uniforms regularly, and it was unlikely anyone would notice one addition.
Washing his injured leg took time and attention, with special care to soak the entry and exit wounds first, allowing the clots to soften. Tearing them off could open the wounds wider and cause more bleeding than he could spare. The area around the wounds didn’t appear to be overly swollen or red. Hopefully he’d be free of infection.
She sewed the exit wound first, as it was larger, then closed the entry wound. After packing them with clean bandages, she wrapped another around his entire thigh to keep everything in place.
She was about to take her knife to his uniform pants, but remembered to check his pockets first and found two pictures. One of her soldier with what must be his family. Father, mother, two brothers and a sister. The sister was obviously the youngest, but as Maria compared the photo to his face, she guessed he was the third son. Their clothing looked of excellent quality, the furnishings in the background expensive.
The second photo was of the sister, only several years older. She smiled at the camera as if the photographer had surprised her at a happy moment. Maria turned the photo over. Genevieve, June 28, 1913.
Maria carefully put the pictures aside. She found a few coins, a button—possibly from his jacket cuff—and a piece of torn paper with the hospital address on it. After checking the rest of his clothing to make sure she hadn’t missed anything, she shredded his pants with her knife.
There was a knock at the door.
“Yes?” She prayed it wasn’t the German nurse.
“It’s Rose.”
Maria opened the door and Rose slipped inside, a bundle of cloth in her hands. “How is he?”
“Still unconscious. He didn’t wake at all through sewing up his wounds.”
“Any concerns?”
“No sign of infection.”
Rose handed her the bundle and a small bottle. “Wake him with this and get him into these clothes. Once he’s up and dressed, move him to the isolation room. I’m telling everyone he has yellow fever and you’ve decided it’s too dangerous here and gone home.”
“I’ll hide in the closet then.”
“Our closets are getting a great deal of use these days.” Rose went to the door. “I’ll be by the isolation room later with water and soup. Hurry.”
As soon as Rose was gone, Maria tucked the needle and knife, along with the bandage she hadn’t used, into the pocket of her dress. She knelt beside her soldier, cupping his face in her hands. “Wake up,” she whispered in his ear. “Please wake up.”
He didn’t stir.
Pressing her lips together, she shook his shoulders. “You have to wake up, please, before we’re discovered.”
He groaned and tossed his head, but still didn’t wake.
She opened the bottle Rose had given her and waved it under his nose.
He coughed then opened his eyes, and she suddenly found herself seized by the shoulders and dragged across his lap, his hands bringing her nose-to-nose with him.
The only sound in the room was their breathing, her sight filled with his eyes, green and bottomless.
Heat unfurled in her belly, making her gasp.
He frowned and his grip relaxed. “Maria?”
Relief had her grinning and bracing her free hand on his chest. “You remember.”
“Yes, what—” His gaze darted over the room, falling on the open closet. “What happened? Is he—?”
“He’s in the kitchen pantry. We dosed him with brandy. He’ll be discovered there shortly.”
“Discovered… Soldiers are looking for him?”
“Not yet, but soon.”
“Will we be safe?” His gaze came back to her face and she realized she was half lying on him, her breath mingling with his. She shifted, bumping his injured thigh, and he winced. “My leg feels like it’s on fire.”
She pulled out of his embrace with a reluctance she feared to question. “That’s because I sewed it closed and bound it.” She stood, recapped the bottle and held out her hand to him. “You’ll be
Washing his injured leg took time and attention, with special care to soak the entry and exit wounds first, allowing the clots to soften. Tearing them off could open the wounds wider and cause more bleeding than he could spare. The area around the wounds didn’t appear to be overly swollen or red. Hopefully he’d be free of infection.
She sewed the exit wound first, as it was larger, then closed the entry wound. After packing them with clean bandages, she wrapped another around his entire thigh to keep everything in place.
She was about to take her knife to his uniform pants, but remembered to check his pockets first and found two pictures. One of her soldier with what must be his family. Father, mother, two brothers and a sister. The sister was obviously the youngest, but as Maria compared the photo to his face, she guessed he was the third son. Their clothing looked of excellent quality, the furnishings in the background expensive.
The second photo was of the sister, only several years older. She smiled at the camera as if the photographer had surprised her at a happy moment. Maria turned the photo over. Genevieve, June 28, 1913.
Maria carefully put the pictures aside. She found a few coins, a button—possibly from his jacket cuff—and a piece of torn paper with the hospital address on it. After checking the rest of his clothing to make sure she hadn’t missed anything, she shredded his pants with her knife.
There was a knock at the door.
“Yes?” She prayed it wasn’t the German nurse.
“It’s Rose.”
Maria opened the door and Rose slipped inside, a bundle of cloth in her hands. “How is he?”
“Still unconscious. He didn’t wake at all through sewing up his wounds.”
“Any concerns?”
“No sign of infection.”
Rose handed her the bundle and a small bottle. “Wake him with this and get him into these clothes. Once he’s up and dressed, move him to the isolation room. I’m telling everyone he has yellow fever and you’ve decided it’s too dangerous here and gone home.”
“I’ll hide in the closet then.”
“Our closets are getting a great deal of use these days.” Rose went to the door. “I’ll be by the isolation room later with water and soup. Hurry.”
As soon as Rose was gone, Maria tucked the needle and knife, along with the bandage she hadn’t used, into the pocket of her dress. She knelt beside her soldier, cupping his face in her hands. “Wake up,” she whispered in his ear. “Please wake up.”
He didn’t stir.
Pressing her lips together, she shook his shoulders. “You have to wake up, please, before we’re discovered.”
He groaned and tossed his head, but still didn’t wake.
She opened the bottle Rose had given her and waved it under his nose.
He coughed then opened his eyes, and she suddenly found herself seized by the shoulders and dragged across his lap, his hands bringing her nose-to-nose with him.
The only sound in the room was their breathing, her sight filled with his eyes, green and bottomless.
Heat unfurled in her belly, making her gasp.
He frowned and his grip relaxed. “Maria?”
Relief had her grinning and bracing her free hand on his chest. “You remember.”
“Yes, what—” His gaze darted over the room, falling on the open closet. “What happened? Is he—?”
“He’s in the kitchen pantry. We dosed him with brandy. He’ll be discovered there shortly.”
“Discovered… Soldiers are looking for him?”
“Not yet, but soon.”
“Will we be safe?” His gaze came back to her face and she realized she was half lying on him, her breath mingling with his. She shifted, bumping his injured thigh, and he winced. “My leg feels like it’s on fire.”
She pulled out of his embrace with a reluctance she feared to question. “That’s because I sewed it closed and bound it.” She stood, recapped the bottle and held out her hand to him. “You’ll be
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