In the Shadow of the Lamp (23 page)

“Oh, it’s a way to make something of myself,” I said.

“Being a wife and mother isn’t enough?”

I shrugged. “I s’pose it would be, but not yet.”

“Just be a good girl and don’t get into trouble. There’s plenty here would lead you astray if they had a chance.” He smiled. “I have a daughter about your age. She’s in Shropshire with her mum.”

We chatted like this until I finished my work, then, since he’d been so nice, I got bold and decided to ask him some things. “I’m surprised we don’t get more patients in the hospital,” I said as I tidied up the bandages and scissors. “I see lots of men walking around who are wounded, and they never come in here. Where do they get their bandages and such?”

“Humph,” he grunted. “There’s some as prefer to go to Mother Seacole for doctoring.”

“Mother Seacole? Who’s she?” I pictured a nun in a convent, those being the only women I’d been accustomed to hearing called “Mother” anything.

“Ach, don’t you worry about her. She’s a harmless old crone from the islands, with healing hands. Some men swear she makes them better just by touching them. I think it’s all a load of rot. The doctors here have none too good reputations, or had, that is, before we found out Miss Nightingale was coming with her nurses.”

He meant it as a compliment, but I’d stopped listening to him after he said what he did about Mother Seacole healing with her hands. I knew what the soldiers meant. My fingers began to tingle just thinking about it. I needed to find this lady and talk to her. Something told me that Miss Nightingale would more than disapprove, though. Nursing was a matter of organization and discipline, of keeping the men clean, giving them fresh air, and feeding them properly, not touching them with some kind of healing power. She didn’t even hold with what the nuns amongst us said, that sickness was God’s way of testing us and that faith had a lot to do with making the men recover.

Whatever it cost in Miss Nightingale’s trust in me, I knew I would break the rules here in Balaclava for two reasons, mayhap related to each other. Emma needed help finding Thomas. And I must talk to Mother Seacole, someone who might understand the way I felt about nursing—which was something like Miss Nightingale’s way, but not entirely.

First, though, there was the problem of a horse. A horse and someone to take us to the trenches on the heights. It would take time. We had to make sure everyone trusted us before we did something that might destroy that trust forever.

I knew then that what Emma and I did would throw away my opportunity with Miss Nightingale, that she would never give me a recommendation that would help me get a position as a nurse back in London. I’d be in the same situation I was before I came. No better off, and no one would want me.

But whatever I told myself, I couldn’t leave Emma to sort out her own troubles. She was my friend. Funny that she could end up doing for me what Mavis had done months ago, and Mavis was not my friend. I was beginning to wonder how a body could ever get ahead, acting on what a conscience said was right—which I saw wasn’t always what everyone else saw as right.

Once I decided, though, there would be no turning back. I’d see about getting the horse. That would be difficult enough. After we got to the trenches, we’d have to act fast. I hoped a chaplain would be easy to find up there. If not, our adventure would be wasted and we’d both be sacked for nothing.

C
hapter 23

Miss Nightingale didn’t stay in our hut with us. She was a guest in the commander’s house, a famous lady everyone wanted to see. She spent her days talking with people and inspecting things in the hospital, checking in on what we were doing every now and then. It turned out lucky for us, really. She was so busy it seemed like we were left to our own more, not so watched over. But the hospital was smaller, and with only seven nurses, we spent more time in each other’s company, so I suppose we kept our eyes on one another more.

Still, we generally divided into our groups as we did at Scutari. The Sellonites were pleasant enough but kept to themselves. The three older nurses—Mrs. Roberts, Mrs. Drake, and Mrs. Hawkins—sat around and did their knitting in the evening. Emma and I played cards and told secrets when we weren’t on the wards or running errands.

That had pretty much fallen to us to do—run errands and fetch things in town. I suppose it was only natural, since we were the youngest and healthiest. Nurse Drake complained that her chest hurt now and again, and Nurse Roberts had a slight limp. Mrs. Langston and Sister Trumbull were so skilled that they had the longest shifts and were always in demand.

So about three weeks after we arrived, I found myself sent down to the dock to wait for a shipment of chloride of lime and tell them where to bring it. Most of it was to go to the field hospital, but some was to be packed in small parcels and taken up to the doctors near the trenches. I thought this might be my chance to see about how to get a horse, or find some other way to get us up to the front lines. Emma and I had pooled our wages, hoping it would be enough to persuade someone to let us have a healthy mount for just a night, or to lead us there so we’d be safer.

Nothing had changed at the landing place since I was there last. It was just as muddy, cold, and stinking. The ship that docked had a different name, but it might as well have been exactly the same for all I could tell. The day was clearer, though, and I could see far out to the warships bobbing up and down in the waves. I was staring at them, wondering about the sailors on them, when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned quickly and pulled my cloak closed, thinking it might be a beggar.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you, Molly.”

My heart leapt and my face felt hot. “Dr. Maclean! I thought you were at the front lines.”

“Would you rather I was? Or is it out of sight, out of mind?” He smiled just a little, but it softened his face so that I wanted to put my hand on his cheek. His eyes looked hollow, and his cheekbones stood out above his beard—a new beard, not long, but needing a trim. “I was up with the men in the trenches, but they sent me down for a little rest and to pick up some supplies.”

He didn’t say anything more. I thought he was waiting for me to speak. What would I say?
Lovely day? Good to see you looking so well? Are you getting enough to eat?
Everything that went through my mind felt empty and stupid, until I blurted out, “What’s it like there?” I instantly wished I’d said something different.

“Oh, it’s … You can’t possibly know how good it is to see you,” he said, looking out at the sea instead of at me. “So many … But that’s not important. What brings you to the dock?”

“I’m to instruct them about what to do with the chloride of lime.”

“Then we’re here on the same errand. I’m bringing some back with me to the trenches.”

“When? I mean, how soon?” I hated myself for thinking it, but something told me Dr. Maclean would be willing to help me—and Emma.

“Tomorrow night. Will you have dinner with me tonight, Molly?” He suddenly swung me around toward him and looked straight into my eyes. I recognized those warm, brown pools that looked so deep, but something had changed in them. Last time I saw Dr. Maclean, the glint in the corners always used to mean he was about to smile or laugh. Now it looked more like tears might come. “I can try,” I said, knowing I’d think of something, and that Emma would help me.

“Oy! Where’s all this going?” We were both startled by the dock man’s voice. Quickly I told the rough-looking chap to load up the cart and take it to the hospital, and Dr. Maclean took his few parcels in a satchel that he slung over his back.

“Is that enough?” I asked.

“I just need it to clean the table I use. If I had to do the whole outside, there wouldn’t be enough in the entire world.” He smiled then, looking more like the friendly Dr. Maclean I knew from Scutari.

He turned from me, calling over his shoulder, “Meet me by Major Rowling’s hut at seven.”

Seeing him walk off like that, his shoulders sagging and feet barely lifting off the ground, I don’t think I would have recognized Dr. Maclean if I hadn’t seen his face and heard his voice.

I shook my head. He was still the same person. And I had agreed to meet him. Why? We nurses always had our supper together. But that was at six. I could go and sit with him. I didn’t have to eat.

When I got back to the hospital with the shipment, Emma was there. “Miss Nightingale’s been in a fit of temper about you taking so long to bring the chloride of lime,” she said, helping as we showed the orderlies where to put the sacks—one in each ward, and the remainder in the broom cupboard.

“I may have found us a way to get to Thomas,” I said under my breath to her as we hurried along to resume our work on the wards.

“Tell me!” Emma whispered.

“Later,” I said. Miss Nightingale stood at the entrance to the ward I was to work on, a ward filled with the most hopeless cases we had, too ill to transport back to Scutari. The only thing we could do was make them comfortable, write letters home for them, and be there when they closed their eyes at last.

“Good afternoon, Miss Nightingale,” I said.

“Fraser, it took far too long for you to fetch the chloride of lime from the dock. Is there something you wish to tell me?”

“N-no, ma’am,” I said.

“It’s a strain, working on this ward, is it not?”

I sighed. “I only wish there was something I could do for them.”

She didn’t say anything but looked over her shoulder into the dimness, shades having been drawn to keep the strong sun out. Soft moans came from one or two of the beds. Otherwise everything inside was silent. “No wonder you looked for a way to be gone from here a while. I think you need a rest. It may not be as busy here, but there is something about being so near the front, about seeing the men about to go off, and then coming back injured or sick or hollow.” She stared into the distance. I knew exactly what she meant. The only thing I didn’t know was how to show her that I understood.

I reached my hand out and touched hers. “I know.”

She quickly squeezed my hand then let go of it. “Why don’t you take the afternoon off, Fraser? I’ll stay in this ward. I’m tired of arguing and making arrangements. I need to remind myself why I’m here, why it’s all worthwhile in the end. Or why we need to do a better job next time.”

“Yes, Miss Nightingale,” I said, and curtsied. Little did she know how I would spend my time. Hardly resting. I would go to look for Dr. Maclean. That way I could avoid having to find a way to sneak out later and could still lay the groundwork for Emma’s and my plan.

I found him sitting on a rock, a ways up the hill, neither in the town nor in the camps. He stared out over the sea again. I wanted to know what he was thinking but I didn’t want to bother him. I waited. He leaned forward and rested his forehead on his palm. It looked like he really didn’t want to be disturbed. I’d wait a bit, then come back. I turned, not making a sound.

“Is that you, Molly?” He said it without changing his pose.

“Yes. I was looking for you.”

“To tell me that you won’t meet me this evening? Did the formidable Miss Nightingale forbid it?” He swiveled around on the rock, his hands on both knees.

“I didn’t tell her. She gave me the afternoon off. But I shouldn’t meet you later anyway.” I walked over to him. “Is there room on that rock for me?” He moved over a little. “I need to ask you a favor. I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t, but I don’t know another body to go to.”

Instantly his far-off expression changed and he focused hard on me. His face was so near the steam from his breath touched my cheek. I had to concentrate on breathing slowly to remember what I’d come to say. “Well, it’s really not for me. It’s for Emma—Nurse Bigelow.” I took off one glove and started twisting it in my hands. “You see, she has a young man, a soldier, and he’s in the trenches, and she really needs to find him, right away.”

“Is she pregnant?” he asked, not sounding horrified or anything.

“How did you know?”

“I can imagine few other reasons why a young girl surrounded by men would go to such lengths to seek out a particular one, whom she can’t have had much opportunity to get to know.”

“Well, she’s in love with him, and so is he with her. They want to get married.”

“They?” he asked. “Or she?”