Back in her time (10 page)

“Get a nurse! She's coming to.”

“Taylor, can you hear me? It's Pops.”

“Sarge? Pops?” Taylor struggled to blink her heavy eyes open.

“I'm here, girl. You gave us quite the scare, but you're going to be okay now.”

“Was I hit? Am I in the field hospital?”

“No. You're in Toronto East General.”

“They shipped me home?”

Margaret hurried to her daughter's bedside. “Taylor, it's me, Mom. I'm here, too. We're all here: Grandma, your friends from school. They're all in the lounge waiting to hear about you, even that nice girl Kyla, who stayed with you after … and your principal, Mr. Hardie. They've all been taking turns keeping vigil.”

The nurse-practitioner, with a stethoscope around her neck, burst through the curtain of the ICU cubicle followed by the day nurse. “You'll both have to leave while we examine Taylor.”

Margaret tried to take Pops's arm and assist him into the hallway. He waved her off.

“You just got out of your sickbed yourself, Dad. You shouldn't have made the trek all the way from London,” said Margaret.

“It was just a touch of pneumonia. I've been waiting for this for a long time.”

“Dad, you're talking crazy again. Waiting for what, for Taylor to get shot? I told you no good would come of you and her playing with guns.”

“Hush, Margaret. You don't understand. Have I told you how proud I am of you, though, since you stopped drinking? I know none of this has been easy on you; Taylor getting hurt and you going stone sober these last couple of weeks.”

“Thanks, Dad. It means a lot to me to hear you say that. You warned me about the sins of drinking when I was a teen. I should have listened then.” A haggard Margaret led her equally tired father to the waiting room lounge to join her mother and the others.

Pops announced to the gathering, “She's awake! That nurse practical … Laurie, what's her name, is with her now. Our girl is back with us.”

A jock from Taylor's school raised his fist and pumped his arm twice. Grandmother Taylor hugged her husband as he sat down. The group smiled and started asking Margaret and her father questions. “Does she know she's been shot?” “Does she remember anything that happened?” “When can we see her?” “Have the police talked to her yet?”

“No to everything. Yes, it's wonderful she's regained consciousness, but we have to hear from the doctor first. You, there, Mr. Football Player, go over to the nursing station and find out when the doctor will be here.” Pops barked orders like the sergeant he had been.

Laurie emerged from the ICU and went straight to Margaret and Pops. “The detectives want to talk to her first, with Mrs. Wilson present. And, Taylor is asking to talk to you, Mr. Taylor. You are ‘Pops,' I take it? Don't be surprised if she doesn't make a lot of sense just yet. She's heavily medicated for pain. As you know, that bullet went right through her chest, out the back, tearing things up inside. She's a lucky young lady it missed her heart.”

Two fortyish-year-old men in business suits hurried into the ICU after a quick talk with the nurse. Margaret followed right behind them. The group waited quietly. It was five minutes before the men emerged, thanking Margaret for the visit.

They nodded at Pops as they passed and strode to the elevator. Pops got up slowly, Margaret walking over to him to assist him, and they both went into Taylor's curtained-off cubicle. Pops waved his daughter away. Margaret returned to the waiting room without objection. She was used to her father's gruff ways.

Pops stared down at the pale face of his granddaughter. “Taylor, are you awake?”

Taylor's eyes fluttered open. She clicked her tongue stud but it wasn't there. Who removed it? “Pops? They say I've been shot. I'm going to make it, aren't I? It hurts, Sarge.”

“You take it easy. Let me do the talking. You need to rest. You know now, don't you — about the war. It happened didn't it, Taylor?”

“We were there, Pops. You were so young … We were really there.”

“Yes, Junior,” said Pops with a grin. “You have to take it easy, now, or that practical nurse boss-lady will be kicking me out of here. We'll talk more later. I'd better let your mother in here to see you. You don't have to tell her about the war just yet. Not everyone will understand.” Pops pressed a gnarly hand on Taylor's and left.

The spirits of the waiting group were high as evidenced by their loud voices when Pops entered the lounge. He nodded at Margaret, and she rushed from the room to see her daughter.

Kyla asked Pops, “Does she remember what happened, sir?”

Pops gathered his thoughts. “Like the nurse said, she's a little confused — thinks she was in a war, or something.”

“It was a war, sir. When that boy started shooting, it was a battle zone,” said the jock, Luke. “If Taylor hadn't of fought him for that rifle, at lot more students would have been injured or even killed. She's a real heroine, sir.”

“Yes, she is, son. Yes, she is.”

* * *

Moved to a private room, and sitting up in bed a couple of days later, Taylor was surprised to see her grandfather leading Kyla into the room. Pops quietly exited.

“Kyla, I guess I have to thank you for saving my life,” said Taylor. “Thanks for coming by so I could see you.”
She looks so much like Alma, I can't believe it.

“No, everybody wants to thank you, Taylor, for fighting off Dieter. We can't imagine what would have happened to the rest of us if you hadn't stepped in.”

“Well, I didn't do such a good job, did I? Look at me.”

“You gave Hayden and Harrison from the wrestling club enough of a distraction that they were able to step in and take him down. Your grandfather says you don't remember much.”

“Yeah, it's all sort of fuzzy. I remember screaming … and a red handprint as if I'm watching a movie. The rest I've read about in the newspapers. Oh, I do remember I have something of yours.” Taylor painfully reached an arm behind her pillow and pulled out a handkerchief. “Thanks soooo much for using this as a compress to stop my blood oozing out all over. You were brave to do that. You could of just run when the guys started taking Dieter down but you stayed to help me. That took guts.”

“It wasn't bravery — I was frozen on the spot when it happened then I saw you fall and all that blood. I just acted without thinking.”

“Lucky for me your natural impulses, or whatever, took over. You should go into nursing yourself.” Taylor handed the bloodied handkerchief over to Kyla.

“I intend to. Taylor, you keep it a while. Maybe it will help you remember what happened if it's not too uncomfortable for you. I overheard the doctor tell your mother that things may or may not come back to you, and that some things may trigger your memory. Perhaps my handkerchief will. Unless you don't want to remember. I won't blame you if you don't.”

“Yeah, I'm not too sure if I want to remember, either. The doc told me that I was probably in a coma for so long because my brain needed to rest and didn't want to think about what happened.”
And I was busy back in World War II.

“Well, I should go. Your grandfather said not to tire you out. You need your rest.”

“One more question, Kyla. Your handkerchief, it looks kind of old with that embroidery. Where did you get it?”

“Funny you should ask. It was passed on down to me from my great-grandmother.”

“Does it have a special significance or something? It seems kind of funny to pass on a handkerchief. I guess it's like doilies some grandmothers used to have on their furniture. My mom has a couple in a drawer somewhere.”

“Well, it's a keepsake because it was used to bring my great-grandparents together. They met in World War II somewhere in Italy, where she was a nurse. When my grandfather was ill, she treated him and wrapped up some biscuits in it for him. After he was wounded, they met again in England, and he returned it. He kept it all that time. Actually, he didn't remember where he got it from, but he knew it was important. Great-grandma Reid knew him when she saw him again and asked if he still had it. Great-grandpa Reid suffered amnesia, something like you. They kept in touch and eventually married when they returned home to Canada. I'm sorry I'm chatting away, when you need your rest. I should go.” Kyla backed out of the room slowly.

“Thanks for the story! It's a really good one. I won't forget it. I'll get this washed for you and return it soon. Maybe it will help me remember, even if it didn't help your great-grandfather.”

Kyla turned, smiled broadly, and exited.

What would Kyla say if I told her I was there when her great-grandmother gave this handkerchief to her great-grandfather. She'd never believe it.

* * *

Three old men, one leaning heavily on a beautifully carved cane, entered Taylor's hospital room.

“You must have the wrong room, gents,” said Taylor, who was sitting up in bed.

“Junior, how the hell are you? My gawd, she looks just like I remember him. I mean her.” The man ran his tongue over his lips.

“Do I know you? Mac, is that you? And is this Whitey? Whitey, you've still got your white hair! Red? Is that you under that cowboy hat? You all look so old. Sorry. I didn't mean to say that. My gawd, it's good to see you.”

“It's great to see you doing so well. Imagine getting shot twice in a lifetime. After you got hit at Ceccano and they carted you away, we lost track of you. Even when we got back to civilian life, it took forever to find you, and you didn't remember anything. At least that Reid fellow didn't. But you know us now, don't you, Junior?” Whitey stopped to take a breath.

Red, no longer fuzzy-faced but sporting a gray, grizzled, growth, boomed, “You're a sight for sore eyes, Junior. Did you know I was the chief executive of the Calgary Stampede for years? Of course you knowed. Youse told me back in the war.”

Mac, serious in a black, three-piece suit, said, “You gave us a scare again, Junior. First you get injured seriously in the war, and then here in your time at your high school, of all gawd-darned places. How come you didn't predict this?”

Taylor smirked. “Hey, Mr. Successful Retired Stockbroker, don't you remember? I only predicted
your
future, not mine.”

“That's right, Junior. It was all so long ago, I forgot.”

“It might have been long ago for you. It just happened to me. But what happened at school, I can't even tell you.”

“You're a real hero, that's what, Junior,” said Whitey. “It's all over the news. Even Red heard about it out West.”

“So I've been told. They say I may get some memory back … or may never remember.”

“All that training I gave you, I thought was for the war, Taylor, but I guess it was meant for you here,” said Taylor's grandfather, who came in behind the others. “If you hadn't overpowered that German, I hate to think what would have happened.”

Taylor flinched at the way her grandfather spat out the word, German.
Dieter had been my friend. At least I thought he was. What made him do it?

“I still don't know what it was really all about, guys. Being in the war with you was so real. I know it happened 'cause you know it, too. But this shooting at school? I should have seen it coming. Dieter always talked about getting the ‘straights' — you know, the jocks and the snobby kids, but I thought he was just mouthing off. I knew he was angry all the time, sometimes even at me. I didn't know he had gathered a whole arsenal at his house and that he had smuggled it to school. I do remember we shaved our heads that morning. We were just trying to be different, I thought. We liked to incite some of the cool kids, that's all. I didn't know what he had planned.”

Pops stepped closer to the bed and placed his hand on Taylor's. “We don't always know what other people are thinking. Don't blame yourself.”

“Yeah, the papers are full of the stuff that they found on his computer: how to make grenades and purchase guns and ammo illegally. No one could have known. His lout of a father sure didn't know what was going on under his own roof,” said Whitey.

“Imagine, your kid is screwed up like that and you don't know it. Heck, his father probably made him worser,” said Red.

“I hope he gets the help he needs,” said Pops. “What this world has come to.”

“At least under the Young Offender's Act, his name hasn't been made public or glorified. Just yours, Taylor,” said Mac.

As a gloomy look overtook Taylor, Pops changed the subject back to the war. The four laughed at their exploits until tears ran down their faces.

“Mac, you should have seen your face when you thought that jam was blood,” said Taylor, holding her chest to try to stop the pain when she laughed.