︻┳═一
Nurse Jessy Stanley's patient awoke with a gasp. He stiffened, felt the bandages covering his eyes, realized his right hand was wrapped in a padded bandage, and grimaced. Hopefully, he would be able to tell her who he was, since his identification was missing. Chances were, he wouldn't know—thanks to the concussion. All Jessy knew was that he was luckier than almost any other son of Newfoundland (i).
"Hello, Lieutenant," she said brightly. He did not react. Hopefully, when the ringing in his ears subsided, he would hear again. She gently took his good hand and he snatched it back.
"Lieutenant First Class, Edward Masen of the Blue Puttees (ii)!" he barked. Jessy brought his hand up to rest on her face and nodded.
"Yes, dear. We'll put your name on the list straightaway. Someone will be praying for news of you."
He didn't hear. "Am I in the hospital?"
"Yes. Don't shout." She tapped a finger against his lips, then, nodded.
"I can't hear you," he murmured.
Jessy shook her head against his hand, then stood up.
"Oh, God, oh, God, don't leave." He reached out in every direction. "Where are you? I have questions! My men! Are they here? Please!"
Jessy fetched a water glass from the nearest table, filled it, and held the tip of a straw (iii) to his lips. The officer drank thirstily. She had to take the drink away so he wouldn't vomit it straight back up. His nurses would have seen to it that he obtained enough water to survive, but he was still woefully lacking moisture.
"Am I in Blighty?" he whispered, reaching out hesitantly toward her face.
She placed his clammy palm against her cheek and nodded.
"Am I blind?"
She shook her head, even though they didn't know.
He blew out his breath. "My wife! Senior Nurse Isobel Masen of Queen Alexandra's Imperial Military Nursing Service, at General Base Hospital Number Five."
By the time their telegram reached Colonel Cullen, Isobel had gone. He notified the Queen Alexandra Reserve Office in Brighton.
︻┳═一
July 24th, 1916
Isobel entered the Number Six Hospital in Brighton on aching feet. It was her tenth day of fruitless searching. She walked smartly up to the desk and Private Barker left her side to scamper into the wards.
The volunteer at the desk flapped her arms. "Hey! Your dog—"
"Let him go. He kills rats."
"Oh. How may I help you, Nurse?"
Isobel was wearing her straw hat with her uniform. "I'm looking for my husband, Lieutenant Anthony Edward Masen, with the Newfoundlanders."
The receptionist's jaw dropped. "The Royal Newfoundlanders?"
"Yes." For King Edward had decreed the Newfoundlanders to be one of his regiments, directly after most of its men fell at Beaumont-Hamel. The bravest and best of men, the Newfoundlanders had faced certain death and followed orders anyway. Tears pricked Isobel's eyes. So many Allied men died in one day, just because the Brass wouldn't change the order. Seventy-five thousand men, senselessly exterminated before lunchtime at Beaumont-Hamel.
The nurse rang a bell energetically, grinning madly and staring at Isobel as though she were Queen Alexandra herself, come to tea. A male yeoman appeared. "Will you ask Jessy Stanley to come posthaste (iv), please?"
"Yes, miss." The yeoman hurried off and promptly returned with a beaming, grey-caped Reserve nurse.
"Bella?"
Isobel covered her mouth and sobbed. "He's here." She bowed her head and locked her knees so she wouldn't fall. The pretty nurse grasped Bella's arms and gave a little hop. She hugged Isobel warmly.
"He came on the H.M.H.S. Saint David (v) four days ago. He was in a coma and carried no identification. Of course, we knew his rank and that he was a Blue Puttee, but they strip the casualties of their belongings at the trench so they're lighter to carry and he lost his records."
"I know."
"Knocked me sideways when he woke up and asked for you."
"He asked for me?"
"Clear as a bell. 'Isobel Masen, Senior Nurse at Base Hospital Five.' Every time he wakes, he asks me to write you a letter." Isobel's forehead creased and Jessy patted her arm. "He lost the first joint of his right thumb. We think he threw his hand up in front of his face and turned to his right. He was thrown by a bomb. Missed the worst of it, by the looks of him. We aren't sure yet how good his sight or hearing will be. The internal bleeding has stopped but he's concussed."
Edward might be deaf and blind. "He's a musician," Isobel said dully.
"Let's pray he gets his hearing back, then. He's young and strong. His feet are fine; it doesn't appear he's had frostbite, although he has some sort of nasty allergic rash."
"He's allergic tae wool."
"Heavens! We wondered why he wore that uniform, all lined with cotton. It would have given him an extra layer of protection against the cold. And evidently your man knows to keep his tinder dry, although Heaven only knows how he managed it."
"Can I see him?"
"You won't cry?"
"I dinnae ken." Wasn't she weeping already? What a ridiculous question!
"Make him feel wanted, right?"
"Of course." Isobel whistled for the dog.
︻┳═一
She found him sitting up in a wooden chair in the parlour, by a sunny window, wearing hospital blues. In profile, he looked completely normal. The dog ran straight past the other men in the room, some of whom reached out and called to it desperately. But the dog put its paws on Eddie's leg, yapped, growled, danced on its back legs, and wagged its tail with a doggy grin. A lump clogged Isobel's throat.
"Ye've chosen yer master, have ye no, Private Barker?"
Eddie's brow wrinkled. He reached down, stroked Private Barker's coarse head and grinned.
"Aww…Hey, buddy. Where did you come from, eh?" He ruffled the dog's ears with a hand covered in nicks and welts. "Want to play? Got a ball? A stick, maybe?" Cut marks in a spray pattern and greenish bruises covered the entire left side of Eddie's face. He was clean-shaven. His eyes were swollen and bloody. He looked as though someone had thrown him down a flight of stairs onto a stone floor covered in shattered glass.
Isobel stood against his knees. He blinked.
"Bella?" He peered at her and put his hand back on Private Barker's head. "Are you my Bella?" She nodded energetically but he groaned and leaned back against the chair. "I'm dreaming. Bella's in The Wipers."
She brushed her fingers over his bicep, stepped behind him and played Claire de lune on his shoulders. During the second section, he gasped, spun and framed her face in his hands.
"Bella!" He took her hand, felt frantically for her wedding ring, and kissed it, long and firmly. "You're really here," he said against her knuckles. He stood, placed one hand on her forehead and the other on her cheek, and ran his thumb over her mouth. She nodded, wept, and kissed it. He began to embrace her but stopped. There were other men in the room.
Isobel couldn't give a good g-damn who was watching. She half-climbed him and kissed the underside of his chin, his jaw and his neck—the only places she could reach. Eddie swept her up and carefully sat down again with her on his knees.
"Bella…"
She kissed him firmly, again and again.
"Mrs. Masen," he whispered, his eyes mere inches from her own. Sunlight poured in through the open curtains behind him.
Isobel realized abruptly that Edward was looking at her. She clasped him around the neck and pulled herself nose-to-nose. "Can ye see me, Eddie?"
He answered as though he could actually hear her. Perhaps he could read her lips. "Yes, when you're this close, I can see you, beautiful girl. But it would help if you'd take off the damned hat."
Laughing, she pulled out her two hat pins. As she removed the hat, half her hair tumbled down. Pinning her pins into the crown of her hat, she set it on her lap and shook out her hair. Eddie nuzzled his face into it.
"Lucky bastard," one of the other men said.
"You're a sight for sore eyes." Eddie tried to wink but his eyes were too swollen.
She kissed his brow above each eye. They were kissing in earnest when a harsh male voice made Isobel jump out of her skin. "What is the meaning of this!" She pulled back with a guilty start to discover a stout British major scowling at her.
"Sorry!" She hid a giggle behind her fingers.
"You're dismissed!"
She threw back her head and laughed. "That'll be a trick since I dinnae work here, sir."
"Cheeky! Have you no decorum?"
Eddie placed his lips near her ear and whispered, "What's going on?"
Isobel wiped the tears from her cheeks, patted Eddie and beamed at the major. "Not today, sir! I haff found my dear husband who has been missing since Beaumont-Hamel."
His irritation shifted into intensity. "Beaumont-Hamel?"
"Aye! He is a Royal Newfoundlander of the Blue Puttees and he also fought at the Suvla, St. Julien and the Ypres Salient."
"Cor, blimey!"vi one of the men moaned.
"A Blue Puttee?" another man asked.
Isobel peeked around Eddie to answer him. "Yes. One of the first five hundred."
The four patients in the room stared and whispered to each other, but Isobel only had eyes for Eddie.
The major cleared his throat. "Men, what say we give this young hero and his wife a few minutes of privacy?"
Although the men plainly didn't want to go, they slowly filtered out. The major waved vaguely at Isobel and Eddie. "Carry on."
"Thank ye, sir!"
He cleared his throat. "Erm, yes."
Isobel placed a fingertip on Eddie's chin and tipped his face toward her. Her hat slid off her lap and tumbled to the floor, where Private Barker snatched it up and gave it a good worry.
The dog had its fun, for nobody cared about the hat, least of all Isobel.
After much kissing and cooing, Eddie drew back. His intense expression softened and he swallowed hard, returning his palm to her cheek. "Can you really play the Debussy?"
She nodded again. He steered her over to the room's large upright piano. She sat on the stool while Private Barker yapped and scampered around their feet, doing his best to get somebody to throw the now-ruined hat.
Bella played and patients and nurses were drawn back into the room by the music. Edward rested his head on the piano. He began to laugh and tears brightened his eyes.
"I can hear it! Say you still love me."
She embraced him in front of everyone, kissed his brow, his cheeks and his mouth. He placed his hand on her face. She nodded. "I do. My lonely heart prayed for someone so God gave you to me."
Eddie hugged her so tightly she could scarcely breathe. She turned her face into his neck, basked in his scent, and stroked his hair.
"Bella. Bella, I have missed you so badly. Promise me… Don't ever let me go."
"Dinnae worry, Eddie. Ye'll never be rid of me, now."
︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一
Stay tuned for more, next week. Thank you for reading and reviewing. Xoox j
︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一
i Newfoundland: While I think of it, let's check pronunciation, shall we? New-fun-land, not New-FOUND-lan.
ii The Blue Puttees: When Newfoundland first pledged to help Great Britain in the War, the Dominion of Newfoundland didn't have an army. They very quickly raised one. The 500 men received six weeks of training from men who were hobby enthusiasts—lovers of shooting and sword sport. There was enough fabric available to make the First Newfoundland Regiment's uniforms, however, there was not enough to make hats or matching puttees. So, the Newfoundlanders shipped overseas wearing civilian hats of all types, and blue puttees (the correct fabric but the wrong colour). They went to Egypt, were given proper headgear, received six more weeks of professional military training, then shipped to the Suvla. By the time they reached the Dardanelles, 500 more brave boys of Newfoundland had joined their ranks, but all of them had the customary olive green puttees. The first 500 had distinguished themselves so well that they refused to stop wearing the blue puttees, which became a permanent mark of distinction and a badge of honour.
iii The first known drinking straws were used by the Sumerians in 3000BC. In the 1800s, people got into the habit of using a piece of rye grass to imbibe their drinks, but it tended to melt in liquid and leave an unpleasant grassy flavour. Frustrated, Marvin C. Stone invented and patented the modern paper drinking straw (which was coated in wax) in 1888.
iv Posthaste: as quickly as possible. The term came into use because mail coaches brought the post so quickly.
v The HMHS St. David was a real British hospital ship that ran between the Western Front and Blighty. If you visit my UE Series Facebook page, I have pictures of it.
vi Cor blimey: Cockney slang. A corruption of the oath, "God blind me."