Page 60 of The Forgotten Boy

“Clarissa, please lie down.” She didn’t want to wake the boys by calling out for Weston or Mrs. McCann.

“Did you see him?”

“Did I see who?” Diana continued to gently press on Clarissa’s shoulders, guiding her to lie back down.

“I saw him, I did, I saw him!”

Please don’t say it, Diana thought. The last thing I can cope with right now is the hallucination of—

“Thomas,” Clarissa said with hoarse excitement. “I saw Thomas, I’m sure of it. He was watching over me while I slept. Did you see where he went?”

As a rule Diana didn’t believe in coddling unreality in patients. But she was a medical professional with more than a dozen influenza patients and a headmistress who had such a high fever that she was hallucinating the ghost of her dead brother.

“I didn’t see him, no.”

“I have to go after him!”

Diana held her fast and, with enormous relief, heard the familiar tread of Joshua’s footsteps coming toward them.

“Can you help me talk her down?” she asked. “She’s got a fever, and she thinks she’s seeing her brother.”

Joshua cleared his throat and moved to Clarissa’s other side. “You can’t do anything for Thomas if you’re sick, Clarissa. Let Diana help you. And get some rest; Thomas needs you to be well.”

His gentleness succeeded. Clarissa submitted to Diana’s medical attention, and within half an hour she’d fallen asleep in a clean nightdress, aspirin working to lower her fever.

Diana had barely straightened up from her newest patient’s bed when someone called loudly “Nurse!”

Halfway down the dining hall, Luther Weston sat on Percy Nicholson’s bed, supporting him by the shoulders and trying to staunch the blood pouring from the boy’s nose. In the time it took Diana to get to Percy, he coughed up sputum tinged with more blood.

“Call the hospital and get an ambulance out here now,” she commanded Joshua. “Mrs. McCann, help me screen the bed.”

The makeshift screens had been lurking along the walls, rolling classroom blackboards draped with sheets. Maneuvered into place around Percy’s bed, they would block sight but not sound. She could only hope the others were sleeping soundly enough not to be disturbed.

With oil lamps lighting the bed, Diana dismissed thoughts of any patient except Percy and set about doing everything she could for him. It was precious little. She had no supplemental oxygen available, though she suspected it wouldn’t matter. She had seen soldiers deteriorate like this in hospital—falling in just minutes from a tolerable level to the threshold of death.

She directed Weston to sit behind Percy and brace him upright. Joshua returned and she asked, “Is the ambulance on the way?”

“None are available. I rang the farm—Granddad is bringing our automobile.”

Diana’s heart sank; she knew it probably wouldn’t matter. After her first hundred deaths in France, she’d developed an instinct. She’d also developed the ability to work automatically, her body knowing what to do and her mind shutting out everything but the immediate moment.

Fresh linen quickly covered in blood and discarded on the floor … Mrs. McCann keeping up a low and comforting murmur in Percy’s ear … Joshua at Diana’s side, handing her linens or basins or a wet cloth to smooth across Percy’s face … the terrible, distinctive moaning gasp of agonal breathing …

Have mercy, Diana thought to anyone or anything that might be present in the cold universe. And mercy was given, for Percy suffered through only three twitching agonal breaths before everything in him relaxed and released. His head canted back against Weston’s shoulder and Diana saw the softness of expression that sometimes blessed the dead. Joshua rested his hand on her shoulder, and she forced her hands to open and flex, as though letting go of any hold she had on her patient.

“What else?” Weston demanded.

Diana shook her head. “There is nothing else. He’s gone.” She checked the watch pinned to her blouse. “Time of death: one thirty-seven a.m., fifteenth November.”

“You’re quitting?”

“He’s dead. How many more ways do you want me to say it?” she hissed through her teeth. “And keep your voice down, unless you want to wake up and frighten every other boy in here.”

She needed Weston to stop talking. She needed to keep calm. She needed to move Percy’s body before panic could spread.

Joshua read her mind. “If we wrap him carefully, I can carry him to the nearest bedroom.” His voice was thin and unsteady, and Diana felt a moment’s passionate wish that she could throw herself into his arms and they could weep together.

Diana and Mrs. McCann wrapped Percy in three layers of clean linen, gently drawing it over his face. Joshua carried him to an empty dormitory room. To her dull surprise, Diana saw Weston cross himself. She lingered in the doorway while Joshua laid him carefully on an unmade bed, wanting one moment alone with the boy. To apologize, and say goodbye.

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