Every Combination

Apart from Texas
Jasper

I'm originally from Texas, but they sent me to New York City when I was injured in Belgium. And while I missed home, I honestly didn't care where I was at that point, as long as I was somewhere they could help me- somewhere where there were people who could make the pain stop. Because by the time I got to New York City- after having spent a month and a half in an overcrowded and poorly-staffed hospital in France- I was worse off than when I had entered the hospital, and I was sure nothing would ever change for the better, that I would probably lose my leg after everything. But then, in the G.I. ward of the New York City hospital, I was put under the care of Dr. Cullen, and he changed everything.

The first night I was there I had a fever, my leg was practically radiating with pain, and my whole body was shaking and sweating. I didn't complain about it because I didn't really notice I had a fever or that anything was amiss until I was too far gone to complain politely. But before I knew what was happening, I was clutching at my still-bandaged leg, groaning loudly, my eyes blurry from watering so much, with nurses and attendants fluttering around me.

"What's wrong?" a young nurse asked. "What is it?"

Through gritted teeth, I managed to say, "M-Miss, my leg."

She made a move to touch my leg, but I groaned so loudly she pulled back.

"Get Doctor Cullen!" another woman said to the girl. "Get Doctor Cullen- Go!"

At that point, I hadn't met Dr. Cullen- didn't even know who he was- and my brain felt so suddenly fried that I couldn't focus on what they were saying.

"Can I do anything for you?" the same woman asked. "Tell me how I can help you."

I just shook my head and clenched my jaw, slumping back against my pillows, writhing slightly, my brain swimming and my body perspiring profusely.

"What's going on?" a new, deep, and in-control voice asked. "What's happened?"

"Doctor Cullen, he was fine- he just started groaning and shaking," the nurse said. "It's his leg."

I heard the same male voice ask, "How long has he been here?"

"He only arrived from France this afternoon," the younger woman said.

Suddenly, someone was leaning over me, their hand somewhere near my shoulder, their voice just over my ear.

"Son, I need you to open your eyes and talk to me."

I did as I was told, wrenching my eyes open and looking up through bleary eyes at the blonde man standing over me with equal parts concern and professionalism.

"Tell me your name," he commanded firmly.

But I couldn't think straight. My leg was pulsating with pain, my head pounding ridiculously- and I just noticed that my mouth was dry and thick.

"Your name."

I swallowed with difficulty and said, "Jasper- Jasper Wh-Whitlock."

"Jasper, can you tell me how you're feeling?"

"My leg- God, it hurts," I said, sitting up and clutching at it again. "And everything's hot and my head...."

Dr. Cullen turned to the nurses and attendants around him, "Was no one monitoring him?"

They all looked back at him sheepishly and guiltily, because no one had checked on me since I had arrived.

"It's an infection," he announced. Then, as the group around me scattered to get to work helping Dr. Cullen, he put a comforting hand on my arm and said, "Don't worry son, we're going to help you."

And help me he did. Within a month's time, any trace of infection was gone and the damage that the French doctor's had done was repaired. Whereas, I had entered the G.I. ward, sure that I would lose a limb and live the rest of my life in a wheelchair, Dr. Cullen had saved my life and saved my leg. He even made sure to oversee my recovery himself, until the day I was able to walk completely again, with only the slightest trace of a limp.

"What are your plans for when you're discharged, son?" he asked, sitting me down on my bed again. "Do you have family in New York?"

I shook my head and said, "No sir, my family's in Texas."

"Are you planning on going back to Texas?"

I thought about it- thought about my father and his stories of hard work, pride, and victory, of my mother, quiet and subservient on the porch of our farmhouse, of my four older sister's, all married with babies, doing their duty in life by my parents. I thought about returning home to live in the farmhouse again, to help my father in the fields, a wounded soldier who didn't accomplish anything in Europe- a soldier who failed his country, regardless of the war's outcome. And it was then that I realized I didn't want to go back to Texas just yet. Sitting in front of Carlisle's confident and fatherly presence, I decided that I would stay in New York until I was ready to return. I had never done anything so selfish before, but I couldn't help but need to be a little selfish then.

I shook my head when I decided, saying, "No, I think I'd like to stay in New York."

"Do you have any friends or help here?" he asked.

Again, I shook my head- regretfully this time- and said, "No, sir."

Dr. Cullen looked at me for a moment- as if trying to figure something out- and then he said, "Tell you what, Mr. Whitlock, my wife and I are starting up a boarding house not far from here." He pulled out a small pad of paper and a pen from his coat pocket, scribbling on it as he continued, "You come right on over when we let you out of here, and you can stay there until you get yourself settled."

"Doctor Cullen, I couldn't-"

"You can start paying rent as soon as you get your feet on the ground," he told me, ripping the paper off the pad and handing it to me with a stern but kind look in his eyes.

I stared down at the address written on the paper in my hands, and then I looked up at Dr. Cullen, saying, "Thank you very much, sir, I really appreciate this."

"You're welcome," he nodded, replacing the pad and the pen in his pocket. "Keep off that leg as much as possible- we're gonna keep you here for a little longer."

I nodded and watched as he turned and went to check on another patient a few beds away.

And now, a week later, I'm standing on the sidewalk, staring down at the paper again, looking up to make sure the address on it and the number on the building match. They do, and so I take a deep breath, carry my one suitcase with me up the front steps, and ring the bell.

After only a moment, a pretty woman with slightly curled light caramel hair and big, sweet brown eyes, answers the door with a smile. Opening the screen door for me, she says, "Jasper Whitlock?"

I nod, replying, "That's me, ma'am."

"I'm Esme- Doctor Cullen's wife- come in, come in," she says, stepping aside for me to enter. I duck into the house and stand by in the foyer as she closes the door, turning to me and gesturing beyond the stairs, saying, "We were just having lunch if you'd like to join us."

Looking past the stairs, I see the open doorway of a kitchen, and a table set up for three. Two young women are seated there, a beautiful blonde who is glaring at us, sitting stiffly in her seat, and a timid-looking brunette who smiles at us unsurely.

"No, thank you ma'am," I reply. "They served lunch before I left."

She nods with a smile, saying, "Of course. Would you like to see your room?"

"That would be great, ma'am, thank you," I nod.

Mrs. Cullen starts up the stairs and I follow behind her quietly, ready to live a life completely separate from Texas- ready to rebuild what the war shook to pieces.