Page 16 of Sands of Sirocco
“Matron.”Ginger directed her comment to Miss Fitzgibbon as the matron came over for tea.She nodded toward the ’other side of the room.“I’d like to cut my break short if you wouldn’t mind and start with those new patients right away.”
Miss Fitzgibbon frowned at her.Normally the volunteer nurses did the initial work of receiving the patients.They gave the tasks of cutting off bloodstained pajamas and washing the patients to less experienced nurses, whose skills weren’t as expansive as Ginger’s.If it came to it, she’d explain to the matron her previous contact with the Australian soldier.But given the lieutenant’s warning of consequences, Ginger wanted to avoid talking about that ordeal, if possible.
At last, the older woman’s expression softened.“Very well.”
One minor victory.Ginger ignored the curious stares of the other nurses and set to work.Going to the bed of the Australian, she introduced herself and lifted his sick card.
“Private Emerson?”She scanned the card.Will he remember me?
“That’s right.”His gaze didn’t meet hers.He continued to stare across the room, toward the enormous windows on one side.A lock of red hair—a similar shade to her own—hung down across his forehead.
“And how are you today?”Ginger pulled the sheet back from the stump of his leg and worked on his dressings.
“How do you think?”
She tensed.Some men licked their wounds and kept going.Far more, especially the most injured, behaved like this.The officers encouraged the nurses to help keep the men’s spirits up.But how could they laugh and joke around those who lost everything and knew it?
“Christmas is around the corner.”She forced the words out.Situations like this reinforced her preference for assisting in surgery.She disliked the sound of her own voice when she attempted to be cheery amid sorrow.It all felt hollow.
Private Emerson laid his hand on hers.“Please.”His bloodshot eyes closed.“No pretense.”
“Would you prefer I not speak?”
“Unless you know any verse.Something to distract me.”
“I have some poetry in my room.”She didn’t, but she could get a book from the local bookstore.
“Bonzer.”He settled back on his pillow, eyes still closed.
She changed his dressings in silence.She wished she could think of more to say to him.He’d barely looked at her.“Where in Australia are you from?”she asked at last.
“Adelaide.”He didn’t open his eyes.“And I can bet you haven’t heard of it.”
“No, I haven’t.”She waited a beat before going on cautiously.“I’ve worked with many Australian nurses.I’m surprised they didn’t put you with them here.”With the overflow from the battle, though, the English nurses had been treating whatever wounded came to them.
He didn’t reply, but his Adam’s apple rose and fell.He didn’t want to talk.She wouldn’t attempt it again.For now.
When she stood to leave, his eyes drifted to the window once more.He didn’t seem to remember her at all.
“Would you like to see if I can get you closer to the window?”She didn’t know why she was trying so hard with him.But his plea on the train haunted her.“Save my leg.”
She couldn’t have.Amputation had been the only option.But now he faced being discarded from service without a pension for his sacrifice.He’d made the mistake of injuring himself in their eyes.
Private Emerson blinked at her.“Can you?”
“I can try.”She turned to go.
“Wait.”
She turned back to him.He peered at her, searching her face.A flicker of familiarity glowed in his eyes and then went out.“Never mind.I thought I recognized you.”
Should I tell him?
She couldn’t.
Shaken, she approached an orderly.“Can you help me move a bed?”
He looked as though she’d sprouted a horn.“Move a bed?”
