Page 19 of The Moonlight Healers

Elisabeth rubbed her shoulders. “Long story.” Her eyes were distant for a moment, but then she blinked. “Why are you here? It’s pretty obvious you don’t want to be.”

“My mother was the one who wanted this.”

Helene rolled the gauze around in her hand and thought of her mother. Where was she at this exact moment? Likely with a patient, called to a bedside for a death or birth, working in candlelight, blackout curtains drawn, without even the moon to guide her. If Helene were with her, she would be in charge of the red journal, searching for remedies to supplement her mother’s magic touch, herbs that could speed along protracted labor, or tonics to ease the agonal breathing of death. Helene had always suspected her mother had the journal memorized, that she only made this request of Helene to give her something to do. She still encouraged Helene to put her hands on the patients, to ease their pain, always promising it would come back to her, but no matter how many times Helene tried, she never felt the full force of her ability. At the first glimpses of suffering, she recoiled. She couldn’t visualize their pain, hold on to it for long enough to take it away. All she could see in those moments was her father’s face, the relentless agony of his last months, when her mother spent nearly every hour with him, her hands on his belly, keeping his pain at bay as though she were trying to will away a gathering storm.

“Mothers are funny that way, aren’t they?”

“Yours, too?”

Elisabeth nodded slowly.

They watched each other across the small supply closet as somethread of understanding wove its way between them, until the door behind her opened with a loud bang and they all jumped.

“Just checking on our progress,” Matron Durand said crisply as she entered. She noticed their idle hands and the scissors on the floor. “Girls, is there a reason why you have delayed your work?”

Helene quickly picked up the scissors and another roll of gauze, and Elisabeth scrambled to do the same.

Matron Durand dragged over one of the wooden chairs from the center of the room to where they were sitting against the wall. “Perhaps I should sit in for a while and supervise.” She checked her watch as she sat down and picked up an extra pair of scissors along with a basin and roll of gauze. “There’s an hour left until end of shift. Plenty of time to finish our work. Agreed?”

“Yes, Matron,” Helene replied.

“Well then,” Matron Durand said, her uniform spotless and unwrinkled, her hair still neatly pulled back. “Let’s continue.”

* * *

Five weeks later, Helene walked down the hallway to her assigned ward with a stack of clean linens in her arms. Her movements were automatic, tracing the same path she had taken a thousand times since she’d arrived.

She was used to the dark, from working at night with her mother. But she wasn’t accustomed to so many days without sunlight, a life spent mostly indoors except for weekly treks to the church on the other side of the grounds for mass. The nursing students had one shift off a week, but Helene was often too tired to do much on her day off besides sleep. And so, darkness and exhaustion were the only constants in her life. The entire month had passed in a haze of endless instruction, hours upon hours spent stocking supplies or folding laundry or dusting shelves. Her hands were raw and her back ached from shiftsspent scrubbing floors and helping prepare patient meals in the kitchens alongside Elisabeth and Anne.

Helene had hoped things would be different after the first month, that once she was assigned to the wards, there would be more to her training than the monotonous slog of cleaning and organizing and listening to lecture after lecture from the elderly French doctors who had been permitted to keep their roles in the hospital. But the tedium of grunt work had only been replaced by the tedium of rudimentary patient care, bed changes and baths and temperature checks. She had written to her mother, soon after she arrived, trying to explain the situation without using the plain words.

Our cousin has changed from when you knew her last. She doesn’t care for our family resemblance. I don’t think she even wants me here. Please, Maman, this is not the place for me. Allow me to come home.

Near the middle of the hallway, she stopped by a large arched window, a hint of light coming through the blackout curtain, and closed her eyes. The words from her mother’s reply flashed before her.

My dear Helene,I am so sorry to hear of your problems with our cousin. But please be patient. You will make a wonderful nurse. You are needed exactly where you are.

Helene opened her eyes. The one and only bright spot the last few weeks had been Elisabeth, who despite her initial attempts to remain aloof, had softened as each long night passed. But as much as her friendship with Elisabeth sustained her, she longed for the wide sky over the harbor in Honfleur. She wanted to see the size of the moon, mark the days by its waxing and waning the way her mother had taught her.

She only needed a few seconds. She reached for the thick rough fabric of the blackout curtain, slid a small portion to theside, and hungrily pressed her face into the glass, gazing out over the rooflines at the wide black sky that shimmered with stars. The moon was round, nearly full, casting a gorgeous glow on the city beneath it.

“Mademoiselle,”came a male voice from Helene’s left, and she jumped, releasing the curtain as though she had been burned.

“I’m sorry, I was only…” she started, but as she turned to face the man who had spoken, her entire body went cold.

Lieutenant Vogel stood watching her from a few feet away. His short, sinewy body was held with calm precision, but his features, even in the dark hallway, betrayed a taut energy. He didn’t frown, or smile, only waited for Helene to continue.

“I wanted to see the stars,” she said, her arms at her sides. He cocked his head slightly, as though she were an interesting specimen, an object to be examined. “But I know I shouldn’t have opened the curtain, sir.”

Vogel took a step toward her, that detached curiosity still apparent on his face. “No, you shouldn’t have,” he said, his French accent all sharp angles, flattening the beauty of her language.

Helene shifted the linens in her arms. She could feel Vogel’s eyes on her, but she refused to meet them. She looked past his shoulder. The doors to the wards were still, the night deep.

“You are the girl from Honfleur?” he asked abruptly. “You have family still there?”

Helene tried to nod. “Yes, sir.”

“Do they conduct themselves well, follow orders, do as they are told?”

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