Shoulder the Sky_ A Novel - Anne Perry [18]
“Don’t think I’ll forget this!” Prentice snarled, blowing bubbles of blood through his bruised and rapidly swelling lips. One eye was already darkening with a huge bruise and the other cheek was blotched. His arm hung uselessly and obviously with pain.
“You can remember what you like,” Joseph replied. “But you’d be wise to say and do nothing. If anyone hears about what you said in front of Charlie Gee, you’ll get no cooperation from any of the men. And you may find you have other ‘accidents’ on dark nights. As you pointed out to Sergeant Watkins, friendship is about all we have here, that and loyalty to your unit and a belief that we’re fighting for something that matters; honor, a way of life, people we love.”
He looked at Prentice’s face. The man was not used to physical pain, and he was obviously hurting pretty badly. “You’d better go up to one of the forward first-aid stations,” he advised. “You’re hardly a hospital case, but you could do with a little attention, a stitch or two, perhaps, and someone to put your shoulder back. It’s quite a simple thing to do, but it’ll hurt like hell.” He said that with pleasure. “Wait your turn, and tell them anything you want. A shrapnel burst near you would probably be best. It looks as if you fell. There’ll be lots hurt worse than you are, so you’ll make a fool of yourself if you raise a fuss. People are hard on cowards.” He gave a very small, tight smile. “And do it smartly, before I arrest you.”
Prentice was furious. “That lunatic attacked me! I didn’t even hit him back! Or are you going to lie about that, too?”
“For getting in the way of treating the wounded, and wasting medical officers’ time,” Joseph replied without hesitation. “You didn’t hit him back because he didn’t give you a chance. Be grateful I haven’t arrested you already.”
Prentice stared at him just long enough to realize he meant it, then turned on his heel and went off, shambling unevenly, feet slithering on the boards, physical and emotional shock making him dizzy.
Joseph went back inside the hospital hut to check on Charlie Gee’s condition. It was too much, he thought. He remembered how alone and inadequate to the burden he had felt when his parents were killed, and suddenly he was the head of the family, expected to know the answers, and have the strength and the inner certainty to help.
That had been nothing compared with what he needed to do now. No teaching, no ministry prepared you to have answers for this. What kind of a God hurled you into this hell without teaching you what you were supposed to do, to say, even to think in order to keep your own faith?
There was no answer, only numberless men, young, broken, and in desperate need. He went up the step and in through the door.
It was several days after Matthew had returned from seeing Mary Allard in Brighton before he could take the time to go up to Cambridge and find an opportunity to speak with Aidan Thyer. It was a bright spring morning with a sharp wind and sunlight glittering off the wet cobbles of the streets. The porter let him into St. John’s College. Apparently he had been told to expect him, because he walked with him across the outer quadrangle, under the arch and into the smaller, quieter inside quad where the master’s lodgings were situated on the farther side.
“There you are, sir,” he said respectfully. All men in uniform were regarded with a special dignity, whether he knew them or not, and he remembered Joseph with affection, and a peculiar awe for his part in the previous summer’s tragedy. He did not want to be intrusive, and the indecision was in his face, but he had to ask.
“How is the Reverend Reavley, sir? We think of him often.”
“He’s well, thank you,” Matthew replied.
“He’s in Flanders, isn’t he?” It was a statement, and there was pride in it.
“Yes, near Ypres.” Matthew was surprised