A/N: OK, not one of you guy's reviewed my last two chapters, even though nearly 20 of you read each. Please, please, please review! Ron.
Borden lay me gently onto one of the cots inside the medical tent. The tent was bare; there was not one single patient in there apart from me. Not one solider with a supposed cold or something similar, with the hope of missing drills practice. The sun shone brightly through the tent walls, making the bloodstains in the canvas more evident.
The tears that soaked my face were staring to ease up now. However, as I was placed on the cot, no matter how gently; still a gasp of sudden pain escaped from me. Lucy (the other one) was there by my side before I knew it. She had grasped my hand and was squeezing it in a comforting manner.
John was last to enter the tent. I could still see the disgusted look in his eyes as he paced towards me. Borden backed of slightly. Still looking at me in shock. John whispered something to him, and he disappeared out of the tent. John looked back to us and said:
"Miss O'Shea, could you please help me move this screen around the cot?" I knew it; he was so ashamed, that he didn't want anyone who might accidentally walk in, to see me. I stifled another sob at this. I couldn't believe what had happened to me. I couldn't believe how my world had suddenly collapsed around me, at the hand of a single man.
Lucy (the other one) had returned to my side, and was once again clutching my hand. I looked to her, and she told me not to worry, although I could hardly help but. John was hesitant. He kept looking over the screen, towards the door. After about a minute, he looked back over to me: curled up and again trying to hold together the tares in my undergarments.
"Lucy?" he began, his voice was shaking, and as much as he tried, he couldn't hold eye contact with me. "We need to know who did this to you…"
I did not answer. Answering would have meant admitting that it had happened, and I was not ready to admit it just yet. However Lucy (the other one) spoke for me:
"Now really doctor, dose it really matter who did this. The pressing matter would be the fact that it has happened, and we should make sure that Lucy is all right."
This was apparently enough to silence John on the subject, for he did not continue. He once again went to looking out towards the tent door. Seeing this I closed my eyes tightly and again a whimper escaped from my lips. This caused Jane to squeeze my hand again. I was not comfortable in this position.
"Your right…" John began. He started to advance towards me, tying his blood soaked apron around himself as he did. When I saw this, memories came flooding back to me; memories of the previous night, and I tried to move away. There was no where for me to go, but I managed to bring my knees up to my chest again, and as I did so, rapping my arms around them protectively.
John stopped suddenly as he saw this, and he seemed to register what was going on. He took a deep breath in and said:
"I thought this might happen, that's why I've sent for Mrs O'Hara, to assist. Miss O'Shea, I'll need your help as well."
"Why?" Lucy (the other one) asked.
"It appears that last nights ordeals have left Lucy temporally afraid of male presence. Which is understandable considering what has happened to her." John added the last bit suddenly, as though trying to say it heart felt rather than out of spite.
"So what dose that mean?" Lucy (the other one) asked. As nice as she was, it was quite evident that she had never got her hands dirty before.
"It means that Mrs O'Hara and yourself will have to perform the initial examination, under my observation and instruction." John began to untie the apron, from around his neck and once again he peered over the top of the screen and looked towards the door.
When the sound of footsteps could be heard, John moved around the side of the screen, and waited on the other. It was only seconds, before the tent door lifted and in hurried three people.
"Right, I brought her…" Borden sounded, although I could not see him, I could tell that he was still shocked. The next voice must have been that of Charles' wife, Emily.
"Doctor…" she said, her American accent strong against the harsh British; a little like my own. "Is she behind the screen?"
John must have nodded, for the screen was pulled back, only enough for her small frame to squeeze through. Before the woman spoke, John's voice was heard, speaking to the other two.
"Borden, O'Hara. I must ask you to leave. This is really no place for you to be. I will follow shortly."
The two gentlemen left the tent without further question or argument. The woman on my side of the screen still had not said anything, she was just putting the finishing touches to her rolled up sleeves. John's head appeared over the screen once more, and this time he addressed me, looking directly into my eyes:
"I leave you in safe hands, Lucy." And with that said, he turned. Dropping his bloody apron onto the floor, and exiting out of the tent after the other two.
This was the time I turned my full attention on the woman standing before me. It was hard to see the sharpness of her eyes, through my tears. But she seemed confident, her being demanding a certain air.
"You look no older than 18, child." She began shaking her head slightly, as though considering a great loss. "However, know that there are those who will still help you. That you are not alone in your suffering."
I continued to cry; it seemed that it didn't matter what position I tried to lay in, the pain was still unbearable. Her hand reached forward and, like Lucy (the other one) before her, she wiped a tear from my face, before she said:
"I know it hurts. But you mustn't cry, if you fall apart that means he's won." As if those words were magic, I stopped crying, and realised that she was right. "Now…you are amongst friends, and you must let me treat you. Nobody here will hurt you."
It was after a couple of attempts that I finally managed to splutter a grateful "Thank you…" to this woman. She only smiled down warmly again at me, turned to Lucy (the other one) and said:
"Miss O'Shea, will you please bring me a bowl of warm water, and a couple of towels?" Lucy (the other one) quickly obeyed and scurried off, in search for the requested items.
In the time that it took for Lucy (the other one) to return with the objects, Emily (as she had permitted me to call her) was sitting down on the side of my cot, where she was holding onto one of my hands. Lucy (the other one) came in and set the objects down. It was Emily who spoke:
"Now, Lucy, in your own time. You know what I'm going to ask you to do…" And with that she proceeded into one of the most gruelling and painful examinations I had ever suffered.
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After about half an hour, Emily had finished. I was clean and wearing a new set of undergarments, which Emily had sent Lucy (the other one) to retrieve. I was sitting up in the cot, my hair braided and my face wiped of all of the tears. Today felt like a new day now. I was ready to embrace what it had to offer with dignity and pride.
Emily was cleaning up, while the person, I now considered a friend and myself talked. We talked about nothingness. The sort of things Ann and I used to talk about. She did ask me about my family, and I told her about them. I told her about how my brothers used to chase the post rider every time he came to deliver our post. I told her about how Margaret used to insist on teaching the younger children their letters. And about how Susan would not speak after the death of our mother six years previous.
Emily would break in once or twice to share a comment, but mostly remained silent to allow me to do all of the talking. It was Emily who asked me about why I was here. And I told her. Every little detail, every moment of pain, all without shedding one tear.
"You're a very brave young woman, Lucy Martin. Very brave indeed." She had replied to my story. Lucy (the other one) could not bring herself to make comment on this, the story apparently to horrific for her to digest. Emily, seeing this, said to her:
"Miss O'Shea, will you please go and fetch me my husband? I think he would be very interested to know what has happened."
"No…" I started. I looked down, again ashamed at myself. "I don't want him to-to know. Charles has been very good to me…" I began, but Emily broke in:
"Don't hide your face Lucy, you have nothing to be ashamed of. None of this were you fault. And yes, I'm afraid he has to know, in order for him to do something about it."
"But…"
"Lucy…something has to be done. You can't just leave it be. We have to know who did this, so they can be punished!"
At this point Lucy (the other one) decided that this was her chance to leave the room, to go and fetch Charles. I was left alone with Emily. My hands found their way to cover my face, and I thought. I thought long and hard. Emily did not push me at all. She sat on the side of the cot and waited patiently for my answer.
"Wilkinson…" I said in a quiet voice, after a long pause. "Wilkinson did it. He followed me last night, I fought him, but he...he…"
"There, there. You don't have to tell me." Emily, sensing that I was close to breaking point again, pulled me towards her and cradled me in a hug; similar to one a mother would give to their daughter. I didn't fight it. It had been so long since I had felt the comforting embrace of a mother figure.
"Now," Emily began, "Tell me about you and my good friend John." John! Again I was quickly brought to tears!
"John and I were engaged. Over 2 years. But now…" At this point I began to wail, "Not even John will want me now! I'm broken, spoiled! No man will ever want me!"
Saving Emily from answering Lucy (the other one) decided that this was her time to return with Charles, Borden and a sullen looking John. They couldn't see me, and I could only see shadows of them through the screen, which surrounded me. Lucy (the other one) quickly squeezed though a space in the screen and sat down on my other side.
Emily chose this moment to move away from me to go and speak with her husband who was waiting patiently, with the other two on the other side of the screen. I fell down on to my back on the cot, and again howled with pain as this new position pained me even more so. I could hear the voice of Emily speaking to them, and the clear shout she gave saying:
"Do you think it is acceptable to do this to another!" The screen pulled apart for the smallest of moments and quickly drew itself again. There wasn't much more shouting after that.
Suddenly I felt exhausted. I hadn't slept at all that night, and at that moment I felt safe. The last thing that I heard, before sleep overtook me, was Emily saying one name:
"Wilkinson…"