Among the Poppies Read online

  “Each pickup is different. I haven’t seen him since that day in Vache Colline.” And not an hour went by when she didn’t wonder if he was safe.

  Cecelia leaned her forearms on the piano top and narrowed her eyes. “You would tell me, wouldn’t you? If you’d seen him?”

  Gwyn shoved the cushion back into place. “Your Marianne Dashwood tone frightens me a bit.”

  “Dashwood? Have I met her? During the season perhaps. One attends so many balls that it’s impossible to remember every introduction.”

  “A literary character. She was in love with a man named Willoughby and wrote him incessantly to … never mind.”

  “I don’t care for reading.” Cecelia scanned her music again. “It squints the eyes.”

  Gwyn went back to her dusting, relieved Cecelia hadn’t continued with her interrogation. If the questions kept coming, Gwyn might accidentally give away how much she truly enjoyed William’s company, and she’d rather not experience Cecelia’s reaction to that admission.

  Gwyn tapped the top of the piano. “Does she expect us to haul this outside?”

  Cecelia looked up from her papers and frowned. “My goodness, I hope not.”

  “Knowing her I wouldn’t be surprised if she—” The floor rumbled beneath Gwyn’s feet. Dangling crystals from the chandelier tinkled against each other. “What was that?”

  “An earthquake? What a horrible day for one. You don’t think it upset the punch bowl?”

  The ground trembled, knocking two green china vases from a side table. Tidbits shattered over Gwyn’s toes. Her gaze flew to the windows and the brilliant blue skies beyond. “I’m not certain that was an earthquake. We’re not but fifteen miles from the Front. A few of those artillery shells are known to cover quite the distance.”

  “Don’t scare me like that. We may hear the cannons echoing on a clear night, but nothing that big to shake the ground beneath our feet.” Cecelia raised her foot and shook off the broken fragments of porcelain. “We’re perfectly safe where we are.”

  “No one is entirely safe. Not during a war.”

  The warning bell rang. Gwyn’s gut churned at the terrifying clang. Please, God. Let me be wrong.

  Feet pounded down the hall. Their communications operator raced by the parlor and through the open front door, sprinting across the grass to where Lady Dowling directed party decorations. A few agonizing seconds later, they dashed back inside.

  “Stations! Stations!” The marchioness screamed. “Our boys are coming in! Slaughter on the Somme! Stations everyone!”

  Bodies heaped on the ground, leaving not a patch of mud uncovered. The smell of blood, singed flesh, and smoke choked the air as bullets and short-range shells screamed overhead. The Germans’ firestorm charged across No Man’s Land, ripping into wave after wave of troops going over the top.

  William backed off the fire step and grabbed his knees as fear and bile roiled in his stomach. Yanking the canteen from his belt, he raised it shakily to his lips and forced the sickness down with sheer will. He wouldn’t give in to it.

  He marched down the line, determined to rally his men. Mud and human disgust squished under his boots with each step. Boys too young for their first whiskers clung to their rifles as tears streaked down their dirty faces. The seasoned troops pulled on their rolled cigarettes and cursed with each drag.

  “Keep that muzzle out of the dirt, son.” William pointed at the forgotten weapon. “Check your ammo pouches and chin straps. I don’t want a loose helmet flopping around if they call us over.”

  “You mean when they call us, Captain.” A sergeant with callous brown eyes stared up from where he squatted. “It’s a slaughter when we hit the dirt. Ain’t gonna be anyone left to fight those Jerries.”

  “It’s our job to be ready, Sergeant,” William said.

  The man spat. “For king and country. Bah.”

  “For the man next to you. For your brothers.”

  He spat again. William continued on. Some men were so hardened that no amount of brave words could pierce their armor. Those weren’t the ones he worried about.

  William stopped next to a private who was trying to load his Lee-Enfield rifle. “Rub a little dirt on your hands.”

  The cartridge slipped from the boy’s sweaty hands. He caught it before it landed in the sludge. “I-I’m sorry, s-sir.”

  “Take your time. You want to make sure it’s loaded correctly and not jammed.”

  “That would be bad.”

  William smiled grimly. “Yes, it would. Have you been rubbing whale oil on your feet?”

  The boy’s chin dipped down. “Yes, sir.”

  “How often?”

  “If it’s not raining. And Sundays after chapel.”

  A sure path to trench foot. A nasty disease spread by cold and closed conditions that rotted the feet. “Every day. That’s an order.”

  “Yes, sir.” The boy wiped a hand across his grimy face, knocking his tin hat to the side. “They really gonna call us up, Captain? Surely our boys can get across those craters and wires to Fritz before they need the reserves.”

  William’s heart clenched. The very same thought had kept him awake night after night. How do you send men straight into fire while praying they never call for you? “Anything can happen, and we must be ready for it. Including keeping a ready weapon. Let me see you load it.”

  “Will! Will!”

  William turned to see Roland barreling down the trench, red-faced and eyes wild. “Calm yourself, man, or you’ll give the Germans a new target!”

  “That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” Roland skidded to a halt. He tilted his helmet back and wiped the black grime from his forehead. “Almost the entire Newfoundland regiment has been wiped out. The reserve line is coming out six hundred yards from the front. What are these commanders thinking?”

  “They’re following the objectives given them.”

  “They keep following them for much longer, and we’ll be the ones tangled in the barbs.”

  Despite the earth shaking with explosions, silence surrounded William as every man within earshot leaned in. The private’s rifle dropped to the mud. Grabbing Roland by the collar, William hauled him around the bend. “You cannot speak like that in front of the men.” He hissed. “We must keep them calm even with our minutes counted.”

  Roland yanked away from his grasp. “Keeping them in the dark will do no one any good.”

  “There’s a way to do it. Screeching like a madman will only set them on edge.”

  “Fine, fine.” Roland scowled and adjusted his belt. “You should still know how close we are to going over.”

  Stones plunked in the pit of William’s stomach. A familiar feeling when the truth hit him in the face. “I’m all too aware of the chaos around us, though exact communication has been … limited.”

  Metal hissed, sharp and terrifying like a banshee.

  William grabbed his helmet and hunched over. “Get down!”

  Dirt, mud, and shrapnel blasted over the trench, dousing its occupants. Ting ting ting. Metal bits pinged off William’s helmet and scattered into the mud sucking at his boots.

  Roland uncurled from his ball and grinned. “Close one, eh?”

  “They must have a few Jack Johnsons of their own.” William wiped the mud from his eyes with the back of his equally filthy hand. No screams of agony. Good, good.

  “Captain Crawford. Is there a Captain Crawford here?”

  Looking over the heads of his hunched-over men, William spotted a lieutenant picking his way down the duckboards. The man eyed the rank of each man he passed and stopped at William. “Are you Captain Crawford?”

  William frowned, taking in the boy’s scared eyes and shiny buckles. Lieutenants like this never bore good news. “I am.”

  “You’re to come with me, sir. General Haig has requested your presence immediately at HQ.”

  The stones in William’s stomach crashed together. No. Never good news.

  CHAPTER
11

  Chaos.

  Horns bleated and drivers cursed as they jostled for position in the long string of ambulances trolling their way to and from the battlefield. The makeshift road wasn’t wide enough to drive two abreast, so motors veered into the ditch. Wheels squealed and spun in the mud, splattering the unfortunate driver behind. But no matter how loudly they rumbled, the scream of battle would not be drowned out.

  Gwyn swerved her way into the pickup area and ground to a halt. Uncramping her legs from riding the throttle the entire way, she swung them over the side and down. Straight into a puddle of red and brown. She bit down on her back teeth to keep calm.

  A horn blasted behind her. “Get out of the way, girl!”

  Gwyn jumped back as an ambulance careened past, his back axles sagging low to the ground. A rut threw the back doors open, and two poorly bandaged hands scrambled to slam them shut.

  “Think he’d realize he’s got dying men in the back,” Eugenie growled next to her. Her dark hair stuck out in every direction and mud covered her cheeks.

  Gwyn nodded but said nothing. Tensions ran high enough.

  They picked their way between the motors. It didn’t take long to find the field hospital. Bleeding men and bodies covered the ground, their cries and sobbing like the lowing of cattle. Some begged for death.

  A hand clawed at Gwyn’s foot. Dirty fingernails gouged into her boot.

  Anguish punched in her gut as she eyed the hole torn across the man’s neck. “We’ll get you.” Reaching down, she squeezed his hand and placed it back on his chest. “We’ll take care of you all.”

  Ducking into a large dugout, her feet slid on discarded bandages. She caught the edge of a crude table.

  “Unless you know how to amputate, go twitch your nose someplace else.” A surly voice came from the back corner. “I don’t need weak women fainting on me.”

  “We’re ambulance drivers.” Gwyn stepped over the pile. “Fresh reserves from Lady Dowling.”

  “Reserves? From that old battle-axe? Where are the trains Maxwell promised us? Three out of eighteen, explain that to me.”

  Gwyn tamped down her anger. “I’m afraid I can’t.”

  “Then what can you do? Stand there and stare while I saw this man’s leg off, or do you have actual help to offer me?”

  “Now look here, sir—” A hand gripped Gwyn’s shoulder and pulled her to the other side of the hole.

  Major Bennett shook his head and dropped his hand. “Don’t. Colonel Lang has been awake for over seventy-two hours, and we don’t have enough hands to deal with the wounded.”

  “Well, we’ve come to help in the best way we can,” she said.

  “They promised eighteen ambulance trains, but only three have shown up. The wounded are being left in the open at the depot with only their original field dressings. No nurses, no orderlies or doctors on sight.” Bennett pointed at the bleeding men piling up as far as the eye could see. “We’re not prepared.”

  “Then we’ll get them off the field as fast as we can and come back for more. At least a depot is safer than having shells exploding overhead.”

  A tired smile flitted across his face. For just a moment, Gwyn saw how handsome he really was. “I’m glad you have determination, Miss Ruthers, because we need all we can get.”

  Gwyn picked her way back to her ambulance and found Rosie sagging to one side. With a cry of panic, Gwyn ran around the back of the auto. A piece of shrapnel stuck out of the back tire.

  Perfect. Why had she ever let Eugenie talk her into removing the spares for the race? Much good extra speed did them now. She kicked the offending tire with all the anger she could muster.

  “Ow!” She doubled over and grabbed her throbbing toe.

  “What’s going on back here?” Eugenie came around the front of the motor and took in the situation with one glance. “Oh.”

  “Oh.” Gwyn dropped her foot. “And we have no spares.”

  Eugenie’s mouth screwed up, flattening her thick nose. “You’re stuck here.”

  “So it would seem.”

  “I’ll bring a spare my next round.”

  “That’ll take hours, maybe days from the looks of things.”

  “What other choice do we have?”

  Gwyn slumped against Rosie. She’d come all this way for nothing. No, not for nothing. Jerking up, she threw open the back doors and counted the first aid supplies. Thank you, Lord. At least the kits had stayed in place. She slammed the door shut. “I’ll stay and help the medics as much as I can until someone can bring back a spare. When you see the girls, tell each one of them to get those spares back on board. We can’t afford another disaster like this.”

  Eugenie saluted. “Yes, ma’am. Is that all?”

  “Be careful around the potholes.”

  “Oh, good.” Eugenie scratched a hand behind her neck and into her dark hair, ruffling it like a scared chicken’s feathers. “Thought I had a yelling headed my way. You know, because it was my idea to take the spares out for the race.”

  “We didn’t think.”

  “You the driver of that rig up here?” A man wearing a Red Cross band on his arm shouted between the cars. “We’re ready to load you up.”

  Sadness and guilt tangled over Gwyn’s heart as she watched her friends drive away with their ambulances loaded, their mission underway. Left behind, covered in dust, and the one thing she was good at taken away.

  Her father’s voice rattled in her head. “God gave you hands and a mind. If your hands are taken away, use your mind and get back to work.”

  If she couldn’t drive, then by golly, she was going to wrap bandages. Even if they were into ridiculous little bows. Gathering what supplies she could carry from the ambulance, she marched back to the medical tent. “How can I help?”

  “Have you ever assisted in an amputation?” Major Bennett cracked his knuckles as he stared at her with uncertainty. “No? Quite all right. I have the chaplain in here to help. Take these extra field kits and patch as many men as you can before daylight fails us.”

  Gwyn slung the packs over her shoulder, adjusting the belt so they didn’t bang against the back of her legs. “I have more supplies in my ambulance, in case I need to refill.”

  “I can’t thank you enough, Miss Ruthers.” The shadows around his eyes lifted. “I know your desire is to transport, but I believe your auto breaking down has a greater purpose. Now, more than ever, we should see God’s hand in the small things.”

  The straps across her chest cut into Gwyn’s lungs. For One so lofty, the Almighty had a way of presenting Himself rather frequently in conversations of late. A shame He remained absent on the battlefield. How many more would suffer?

  William. Her heart squeezed. “Have you treated anyone from the Ox and Bucks? Second division.”

  Bennett’s lips scrunched, bristling his thin black mustache. “With all the casualties and filth covering their uniforms, it’s difficult to properly identify each regiment. You know someone?”

  Heart anchored with fear, she nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

  Bursts of yellow lit the night sky as the guns pounded a short distance away. Gwyn sagged against a tree stump, her ears ringing. After hours of making her way among the wounded, only the loudest explosions caused her to jump.

  Slipping off her field kit, she stretched her aching back. After fieldwork, she was sure to become a permanent hunchback. A blessing compared to what her eyes had witnessed. Pushing the images of writhing figures away before her mind caved in, she yanked open the medical bag and counted her precious few remaining supplies. No possible way to stretch out what she had if those supply lines didn’t start moving again, and soon.

  “Nurse! Nurse!”

  Gwyn rubbed her head. Night and day she heard that call, but no nurses set foot so close to the Front. Only her. She sprang to her feet. She was the nurse now.

  “Here!” Grabbing the kit, she lurched into the darkness towards the frantic voice.

  A serg
eant popped over the ridge as an explosion ripped into the air, highlighting him from behind. “You the nurse? You gotta come with me, ma’am.”

  Staring at the ground, Gwyn picked her way over the craters. The booming flashes of gunpowder lit the way. The footsteps in front of her went silent. Panic crept up her chest. “Sergeant?”

  “Here, ma’am. There’s a ladder down to the trench, just swing your leg over.”

  Fumbling in the darkness, her hands brushed against wooden handles. Swiveling around, she put one foot on the rung. Her foot slipped. Backward she flew. Strong arms caught her before she hit the ground.

  The sergeant steadied her on her feet. “All right there, ma’am?”

  “Yes.” Her voice shook. If she couldn’t pull herself together, she would be of no use to anyone. “Where is the man?”

  “This way.”

  Walls of earth towered on either side of the trench, narrow enough that she could almost stretch fingertips across to touch. Soft lantern light glowed from dugouts along the way. Filthy men huddled together. Gwyn’s lungs burned as she tried to breathe, but the air was thick with the stench of unwashed bodies, dirt, sour blood, and human waste.

  Eyes forward, she tried not to pay attention to the open mouths and disbelieving stares greeting her. Heat fanned up her neck as the crude whispers grew louder.

  “Are we near the Front?” she asked.

  The sergeant glanced over his shoulder. “These are the reserve lines. Paradise, we call it.”

  More twisting and turning passages. Finally, Gwyn spotted a dugout with several men clustered around the entrance.

  “Make a hole,” the sergeant barked, shoving Gwyn into the fray. “Medic here.”

  “Gwyn? What in blazes are you doing here?” William shot to his feet, banging his head on the roof. He glared at the sergeant. “What is she doing here? I told you to find the medic.”

  “They’re all busy, Captain. She’s who they told me to find.”

  Relief pumped in Gwyn’s heart. William was safe and whole.

  “Couldn’t stop until you landed right in the heat of things, could you?” Shifting in front of her, William lowered his head until his face was inches from hers. “Satisfied? Or maybe you’d like a rifle to march straight to the Kaiser’s door.”