The Kingdom of Night (Book 3)

Four - Hope Found, Hope Lost

Alice

I had not gotten used to my new way of life. Long days, even longer nights, some without sleep at all. My fellow nurses and I would watch the sun rising over a room of injured soldiers that had gotten more sleep than we had. I heard the constant buzz of chatter, all in different languages–French, Russian, even the occasional turn of a Dutch phrase.

     Most mornings I would feign sleep until it was useless to pretend otherwise. Isobel–though we all called her Is for short–was my alarm clock, shaking me awake at the same time every morning. Unfortunately, that was before the sun was even up.

'Come on, Al. Best get up now if you want to eat something before your shift.' Her voice was falsely brusque, undoubtedly a bit of self-preparation.

I pushed myself into a sitting position, my shoulders sore from scrubbing washbasins and my eyes sticky. 'Must I?'

Iz rolled her eyes. 'Yes. Unless you think it's serving you for me to keep chivvying you.'

'All right, all right. I'm getting up.' I swung my feet to the floor, blinking at it. For all the pain it was giving me yesterday while I was standing on it, you'd think it was nipping at my heels. You had best behave today, I thought, scowling at it.

'Al! Hurry up!' Iz was now fully dressed, halfway to the door already. 'After me it's Matron Dunning.'

I stood up, sighing, with a protest from my entire body. 'Wouldn't want that now, would we?'

||

I began to care much more when Matron Dunning, a severe woman with metal-rimmed spectacles perched precariously at the end of her hawksbill-like nose, assigned me to a heavily bandaged soldier, blood already soaking through the heavy dressings. She gestured to him, and then another one two beds over.

'Clean his stitches, Nurse Bishop. Looks like they might need a repair. And then there's that one down there that needs his wounds redressed.'

I knew better than to ask any questions. 'Yes, ma'am.'

I finished with the soldier she had indicated quickly. He was unconscious still, and his tags told me he was American. Other more experienced nurses took my place, telling me to move on.

The second soldier, the bandage on his head covering one bright blue eye, was a different story altogether. He smiled hopefully at me when I came over, despite his injuries. Completely against my will I felt my breath hitch, and had to remind myself that I was working.

'I was wondering when you'd pop over here to see me, ma'm.' he said. His accent was distinctly Irish, the smooth tones of his lilt quickly dismissing any thought of work from my mind. A man had never smiled at me like that, nor had one ever taken the time to talk to me like a human being.

'Your wounds need cleaning, I'm told,' I said, running through his injuries to distract myself. Two burns on the shoulder, a bullet graze on his left arm, three shrapnel wounds on his right leg. And the stitches on his head, where he's whacked it when he fell.

'Yes, ma'm,' He propped himself up on an elbow, allowing me to put a few pillows under him. 'Mind if I ask you something?'

'Please do.' I said. Matron Dunning had mentioned a few times that talking to the soldiers made them feel more welcome. But not the war, she'd cautioned. Never the war. Or the Germans. We were all certain they'd had quite enough of that already, and besides, they were here to recover.

'Do you come here often?' He gave me a smile, both playful and flirtatious, which looked much more lopsided with his bandage.

'I...' Emmy was much more accustomed to having men flirt with her. She was the prettier sister out of the two of us–at least, that's what I'd been led to believe. 'I do, actually.'