‘Hold it together, Nurse. For Christ’s sake!’
She wished for Spencer, to be working alongside him instead of here, but he was operating at a field hospital helping the more badly wounded, so she wasn’t going to be seeing him any time soon. His request to have her assist him had obviously fallen on deaf ears, or maybe there was simply too much to do and too few hands for special requests. She doubted she’d have coped with it anyway, after seeing what she’d seen already. Ellie only wished they’d had the chance to say goodbye; all they’d had was a few seconds to hug before he dashed away to the army truck.
‘Sorry, sir,’ she murmured. ‘What can I do?’
‘Stop the bleeding in his leg and bandage up his head once I’m finished here.’
Ellie’s heart felt like it was going to break. She’d already seen so much pain, so many beautiful, strong bodies burnt and blasted and maimed. What were these men going to do if they survived? She almost hoped that they didn’t, that they passed away before they reached home, so they were no longer in pain and no longer terrified of how they were going to live without limbs, without faces, without . . . The tears threatened again, an unshed gasp of them, but she refused to let them out. These were real tears, tears for the horror of war – not for her, but for the fallen and falling soldiers. She wasn’t built for this, didn’t have the stomach for it, even though she was trying her best.
‘I have another amputation to do. Finish here and then find me to assist.’
Ellie shuddered. She couldn’t. Could she? She finished stemming the blood flow as best she could and then turned to find the bandage she’d need for his head. It had been his leg that was the mess, a disgusting merger of skin and blood and what she guessed were fragments from bullets. Those would be dealt with at the field hospital, if the convoy arrived for them and didn’t get blown up on the way.
‘Nurse.’
The word was soft, kind, and a hand closed over hers when she turned back to the bed she was standing beside. She looked into bright blue eyes, eyes that reminded her of her youngest brother; they almost twinkled at her despite the pain. She let him take her hand, squeezed her fingers over his and smiled down at him.
‘How bad is it?’ he asked, voice hoarse.
She set the bandage down and reached instead for water, helping him to sit up a little so she could let him sip.
‘It’s better than a lot I’ve seen,’ she said, referring to his leg. ‘Your head wound is bloody but superficial, and I’m sure once it’s stitched and tended to, it’ll just be a matter of waiting for your hair to grow back.’
A boom echoed out, made the ground shudder beneath them. Ellie froze, hand shaking as she set the water back down. The gunfire had been close the entire time, but nothing that loud, nothing that terrifying.
‘It’ll be all right,’ the soldier said, taking her hand again. She wondered if this time it was for her sake instead of his.
‘I need to bandage you up, get you ready for transportation.’
‘Can you talk to me? Tell me a story? I . . .’ His voice trailed off as she picked up the bandage, letting go of his hand. ‘It’s been so long since I’ve had a woman to talk to. Please, just tell me what you’re thinking about, anything just so I can listen to you speak.’
Ellie wasn’t about to tell him what she was thinking, that with the sound of war so close she was certain they were all about to die, but she liked him. He was kind and friendly in an entirely comfortable way, and he must have been in a great deal of pain.
She looked up, across the tent, and somehow, amidst the chaos, she met Spencer’s gaze. She hadn’t known he was back with them yet, and it took her by surprise. He was holding up his hands, working, but for one brief moment they locked eyes and he smiled at her. It was what she needed, one smile to make her realise she had to keep going.
‘Would you like me to tell you a story from home?’ she asked, looking back down and knowing that she would be reprimanded for taking too long with one patient. But it was her way, and she couldn’t change who she was.
‘Anything. Please,’ he said, pushing himself up a little on to his elbows as she carefully checked his head wound to ensure she’d bandaged it correctly.
She sighed, patting the soldier’s arm before turning her full attention to his head and hoping he was starting to feel somewhat better simply from talking to her. ‘Home,’ Ellie admitted. ‘My home back in Ireland, before we moved to England. That’s what I’m thinking about.’ It hadn’t been, but the moment she’d thought of something to share with him, home had flooded her mind and it was the one thing she didn’t mind talking about to anyone, even if it did make her sad.
‘You know, I hear that Ireland is like a little safe haven,’ he said. ‘It’s as if the war hasn’t touched it; they don’t even have food rations there. Or that’s what they’ve been saying.’
Ellie smiled as she thought of home. Her real home would always be where her family was, but the house she grew up in in Ireland was always going to feel like home no matter how many years passed.
‘I dream of visiting my aunt sometimes. She lived near us, and hers is a cottage much the same as ours was,’ Ellie told him, keeping her voice low. ‘If I arrived today to see her, she’d be dashing out to dig new potatoes straight from the soil before plunging them into a pot of salted boiling water. Then she’d serve them with freshly churned butter and meat. For breakfast it would be fresh eggs and bacon. I can almost taste it.’
The soldier chuckled. ‘I think we all caught the wrong boat if that’s what would await us in Ireland.’
Ellie smiled, but the truth was it wasn’t just the food she craved. It was the chatter of the people, the fact that most of them were dirt poor, but rich in food because of where they lived. ‘The bottom half-door of our cottage was always closed to keep the chickens out. The donkey in the paddock was always braying, and we used to run around outside barefoot on the grass with my dog chasing at our heels, or pick berries on hot summer days.’ What she wouldn’t give to be back there right now.
‘Nurse!’
She sighed again, letting the soldier take her hand and press a kiss to it, even though she knew it was strictly forbidden. But what did she care? And more importantly, who was going to reprimand her? They needed all hands on deck, all the nurses they could, and if she couldn’t comfort a soldier who’d been injured in the line of duty, then . . . She gritted her teeth. There was no point getting angry, she knew that.
‘I’ll remember you,’ he said. ‘I’ll be picturing Ireland all the way just to get me through.’
She smiled and patted the soldier’s hand back before dashing off. Dreams of Ireland might be the only thing to get her through the long days and nights, too.