Hope Rising Read online

  “Bad news from home?”

  Joel glanced at the soldier to his left. Even seated in bed, the man looked tall.

  “Your letter—bad news?” he asked again.

  “Uh…something like that.”

  “Name’s Dennis. Sergeant George Dennis.” He leaned to the side and stuck his hand across the space between the two beds.

  “Corporal Joel Campbell,” Joel said, shaking the man’s meaty hand and trying not to wince from the pain of moving.

  Sergeant Dennis straightened. “Your girl up and get married?”

  “No,” Joel said around the tightening of his jaw.

  “I tell you,” the other man continued with a shake of his head as if Joel hadn’t spoken, “those guys who can’t go back to the front end up marrying all the girls left at home. Which is why you’ve gotta look for opportunities elsewhere.”

  Joel followed Sergeant Dennis’s gaze as it settled on Nurse Thornton speaking quietly to a patient on the opposite side of the ward. “You know that’s against the rules.”

  “Maybe it’s different between patients and nurses. Besides, a fellow can try, can’t he? I just want to get to know her.” He twisted to look at Joel and pointed at his neglected Bible. “You a chaplain or something, lugging that Bible around?”

  A chuckle escaped Joel’s throat. “No. That’s the Army-issued Bible. Didn’t you get one?”

  The sergeant scratched his hairline. “I can’t remember. It say anything in there about not talking to a nurse?”

  “Not that I recall.”

  “Then me and Him…” Sergeant Dennis pointed to the ceiling. “We’re still square, even if we ain’t talked in some time.”

  Joel chuckled again, despite Dennis’s somewhat faulty reasoning. From what little Joel knew about Nurse Thornton, he had a hard time imagining her being easily persuaded to break any rules.

  He didn’t plan on breaking them either. The lessons he’d learned from having Vivian and Les on the farm all those years ago went beyond seeing what it meant to be a father. Observing firsthand Vivian’s difficult life, Joel quickly concluded he’d never contribute to placing a woman in a similar situation. Even now, despite knowing he couldn’t father a child, he would still choose to be the man, the gentleman, his parents—and God—wanted him to be.

  Joel folded Mary’s letter and slipped it beneath the cover of his Bible. His gaze wandered the room. He would likely die of boredom and inactivity before his injuries healed. What he wouldn’t give to feel the sun on his face and the slap of his shoes against the dirt as he ran. Even the thought of baling hay or mucking stalls or driving the plow sounded heavenly in comparison to the confines of his bed and the whitewashed room.

  To pass the time until lunch, he opted to look through his bird notebook. Pain sliced down his side and leg, making him grunt, as he reached to pull the book from his bedside table. When the ache lessened, he rested the book on his chest and thumbed through the pages. Each one was filled with meticulous drawings and full descriptions of birds. His sister Livy, the true artist in the family, had sketched some of the pictures, but the ones Joel had drawn himself weren’t half bad.

  Ever since he’d been a boy, he’d found birds fascinating. The way they flew, and lived, and ate. His mother had been the one to encourage him to take notes about the birds he saw. Most of his bird-watching had been on his own, until Les came to the farm. The young boy turned out to be as eager an observer as Joel himself, and they’d spent many hours studying birds together.

  Joel had always envied the birds’ abilities to effortlessly take to the skies. Especially now, when he felt tethered to the earth by his wounds and the irrigation tubes. If only he could soar right out of the window and away from the hospital. But it would never happen, now or in the future. Only in one of those airplanes he’d seen flying over No Man’s Land were humans ever likely to grasp the same perspective as a bird.

  Lunch arrived and, with it, his freedom from the red tubes. Joel slurped up every last bite of broth. Today there were the tiniest slivers of meat and vegetables floating in it. Not the greatest improvement, but he welcomed any change to his bland diet. After his tray had been cleared, he took up his notebook again.

  A flash of movement at the window drew his attention from the drawings and words on the page in front of him. A plump brown-and-white bird with a reddish-orange breast had alighted on the sill, its head cocked. Joel had seen few birds during his time in the trenches.

  Excitement pulsed through him, masking the pain that came from moving about as he tried to locate a pencil in his bag. Once he found it, he sketched a quick picture of the bird, then noted its size and color next to his drawing. He’d have to ask one of the French sisters the name, though.

  Joel watched the creature hop from one side of the sill to the other. It seemed to find as much fascination in observing the men inside the crowded ward as Joel did observing it. Would it stay or fly away if he were to try to get a closer look? Either way, the effort of walking across the room suddenly felt worth the risk. The bird reminded him of happier days, and closing the gap between them would shrink the distance between Joel and home. He could also prove to himself, and the nurses, that he wouldn’t be completely confined to a bed against his will.

  A quick glance at the two nurses in the ward confirmed neither one was looking in Joel’s direction. He pulled back his blanket and scooted to the edge of the bed. The action started a steady ache in his wounded thigh and pelvis, but he tightened his jaw in retaliation. All he needed was to make it ten, maybe fifteen, steps across the room. A simple task.

  Joel twisted to face the nearby wall and let his right foot join his left on the smooth wood floor. Once he rose to a standing position, he’d likely attract attention. He would need to move quickly if he planned to reach the window before one of the nurses stopped him.

  Taking a deep breath, he pushed to his feet on the exhale. The pain along his right side intensified and his knees nearly collapsed beneath his own weight. But he was standing! A tight grimace pulled at his mouth as he forced his left foot to shuffle forward along the floor. The pressure on his injured leg robbed him of breath until he could shift his balance back to his left. He followed up the shuffle-step with a hobble forward, bringing his legs in line again.

  Joel glanced over his shoulder to discover he’d made it only six inches from the bed. Disappointment swept through him, but he gritted his teeth against it. Rome wasn’t built in a day, his dad had always said. Fisting his good hand, he began the process of taking a step all over again. Left foot forward, hobble. Left foot forward, hobble.

  To his surprise, when he looked to the window, he found the bird hadn’t moved. Its head was still tipped at a curious angle as it watched Joel’s funny walk across the room. Encouraged, Joel shuffled forward again, and again. Sweat broke out on his brow and rolled down his face, but he kept moving. Thankfully the soldier lying in the bed beside the window was asleep.

  His breath came harder now, making him shake his head in disgust. In high school, he’d played football, but it was the running he really enjoyed. After graduation, he’d taken up running the outer perimeter of the farm in the mornings or evenings, seeing if he could best his own time. He could push through a couple of miles easily, anticipating the point when his breath and pounding heartbeat were the only sounds surrounding him. But now…just crossing a room left him feeling as if he’d charged through a mile at an unrelenting sprint.

  Almost there.

  Pain, every bit as fresh and stabbing as when he’d first been hit, scoured every inch of his body. But he couldn’t quit now—wouldn’t quit. He wasn’t the sum of his injuries. He was stronger than the pain. Much closer to the window now, Joel could see a blue-gray layer of feathers beneath the bird’s orange breast that he hadn’t noticed from across the room.

  The large, black eyes stared up at him in curiosity and…pity? Joel frowned. The pain must be interfering with his mind. But he couldn’t shake the feeling
the bird felt sorry for him, and that was something he could not tolerate.

  What would you do if they clipped your wings? he silently cried to the small creature. If they told you, you couldn’t fly anymore? You wouldn’t stop trying, would you?

  The bird inclined its head to the other side as if nodding. A tight smile thinned Joel’s lips. Then you and I are alike in that way.

  Three more feet to go. A surge of confidence increased his belabored movements. He’d nearly done it—and only a couple of days after coming to the hospital. No one could pity him now. He might never be a father, but he was every bit the strong man he’d been.

  “Corporal Campbell!” Nurse Thornton’s loud cry startled the bird, just as Joel came within touching distance of the windowsill. The creature threw out its brown wings and disappeared from view.

  As if the bird’s very presence had been Joel’s source of strength, he found his injured leg would no longer support him. He caught himself from pitching headlong out the window, then slid to the floor, breathing heavily. Every pair of eyes in the room, including those of the soldier by the window, was now fastened on him.

  “Corporal, what are you doing out of bed?” Nurse Thornton’s glare blazed with unmasked anger as she marched to his side. “If you need to get up, you are supposed to call for one of us.” She shook a finger at him. “Stay put while I go get a wheelchair.”

  Too exhausted and demoralized to argue or explain, Joel was forced to wait there, his weakness and humiliation exposed to everyone in the ward, until she brought the chair. With his energy completely spent, he had no choice but to allow Nurse Thornton to lift him onto the seat of the wheelchair. The wheels emitted a loud squeak with each turn as she pushed him the embarrassingly short distance back to his bed.

  Agony berated his body, but he clamped his teeth against the groan rising into his throat. He’d brought enough attention to himself already.

  “Is there something I can get you?” she asked once she had him back beneath his cover. This time her voice sounded more contrite.

  An instant cure to his injuries. A chance to switch places with Ralph—to let him live, rather than continue this half-life Joel had now. The bitterness of his own thoughts shamed him. He should be grateful to be alive.

  Afraid any reply would reveal the frustration boiling inside him, he settled for a shake of his head in answer to her question.

  “Then please rest.” She tucked the blanket up around him, apparently noticing the way his body had begun to shake from his short excursion. “I expect such behavior from Sergeant Dennis there,” she added in a low voice, “but not you. You’ve been my model patient. In a few more days, we’ll get you up and walking, all right?”

  Joel turned his head toward the wall and promptly shut his eyes. He didn’t want to see the pity on the others’ faces at his folly. Only a few more days, he reminded himself, until he could try again. His leg would heal soon and before long he’d be back to running. At least he had to believe that.

  But not everything will heal, his mind argued.

  He would never be a father, and he wasn’t likely to marry either. He was kidding himself to think he’d find a woman who would agree to marriage when he couldn’t provide her with a child to love and care for. The other choice was to find someone who felt sorry enough for him to agree to be his wife, but Joel rejected that option outright. Better not to marry than marry where he felt no deep and passionate love. It would be Rose all over again if he did.

  His earlier resentment rushed in with all the force of a raging river. Joel clenched and unclenched his good hand, desperate for a diversion from his ruined plans. At home a good, hard run would have cleared his mind. At the front lines, attention to his squad and the details of battle life kept his thoughts focused. But here, confined to a hospital bed, he felt caged, a prisoner of his own grief and anger. What was he supposed to do now? The wings of his future, his hopes, had been stripped from him, leaving him to flounder, flightless, on the hard ground of reality. His only relief lay in seeking the oblivion sleep offered.

  * * *

  Wadding up the paper in front of her, Evelyn added it to the growing pile of white beside her bed. She threw the book she’d been using as a desk onto the blanket and leaned her head back against the wall. She was supposed to be sleeping, so she could make it through the night shift without falling asleep on her feet or consuming cup after cup of coffee.

  She brushed a hand over her damp forehead. Even the breeze wafting through the open window of the little room she shared with Alice failed to cool her completely. Would her whole pregnancy be like this? As a nurse, she knew the basics about carrying a child but little of the day-to-day things about being pregnant that a mother typically shared with a daughter. A fierce longing to talk to her grandmother—or her mother, as impossible as that was—knotted her throat with emotion and increased the pinching in her shoulders and neck.

  Why couldn’t she find the right words for her letter home? She wanted to confide in her grandparents, tell them there was a good possibility she’d be returning to the States before her time in France was up. It might ease the shock of finding her on the doorstep with her baby in tow. But every word Evelyn had penned so far seemed to reveal too much or not enough.

  She placed a hand against her stomach. It would still be some weeks before she felt the baby move; she knew that much, at least. Already, though, she felt a connection to this tiny being inside her, even as her energy waned and her daily sickness continued.

  Though she might wish for a different order to things, this baby was still hers and Ralph’s. A living reminder of him.

  “Why did you have to die, Ralph?” Whispering the words didn’t make them hurt with any less intensity. Evelyn pressed a hand to her chest, where the pain had taken up residence since Joel had brought her the news.

  Tears pooled in her eyes, making the dresser across the room look as if it were trembling. She could assess and treat nearly any wound and ailment presented to her, but how did one patch a broken heart? Joel’s assurances about Ralph changing brought her less comfort today. However much she’d helped Ralph, it did her little good now. Their baby would still grow up without a father, and she would be forced to return home without a husband.

  The burden of her secret had increased in size from a large rock to a boulder in the last three days. Would she be crushed beneath its weight, long before her pregnancy was even discovered? Evelyn set her mouth in a thin line of determination. No, she would stick with her plans to work as hard and as well as she possibly could.

  Brushing at her wet eyes, Evelyn bent down and collected the wads of paper. She would try to think of what to write later. Right now she needed to get rid of the half-written pages and their incriminating information.

  She removed a match from the box on top of the dresser and headed down the stairs. Outside the afternoon sun shone warm on her back as she stepped quickly toward the forest. Beneath the trees, she slowed her footsteps and followed the sun-strewn path.

  When she felt certain no one from the hospital could see her, Evelyn stopped. She placed the crinkled paper on the ground and struck the match against a nearby tree trunk. The tiny flame lapped at the pile of letters as she crouched beside them. Once the paper caught fire, Evelyn dropped the match onto the pile and watched with satisfaction as her letters burned. Her secret was safe—for now.

  The snap of a branch ahead of her made her shoot to her feet. Had someone followed her?

  “Who’s there?” she asked in a firm tone that belied her rapidly beating heart.

  “Nurse Gray?” Louis’s pale face and dark curls popped up from the brush.

  Evelyn released her breath. “Bonjour, Louis.” She stomped the last of the paper ashes into the dirt and approached the boy. “Who are you hiding from?”

  Louis put a finger to his lips, then pointed upward. “I’m stalking a bird,” he whispered.

  Arching her neck, Evelyn peered above him. Sure enough, a gray b
ird hopped along a branch overhead.

  “What will you do with him?” She kept her voice low as he’d done. Did he plan to snatch the tiny bird and eat it? She cringed at the thought.

  “I like to watch them. Maybe I will fly one day. Like those aeroplanes I see.” The bird forgotten, Louis spread his arms and pretended to soar around Evelyn, snapping branches with his hands.

  Evelyn shook her head in amusement. “You will have to watch out for trees, Louis, if you want to be a good pilot.”

  He grinned.

  “Did you sell any vegetables today?”

  “Non. Did you forget it is Sunday, Nurse Gray?”

  “So it is.” She had forgotten. A flicker of shame ignited inside her. Her grandparents would be at church services today, despite their bad health. Surely they expected their only granddaughter to be doing the same.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked next.

  He glanced down at his dirt-stained, bare feet. “A little.”

  “Then come with me.” Evelyn held out her hand. She may not feel comfortable attending services at the old church nearby, but she wasn’t so selfish as to ignore the needs of this precocious child.

  He slipped his small hand inside her palm. The feel of it reminded Evelyn that one day soon she would hold her own child’s hand.

  “What food does that cabbage-head cook have today?” Louis asked as he followed her up the path.

  A soft laugh escaped Evelyn’s mouth. The sound surprised her. She hadn’t laughed since finding out Ralph had been killed. “Whatever it is, we will both accept it gratefully. That’s what my grandmother always taught me.”

  “I remember ma grand-mère.” Louis pulled back on Evelyn’s arm so he could scoop up a pebble with his free hand. “She smiled and told stories while she sewed. I miss her. Ma mère does not smile anymore or tell stories.”

  Sadness filled Evelyn as she thought of Louis’s mother, trying to make do without her husband. Evelyn now knew what it meant to have the person one loved and counted on suddenly taken away. Though she’d never met this other woman, she felt bonded to her by grief.