guarded, which had raised all sorts of rumors among the townsfolk, particularly when it had driven off into the forest and then returned several hours later with no explanation. Unlike the townsfolk, Betsy didn't question it. She just accepted that she would probably never know for sure and moved on with her life.

One big part of her life was her job as a nurse at the Buffalo Hospital. In fact, her job was the only reason Betsy had left the warmth of the hospital at all today. It was her turn to make the trek along the winding dirt road that led from the hospital to the rest of town, pick up the groceries, and carry them back. 

It shouldn't have taken as long as it did, but she had seen John Ross, a man who she quite liked, in town, and she had to stop to talk to him. Of course, John had invited her out for coffee, which had given her the opportunity to hear about the whole truck incident, but had also meant that she would be walking home in the near darkness. 

As predicted, Betsy was walking back to the hospital along the dirt road, grocery bags in hand. Everything was going just as she expected until she noticed a heap of blue something laying on the side of the road. Intrigued, she went over to have a look. Upon reaching the spot where the blue thing lay, Betsy gasped in horror. 

A young girl was lying unconscious by the roadside, a large bruise blooming on her pale forehead. All around her lay the fresh snow, disturbed only by the thick tire treads of the military truck that ran down the center of the dirt road.

Hurriedly, Besty set down the grocery bags and dropped to her knees in the snow beside the girl. Touching her body, she found that it was still warm, but her lips were blue with cold and her fingertips like ice. Another gust of wind blew some snow down from a tree onto the girl's face and she shuddered almost imperceptibly. 

I have to get this girl to the hospital, Betsy realized. There's still a chance to save her life. Making the decision to abandon the grocery bags, she scooped up the girl in her arms, only then noticing the rusty stain on her fancy blue dress, and began to run up the road toward the hospital. 

Wednesday, January 2, 1918. Buffalo, New York.

Rain spattered against the windowpane, and the girl stirred. The room was warm, she was laying on something soft, and her head throbbed. 

"She's waking up," Someone said quietly, voice laced with excitement. 

Curious, the girl opened her eyes. Three women in white dresses and white caps stared down at her.

"Her eyes look all right," one of them said.

"But that bruise," Protested another. "There's no way she doesn't have a concussion at least." 

"But her pupils are the same size."

"I don't care about her pupils. There's other symptoms of brain damage, you know."