In the Shadow of the Lamp (20 page)

In December I got a letter from Will, who wrote me the night before he went into a big battle.

Dear Molly,

I want you to know that thinking of you, considering what I asked you, has kept me going these weeks. Tomorrow is bound to be a hot one, they say, although the winter weather is bitter and I’ve nearly lost a finger to frostbite. They’ve taught me how to use the Minié rifle. It’s very accurate. As long as we have a clear shot, we can hit them before their shotguns or pistols are close to being able to reach us. Only the big guns have a longer range. There’s always danger from them.

But why am I telling you this? I thought I’d reassure you if you knew I had a good rifle—and God—on my side. I expect the Russians claim God as well. It’s so strange. Anyway, I just wanted to say you’re a good girl and smart too, and whatever happens to me you’ll be all right.

If I don’t come out of this, visit Lucy. She’s very fond of you.

Love,

Will

I had put Will in a little pocket of my mind before then. Suddenly he was back, a thought I couldn’t ignore. It would be one of my worst nightmares to have him turn up wounded or sick at the Barrack Hospital. So many of the men were near to death by the time they got to us, the less serious ones having been treated in the field and sent back to fight as soon as they were able. The lucky ones we saw were sent only to get more care or another surgery they couldn’t do on the battlefield. And what was interesting, something Sister Sarah Anne pointed out, was that the ones who had amputations right away in the field were much less likely to die than the ones who had to wait until they got to us. She thought it was because there was time for the wound to fester on the slow journey across the Black Sea. I sometimes wondered if the pain was more bearable when you saw how many didn’t make it, so you stood it all the better.

Whatever it was, Emma and I checked the casualty lists every day. She looked for her Thomas, and I looked for Will. We were always relieved not to find their names there. I began to wonder after a bit why I didn’t get any more letters from him if he wasn’t wounded or dead. But I imagined it was hard at the front lines, and maybe they couldn’t even get paper and a pencil to write with.

That December and January were awful. Not only was the weather bad in Scutari, but it seemed the army hadn’t counted on how hard the winter would be in the Crimea. All the soldiers who came to us were tired and worn out as well as half frozen, so sickness and frostbite became as dangerous as the Russian guns.

“They have no warm clothing! How could the army have been so negligent?” Miss Nightingale complained to no one in particular as she took her tea, staring out the window at snow swirling in the air. We were all busy in our spare time knitting socks and mufflers for the men in the wards. Mrs. Drake taught me so I could do it well enough, but it took me longer than the others. Still, it kept my hands busy and my mind off the cold wind that whistled in through the cracks throughout the whole building. Sometimes in the morning there would be a light coating of frost on the men’s blankets. The stoves in each ward were no match for that kind of cold. At least in the winter, and with the deeper latrines, the foul smell from the sewage was not so bad. And when the wind blew from the other direction we couldn’t smell the corpses buried in shallow graves in the nearby cemetery—a worse smell, I thought, than the other.

One day in February, when the cold was brutal and there was no way to keep warm, Emma and I stayed close together while we checked the men’s dressings to make sure they didn’t need changing. I made sure, after all that happened with Dr. Maclean and the surgery, to have another nurse with me all the time.

“You remind me of my sweetheart back ’ome,” leered one fellow with a stump where his hand had been. “Gi’ us a kiss, for old time’s sake!” Any of the men who were conscious nearby laughed or whistled.

“Fraser!”

The call came from one end of the ward, and I knew without looking that it was Miss Nightingale. She probably thought I was fraternizing when I hadn’t done anything at all, it was just the way the men were. I stood straight and walked quickly with my chin up to where she stood, just as she’d taught us to do, not looking at any of the men in spite of their clucking and whistles. “Yes, Miss Nightingale?” I said.

“I would like to speak with you, along with a few of the others. Come with me.”

I followed where she led, toward the stairs that went up to another of the corner towers where the doctors had their offices. What now? Was I being called up in front of the doctors for what had happened with Dr. Maclean in November? Did they think I was wrong to assist him in that surgery? We’d saved the man’s life, I learned, though I never saw him again. I hadn’t so much as looked at Dr. Maclean since then, and he seemed to avoid me as well. Perhaps Miss Nightingale, among her other powers, could look into our minds while we slept. I could feel my cheeks becoming hot with shame. What if she had seen the kiss and just hadn’t bothered to say?
Impossible
, I thought.
She’d certainly have sent me home for that.
I made myself breathe deeply to slow the wild pounding of my heart.

We went into an office where I saw Mrs. Drake, Mrs. Langston, Sister Turnbull, Nurse Roberts, and Nurse Hawkins sitting in chairs and Dr. Menzies at a table piled high with papers. Now I was certain I was in trouble.

“Please sit over there,” Miss Nightingale said, pointing to a chair next to Mrs. Drake, and took a seat herself somewhat off to the side.

“Thank you for coming, ladies,” Dr. Menzies said. I could feel Miss Nightingale flinch. She had repeatedly insisted we were not ladies, but nurses. Dr. Menzies ignored her. “I have a proposition to put to you that you are free to decline, but that would greatly enhance our ability to care for the wounded before we subject them to a hazardous voyage on the Black Sea. It is the wish of Lord Raglan, commander of the army, that we open a small army hospital in the Crimea, near enough to the front for the injured to be treated quickly but not so near as to put any of you in danger.”

He paused to let his words sink in. I looked toward Miss Nightingale. She sat perfectly straight in her chair, the black silk of her dress not showing the slightest crease or wear, every hair on her head so smooth it looked like a tight black cap beneath her white one. Her eyes drilled into Dr. Menzies. I couldn’t tell whether she was excited or angry. She looked as though she could spring out of her seat at any moment and fly across the room.

“I have not yet selected the doctors who are to be stationed there, but Miss Nightingale has chosen you from among her staff as those most capable of enduring the hardships of the front. She will accompany you in the beginning and see to the establishment of the hospital, and then we shall decide the permanent arrangements.”

I didn’t understand at first that I wasn’t going to get a drubbing. That actually I’d been singled out with several other nurses that I knew were good at what they did, and we were going to do something exciting and dangerous.

“I have my doubts about the wisdom of creating a field hospital. It will be impossible to run it in such a way that will promote regularity and cleanliness.”

How could Miss Nightingale not want a field hospital? Sure, it wouldn’t be as organized as the Barrack Hospital and the General Hospital, but treating wounds quickly might save many lives.

“Your reservations have been duly noted, and I agree with them in principle,” Dr. Menzies continued. “But we cannot disregard the wishes of Lord Raglan.” He turned to the rest of us. “I will give you twenty-four hours to make your decision about whether you wish to be part of this experiment or not. If you do, you will sail in three days for Balaclava.”

“I need no time to decide, Dr. Menzies. I shall gladly accept the challenge.” It was Mrs. Langston, head of the Sellonites. Sister Turnbull soon said the same and Mrs. Drake chimed in as well, although she looked at me first as if wondering what I would say. After that, Mrs. Roberts and Mrs. Hawkins—the other two nurses—agreed too, leaving only me.

I looked from Miss Nightingale to the others. What would she want me to do? She had clearly chosen me. But what about Emma? “I’ll go too,” I said. The words leapt out before I even realized what I was saying, before I had time to regret anything.

When we returned to our rooms in the hospital later that day, everyone was talking about us. Except Emma. She looked at me as if I had betrayed her. I couldn’t understand why. She didn’t need me there. She of all of us was capable of finding ways to have a lark in spite of the regulations and had got on well with her nursing. With her Thomas gone off to the front, I often noticed that she amused herself by flirting with some of the younger, less badly wounded men. I pointed it out to her that evening after we’d got into bed.

“That don’t mean nothing,” Emma said. “It’s only a bit of fun for the men. Helps ’em get better faster.”

“But why are you so upset? I won’t stay there forever, you know. And anyway, it’s just a trial, to see if it helps.”

Emma rolled on her back and looked up at the cracked ceiling. “It’s only—I was counting on having you here. Someone else wanting a fellow to be safe at the front. Not these old dames or them religious, holier-than-spit nuns and sisters. And there’s sure to be more work to do when you’re gone.”

I decided it wasn’t worth mentioning that since the wards had been cleaned up and everything put on a more regular footing by Miss Nightingale there wasn’t so much to do. Even the wives seemed to have obliged us by not giving birth lately. There was something else bothering her, but she didn’t want to tell me. I figured I’d find it out eventually.

We stopped talking when Miss Nightingale and two of the Sellonite sisters returned from their evening rounds. The sisters climbed immediately up to their room. Miss Nightingale, I knew, would spend several hours yet writing letters; requests for supplies, trying to get Miss Stanley’s nurses out of her hospital, trying to convince everyone else to agree with her ideas of what was necessary and proper. Mrs. Bracebridge brought her new candles every evening, and Mrs. Clarke had complained about the amount of oil she burned up in her lamps. There was no doubt in my mind that the Barrack Hospital was Miss Nightingale’s, whatever Dr. Menzies liked to think.

It wasn’t until everything was quiet that I thought about that other party that would go to Balaclava, those who Dr. Menzies hadn’t chosen yet. Which doctors would they select to come with us? We might work with the regimental doctors who were already there, who were used to operating in trenches with bullets flying overhead. I’d heard about them from some of the men in our hospital.
Please, God
, I prayed as I felt my eyes closing in spite of the excitement,
don’t let it be Dr. Maclean who comes with us.
I meant it, in my head. But my heart did a little flutter inside me as I said the name to myself, and I knew I secretly hoped for the opposite.

Another change. Another sea voyage. And who knew what we’d find on the other side? Will was there somewhere. Perhaps I would see him. Another good reason for Dr. Maclean to stay in Scutari.

C
hapter 21

The time passed very quickly. The day before we were to leave, Emma and I watched from our window as the Turkish dockworkers took crates out to the ship, where it rocked at anchor in the port. Salt pork. Bandages. Arrowroot. “Won’t hardly be room for you,” she said, one of the few times she acknowledged that I was going instead of maintaining a determined silence about it.

When the day arrived, we gathered with our valises—none of us had much to take, only a uniform to wear and a few personal things—before walking in twos to the dock.

“Where’s Emma?” I asked Mrs. Drake.

“Dunno,” she answered. “She’s an odd one, that. I would’ve thought she’d be here to say good-bye, being your particular friend and all.”

I didn’t say anything, but my eyes ached with the threat of tears. I knew she didn’t want me to go, but how could she not even come down to the dock to say good-bye, like everyone else? Aside from Will and Ted, Emma was the closest thing I’d ever had to a friend.

I decided I would write her a letter. That would please her. With no family back home she never got letters. She’d not even received one from her Thomas since he’d gone to the front.

Every once in a while as we walked through the town—past the market where I’d seen the old lady whose words I imagined speaking in my head and where Emma used to get me to cover for her when she went to see Thomas—I looked around, just to see if she might come running after us, perhaps regretting that she didn’t wish me luck. But there was no one. Just the usual traffic of Turkish matrons going to and from the market with their baskets.

I was so caught up with wondering about Emma that I almost didn’t notice Dr. Maclean standing in the stern of the ship, smoking his pipe. I caught sight of him just before I took the first step off the gangplank and onto the deck, nearly losing my footing.

He turned, as though he could feel me looking at him, and I turned away as soon as he saw me. But it wasn’t soon enough to stop my heart from racing.