Page 17 of Healing Hazel

She stared at him, various expressions flitting across her face, but she nodded. Her face softened. She took the young man’s hand. “What is your name?”

“Private Daniel Wilson, ma’am.” He shifted and winced at the movement. “It hurts.”

She brushed the hair from his forehead. “I’m Hazel.”

The young man’s eyes fluttered, as if he were struggling to keep them open. “Pretty.” He lifted his other hand and then dropped it.

“Where are you from, Daniel?”

“Sussex.” The word was little more than a whisper. Daniel closed his eyes.

“Oh, I know Sussex,” Miss Thornton said. Her voice was gentle. She put a hand on his cheek. “The downs in spring are the most glorious sight. The bluebells on the green hills and all the lambs frolicking...”

Jim rose and moved on to tend to other patients. As he drew away, he could hear her speaking in her soft voice, though he could no longer make out the words.

When he returned half an hour later, Miss Thornton still knelt beside Private Daniel Wilson, holding his hand. The soldier was dead. Jim put a cloth over the young man’s face.

Miss Thornton glanced up. Her eyes looked very tired. She set the soldier’s hand on his chest, pressed it gently, and then with Jim’s help, she stood, swaying on her feet.

Jim grabbed her elbow to steady her. “Miss?”

“I’m sorry. I am well. I need to check on Nella. It’s been hours since I saw her.” Her voice sounded near to breaking, and her face was noticeably pale.

“When did you last eat?” Jim asked. He kept hold of her arm.

She squinted, blinking as if she were trying to remember. “Earlier—breakfast? I don’t know. It may have been supper. I don’t even know if it was today.” She motioned toward the wall. “There are no windows here.”

“It is eight o’clock,” Dr. Laurent said. They both looked toward him as he approached from surgery. “In zhe evening. Miss Westbrook is sleeping.” He snapped his pocket watch closed and gave Miss Thornton an appraising look. His brow rose. “For how long have you been on duty, mademoiselle?”

“I don’t know.” She rubbed her forehead. “I woke and... Mikel was here.” She motioned to the side of the room where the patient had been on a stretcher. “I changed bedsheets with Sofia and now...”

They’d found Mikel in the early hours of the morning. Had the young lady been working ever since then? She was surely exhausted.

“Come along,” Dr. Laurent took her arm. He bid Jim good evening and led her toward the kitchen. “You must eat. Zhen you must sleep. Zhen in zhe morning, Lucía will assign you more bandages and more patients. And you will be exhausted again tomorrow.”

In spite of her weariness, Miss Thornton chuckled.

Jim watched the pair walk from the entry hall, wondering why he felt so unsettled. The day had not been much different from every other in the Red Cross Hospital, but Miss Thornton’s presence had changed his perception of it somehow. Perhaps it was the experience of seeing it all through fresh eyes. But he didn’t think that was all. He recognized something in her. Something he’d felt himself years ago in the medical tents on the Virginia battlefields.

Miss Thornton genuinely cared. She was compassionate and felt deeply for her patients.

Jim had been like that once. He’d felt the desire to heal, to relieve pain, to alleviate suffering. But that was before. After his brother’s death, medicine had become Jim’s religion. He was consumed with a sense of urgency. He’d joined the Red Cross, following wars and disasters, foolishly believing each patient he cured would ease the pain in his heart, the guilt for the one he couldn’t save.

Jim crouched down, crossing the young soldier’s hand over the one already on his chest, and said a prayer for Private Daniel Wilson.

Chapter 5

The next day Lucía assignedHazel to work in the laundry, and when she arrived, she found that the younger nurse from the operating chamber the day earlier—Camila—was to be her partner. Hazel was relieved when Lucía left since she didn’t want the head nurse to see that she was unfamiliar with the task. Camila seemed to be much less strict than the older woman, demonstrating the process patiently instead of giving orders. She had a happy smile and a giggle that sounded almost nervous. Hazel liked her very much.

Camila showed her how to rinse blood out with cold water, then boil the linens, stirring them in a large pot with a paddle. They scrubbed and rinsed, and after only a few minutes of washing, Hazel’s apron and dress were soaked and the cut on her hand burned from the lye soap. To distract herself, she tried to learn more about her companion.

Though they didn’t speak the same language, the women discovered quickly enough that they could somewhat communicate. Hazel had studied with a French tutor, so she understood some of the words Camila spoke in Spanish, as the languages had some similarities. And the two ended up using a very inelegant version of sign language when they couldn’t come up with the words they needed. The result produced quite a few laughs.

As they scrubbed sheets and soaked bandages, Hazel learned that Camila was only a year younger than her own age of twenty-one. She had two brothers, one of whom served in the Spanish Army. The other was younger and still in school. Her mother was a midwife, which was the reason Camila had chosen to study nursing and how she’d come to serve in the International Red Cross.

Hazel, in turn, told Camila about her father stationed in Africa and her childhood in India. She’d tried to explain how she’d intended to spend Christmas in the Canary Islands, by making the chugging sound of a train and showing with her hand movements that she had been traveling south but then was turned around. She didn’t think she’d communicated the tale effectively until Camila made a booming noise, expanding her hands apart to mimic an explosion.

“Yes, that’s right.” Hazel spread her arms, palms up in a motion of finality and shrugged. “And here I am.”

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