We Shall Not Sleep_ A Novel - Anne Perry [49]
“Can I get someone for you?” he asked instead. “I know where Cavan is.”
She looked disconcerted. “It’s not really…,” she started, and then, as if annoyed with herself, she straightened her shoulders and met his eyes more coolly. “It’s not really necessary,” she replied. “He’ll certainly be busy.” She turned away, ready to go back into the tent again.
“Can I help?” he said quickly—not because he thought he could, but because he could not let her go without some response.
She hesitated, as though the decision was difficult for her. “Have you no one in greater need?” She seemed annoyed with herself, as if her question was foolish but amending it would only make the situation worse. “Private Fields is coming ’round. He isn’t going to be able to feel his leg. It’s still there, but he’s going to be frightened…”
“I’ll come,” he said, moving forward immediately and catching up with her so he was on her heels as she went back in. It must have been him she was looking for in the first place, or perhaps someone who knew Fields. Joseph could not place the name.
There were several beds occupied, but Lizzie went straight to the farthest over by the canvas wall at the other end. The boy on it was fair-skinned, sixteen at the most, and his left leg was heavily swathed in bandages. There were also cuts on both his arms, blood already seeping through the gauze. Joseph met Lizzie’s eyes questioningly. He had to know the truth, whatever he decided to say.
The gulf between them was no longer there. She understood as if they had spoken aloud everything they meant.
“Shrapnel through the flesh,” she said quietly. “It will heal. But he was in a lot of pain. They had to give him morphine. I’m not sure he would believe me that it’s still there.” She did not add that he would believe Joseph, but it was there in her certainty. He felt self-conscious, his face flushing at the compliment, even if it was not meant as such. She was thinking of the boy, not of him.
Lizzie looked down as the boy stirred, breathing more heavily, and his eyelids fluttered open. A wave of fear came over him as he registered the pain, and her presence. He wanted to speak and clearly did not know what to say.
“Hurts like hell, doesn’t it,” Joseph said very quietly, moving a step closer to the bed. “I got shrapnel in my leg in 1916. But it healed. Hardly ever aches now, only if the weather’s really cold and wet for a long time, and I get tired. I expect yours will be the same. Only you’re a lot younger than I am, so you might do better.”
“Chaplain?” Fields gasped, turning his head a little and trying to focus his eyes. “It’s…it’s still there? I thought…” He stopped, embarrassed. He desperately wanted to be brave.
Joseph nodded. “Our surgeons are pretty good. The bone’s not damaged. Don’t think that’ll make it hurt any less.”
Fields gave a weak smile. “As long as it’s there…”
“It is…I give you my word.”
“…then I don’t care.”
“You will,” Joseph said cheerfully. “I remember how mine hurt. I thought it would never stop. Actually it was only a few weeks, but I think I was a pretty good nuisance most of the time.”
“I’ll bet you weren’t.” Fields closed his eyes as another wave of agony passed through him. His skin was ashen white.
Joseph reached down and touched his hand lightly. “Don’t bet anything you can’t afford to lose. I’m not saying it to make you feel better. It’s the truth.”
Fields tried to smile, and nearly succeeded.
Lizzie pushed the damp hair off his forehead with her fingers. She had nothing she could give him to ease his pain. The small amount of morphine they had was saved for their most desperate cases. All she could do was come to him as often as she had time. Now she glanced at Joseph, her eyes bright and soft, and then moved to the next man.
Joseph stayed with Fields, a silent presence, simply being there, until he drifted off into either sleep or unconsciousness. Afraid it was the latter, he touched the pulse in the boy’s wrist. It was not strong, but it was steady.
He should go