Hope Rising Page 4

  He had written back as soon as he could, giving the approval he sensed she wanted about her decision. If his parents—and more important, God—believed she would be safe and happy with this man Joel had never met, he could trust that. His only regret was not being able to toast the happy couple at the wedding or to see his sister’s radiant face.

  Ready to move on from thoughts of home, Joel placed the photo back inside his bag and dragged out his Army-issued Bible. A mud stain, which he hadn’t been able to wipe off completely, covered one corner, and a piece of shrapnel had nicked the top of the spine, but the pages were still readable.

  He flipped the Bible open to one of his favorite stories—Moses leading the children of Israel out of Egypt and through the Red Sea. The danger racing toward them, the trust in God to move ahead, reminded him a lot of his life as a soldier here in France. Would he have had the courage and the faith to walk onto the sea bed, while walls of water towered overhead? Joel hoped so.

  He was well beyond the Red Sea crossing by the time Nurse Thornton brought him the promised broth. It was every bit as bland and unfulfilling as Joel had imagined, but he slurped it all. Anything to get better.

  When he’d finished, he carefully set aside his empty bowl and eyed his Bible. Exhaustion—and pain—warred within him. Should he sleep or read more? Which would distract him from the ache of his injuries? Before he could decide, a tall man with a black mustache and glasses approached his bed. Joel recognized his face—he’d seen it right before the nurse had administered the ether to him in the surgery ward.

  “Corporal, it’s good to see you awake.” The man spoke with a heavy French accent. “I am Dr. Dupont. We met last night.”

  “Yes. Over the operating table. Not the most ideal meeting place.”

  The doctor shot him a grim smile. “How are your arm and leg today?’

  The hurt might be intense, but Joel wouldn’t complain. “All right. At least they’ll heal.”

  A flicker of sorrow passed over the doctor’s face as he removed his glasses and wiped them with a corner of his lab coat. “I believe we extracted most, if not all, of the shrapnel within your leg wound.” He replaced his glasses onto his nose. “It should not encumber you in any way, once you have regained your mobility.”

  Joel gave a hesitant nod. Things were going as well as he’d hoped. Then why the unsettled feeling in his gut?

  “Your arm should also be as good as new,” Dr. Dupont said, “in a short time.” He glanced at Joel, then away, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “There is something else I must discuss with you, though. I shall bring over a chair.”

  The grave look in the man’s black eyes turned the warm broth in Joel’s stomach to ice and set warning bells ringing through his head. His jaw and shoulders tensed with apprehension as he waited for the man to carry over a chair and sit down.

  “As I am sure you are aware, the blast that injured your leg also did damage to your pelvic area.” Dr. Dupont leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “This was noted on your medical card, but the field medics did not know the extent.”

  It was Joel’s turn to swallow hard. Why couldn’t he get any moisture to his mouth? “What is the extent?”

  The doctor released a heavy sigh and stared down at his open palms. “Are you married, Corporal Campbell?”

  The question caught Joel off guard. “Um…no.”

  “No children then?”

  He fought a surge of annoyance, reminding himself this man didn’t know him. “No, sir. I’m going to find a special girl after the war, then start a family.”

  “Then the best way I can explain your condition is this.” Dr. Dupont met his gaze straight on. “While you will be able to enjoy every physical aspect of married life, when you do take that step, you will not be able to father a child.”

  “I…don’t understand.” He’d heard the words, but their meaning seemed to be garbled in his head.

  “You can have a normal physical relationship with your wife, Corporal, but you will not be able to create a child.”

  Joel shook his head as the doctor’s grave announcement at last registered. The man had to be wrong. Joel was going to be a father someday—that was part of his plan.

  “I am sorry,” Dr. Dupont said quietly.

  Although he wanted to lash out at the man, reject the pity in his tone and eyes, Joel knew the prognosis wasn’t the doctor’s fault. “Thank you for telling me.”

  Dr. Dupont stood, but he hesitated, his hand on the back of the chair. “You can still lead a full life, Corporal. Things like this, whether of our own making or not, have a way of turning out for the better. If we allow God to work in our lives.”

  The speech, however kindly meant, only fueled the anger that was fast replacing Joel’s initial shock. What did this doctor know of his plans? Plans that had been full of hope and promise not five minutes ago. Now his dream of marrying and having a family had been obliterated as easily as the men in his squad had been yesterday.

  He gave Dr. Dupont a wooden nod in response, then watched with relief as the man walked away. Alone again, or as alone as he could manage in a room full of men, he tried his best to breathe through the crushing emotion pressing against his chest. Why would God deny him the one thing he wanted most in the world?

  Another unpleasant thought marched forward, bringing the taste of bitter regret with it. If he’d married Rose, then none of this would matter. Even if they’d only been able to have one child before he left to fight, he would’ve still been a father.

  Resentment burned like hot ash inside him. He set the Bible on the bedside table, ignoring the pain the small action incited in his already battered body. He couldn’t read anymore. His faith felt as fragile at that moment as the Israelites’ he’d been reading about. For the first time in his life, he thought he understood the cost of leaving Egypt for the unknown.

  Closing his eyes, Joel tried to close his mind against the questions and doubts swirling there, but he was as powerless to stop them as he was a German tank. Had he misunderstood his own heart when it came to Rose? Had he really been acting in a way God wanted when he’d ended things between them?

  Instead of answers, he felt only pain and shock and gut-wrenching remorse.

  * * *

  With one hand splayed against the beech tree beside her, Evelyn shakily drew her other hand across her mouth. The taste of bile still stung her tongue. She needed a drink of water, and then she wanted to crawl beneath her blanket and never emerge.

  Since the news of Ralph’s death yesterday afternoon, she hadn’t been able to settle her stomach. Knots of panic, combined with her pregnancy sickness, made it nearly impossible to eat. Or keep anything down.

  “Evelyn?” she heard Alice call. “Is that you?”

  She stepped out from behind the tree, leaving the evidence of her now empty stomach hidden in the grass. “Yes.”

  Alice gave her a quizzical look. “What were you doing?”

  “Just enjoying the quiet of the forest.” She pasted on a weak smile. “Did you need something?”

  “No. I was just headed to bed. Sergeant Dennis is wearing me out.” She shook her head in annoyance. “Today he kept asking me silly questions while I tended to him. Like what my favorite flower is or my favorite book. I tell you…”

  Alice’s words faded into the background of Evelyn’s thoughts. If only Ralph were around to complain about. He never picks up his socks or he can’t ever remember our anniversary. These were things she would never know about him or confide with amusement to other women.

  “You look a little pale, Evelyn.” Alice stepped closer and peered into her face. “Are you sure you’re up to doing night duty? I could take your shift, if you’re not feeling well.”

  “I’m fine.”

  She prided herself on how even and firm her tone sounded, despite knowing she would never be completely well again. A hole, as deadly and painful as a bullet wound, had torn through her heart. The
man she loved was dead, the man who had made her happier than she’d been in years. And now her unborn child would never know his father.

  What would she say in answer to her child’s questions? She’d known so little about Ralph’s life before he’d joined the Army—all she’d cared about on leave was enjoying his company and basking in his adoration. How foolishly she’d believed there would be time later on for delving into all the details of their lives.

  Instead time had turned into her enemy. Before long, everyone at the hospital would know her indiscretion.

  Perhaps I ought to request a discharge now, before the pregnancy’s discovered. The idea relieved some of the pressure in her abdomen until she thought of facing her grandparents. She feared their weakening health would never recover from a homecoming like that.

  I could lie—tell Grandma and Grandpa I was married for a short time before Ralph was killed and I was discharged.

  She dismissed the notion at once. Having committed one mistake, she wouldn’t add being untruthful on top of it. She’d simply have to hide her pregnancy for as long as possible. Being taller than most girls, she might be able to get away with it, especially with the loose fit of her uniform. In the meantime, she vowed to be the best nurse she could be.

  After her secret was discovered, she would have to throw her future upon the sisters’ mercy and pray her work as a competent nurse would pay off. Hopefully their need for help would mean a place for her to stay until she could no longer perform her duties.

  “Evelyn?” Alice’s voice broke through her mental scheming. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  She straightened her shoulders. She would do everything asked of her, and do it well—being pregnant wouldn’t interfere with her ability to be a good nurse. “Yes. I can take my shift.”

  “All right. Good night, then. Good luck.”

  “Good night, Alice.” She waved good-bye to her roommate, reminding herself that at some point she needed to counsel Alice about keeping her distance from the sergeant. While Alice clearly didn’t welcome the man’s attentions at present, things could change faster than anyone expected. Evelyn herself was living proof of that.

  The sky in the distance had darkened to dusk as she made her way across the grass to the hospital. She’d rested the greater part of the day in preparation for the hours she’d be awake that night, but she’d been unable to sleep. She kept hearing Corporal Campbell’s voice in her head about Ralph saying her name—right before he died. Images of the mangled soldiers she’d assisted marched through her mind, each one bearing Ralph’s lifeless face.

  She’d considered asking the corporal for details about Ralph’s death, then skittered away from the impulse like a child from the shadows. She hated the idea of Ralph suffering. Witnessing the final moments of several soldiers had left haunting images of agony burned into her mind. No, she wanted to believe he’d died instantly or had slipped painlessly away sometime later.

  Evelyn rinsed her mouth of its sour taste, then collected the keys and ledger book from Sister Marcelle. She had two wards to inspect. But which one should she begin in? Not Corporal Campbell’s. She couldn’t face him yet—not after rushing off to vomit in the bathroom yesterday—and not when she suspected he knew more about her and Ralph than he’d let on.

  She’d start in the abdomen ward. After all, these men were typically in the most critical of conditions. There was often little to be done to help them, beyond time.

  Most of the soldiers in the dimly lit room were attempting to sleep, bringing a hush to the air. While the two nurses on duty performed routine checks and recorded temperatures in the ledger, Evelyn saw to those patients in greatest need. Afterward she claimed the small table in the hallway to add her own notes to the book.

  Once the ledger was up to date, she had nothing left to do but check in on Corporal Campbell’s ward. Evelyn pushed back her chair, the nerves clogging her stomach again. How much had Ralph shared with Joel Campbell about their relationship? Did the corporal know about her pregnancy? The uncertainty weighted her footsteps as she entered the large room.

  Only one other nurse was on duty, a brunette named Catherine Kent. Evelyn approached her as Nurse Kent finished placing a compress on a soldier’s head.

  “Where’s Nurse Phelps?” Evelyn asked in a quiet voice.

  Nurse Kent frowned. “She’s not feeling well, coming down with a cold, I think. So it’s only me. I’m glad you’re here, Evelyn. I haven’t finished looking after all the men.”

  “Which ones still need to be checked?”

  Nurse Kent pointed to the patients at her right, which included Corporal Campbell. “Those in the ten beds there.”

  Evelyn stifled a groan. Of course her punishment for worrying about the man so much would be having to actually attend to him.

  “I’ll see to them.” Evelyn hoped she sounded more cheerful than she felt.

  She gathered supplies and found herself moving to the bed of the patient farthest from Corporal Campbell. Avoiding him was pure childishness—he wasn’t likely to announce to everyone about her and Ralph, at least not yet. But she needed more time. His presence in the corner reminded her of more than Ralph’s death; her future happiness as Ralph’s wife had also died the moment she heard the corporal’s news.

  Squaring her shoulders, she redressed bandages, took temperatures, filled jars of Dakin’s solution for those hooked to the irrigation tubes, and rearranged blankets. But the routine tasks couldn’t keep her mind occupied.

  Had Corporal Campbell seen her? She forced herself not to glance in his direction to find out. What would she say to him? Should she ask what Ralph had told him about her? Or pretend their conversation yesterday had never happened? Undecided, she finished with the five patients on one side of the room and moved at an angle to assist the other four, keeping Corporal Campbell for last. With any luck, he’d be asleep by the time she found herself beside his bed again and she wouldn’t have to talk or answer any troubling questions.

  At last there were no other patients to attend to but him. Evelyn drew in a long breath and turned toward his bed. Her pulse beat harder at her neck when she discovered his eyes were open. Upon closer inspection, though, she realized he wasn’t watching her. His focus was trained on the window across the room, a grim look on his face. What anguish kept him from sleeping like so many of the other men in the ward? Was it Ralph? she wondered.

  Her resolve to avoid conversation crumbled in the wake of his misery. Talking would surely help him, and as a competent nurse, she would do what she should to help, even at a cost to herself.

  “Can’t sleep?” she asked in a half whisper as she stepped to his bed.

  He blinked, then looked up. Recognition flooded his eyes as he shook his head. “No. I guess not.”

  Evelyn slipped her thermometer from her pocket. “Do you want some medication for the pain? I can’t give you much, since we’re low on supplies, but it might make things more bearable.”

  “It’s not my injuries.” His tone was flat, lifeless.

  She studied his face in the faint light of the ward. Despondency cut furrows across the otherwise handsome features. Had he received more bad news? Or was the death of one of his closest friends only now sinking in? A small tremor of remorse shook her as she realized she wasn’t the only one who’d lost someone yesterday.

  A sudden urge to smooth out his creased brow made her lift her hand, only to discover she was still gripping the thermometer. Heat rushed into her cheeks as she hurried to pop the instrument into his mouth.

  “Let’s take that temperature of yours,” she said cheerfully. Too cheerfully.

  As his lips obediently pressed over the thermometer, the corporal met her eyes for a brief moment. But it was long enough for Evelyn to read the intense sorrow and regret reflected there. The need to comfort, and be comforted, rushed up like a geyser inside her. If she could just hold his hand, she felt certain they could keep each other from drowning.

  Her gaze
dropped to his right hand, where his large fingers lay splayed against his chest. Would he find her action forward or understand the driving need to share in his grief?

  Before she changed her mind, she reached out and placed her hand lightly over his. An electric sensation jolted through her. Startled, Evelyn started to withdraw her hand, but Corporal Campbell captured it beneath his and held fast. She glanced at his face, but he wasn’t looking at her.

  The tender touch and rapid thumping of his heartbeat through his hand to hers loosened the emotion clogging her chest and throat. Tears pricked at her eyes. She had no one else with whom she could mourn—no one else who had known Ralph or even about him. And so as much as she knew she ought to move away, Evelyn remained at the corporal’s side, motionless, her eyes focused on their hands, one atop the other.

  Too soon, the squeak of a bedspring from behind broke the trance that held her bound. Evelyn pulled her hand away to remove the thermometer from the corporal’s mouth. The poor man had obediently kept it in.

  “Your temperature is higher tonight.” Her voice wobbled a bit, adding to the embarrassment she already felt.

  You’re the nurse, Evelyn, she scolded herself. Not a mourning widow, so to speak. “Would you like me to remove your blanket?”

  “I’m fine.”

  The note of desperation no longer rang in his voice, but Evelyn knew he was far from fine. She’d told Alice the same lie earlier. Was there something else she could do for him?

  His stubble from the day before had become a light-colored beard, giving her an idea. “Would you like a shave?”

  He arched his eyebrows. “A shave? Now?”

  Evelyn nodded, warming to the idea. “It might help you sleep better.”

  A whisper of a smile flitted across his mouth, but it was there nonetheless. “Is that the alternative to pain medication? A shave at midnight?”

  Her own lips curved in response. “It could be. Though you should know, the nurses on the day shift are often more pinched for time, so it’s a thorough job tonight or a quick one tomorrow.”