Part 11 (1/2)

Lieutenant Booker said, ”I'm a coward. Just as they say. A brave man would have got it done properly.”

”Perhaps it isn't your time to die,” I replied. It was an echo of what I had said to Peregrine Graham. ”Had you thought about that?”

”No.” It was blunt.

”Well, it's something to consider. Hasn't your poor wife suffered enough? Even for Harry's sake? He would be the first to tell you to put the living before the dead. You won't bring him back by sacrificing yourself as well, you know. And he doesn't have a son to carry on his memory. But you do, and it's your duty to see that your own son remembers his uncle with pride and honors him for his courage.”

He held up his wrists, bandaged now. ”I couldn't do it. Not even for Harry.”

”Then I'm proud of you. Something deep inside prevented you, and that means in time you'll heal. The living must go on living, or we fail the dead.”

”It wasn't that. I heard my brother crying out to me. As clearly as I hear you now. He stopped me, I didn't stop myself.”

I digested that, then said, ”Which proves I was right. There was was some reason for you to live.” some reason for you to live.”

”It shook me to the core.”

I could see that it had. ”Of course it did.” I pulled up the only chair in the small room and sat down by the bed. ”I expect he watches over you. And always will.”

He stared at me. ”I told myself it was proof of my madness.”

”I'd say, rather, proof of your sanity. Why did you send for me?”

”Because none of them has been to war. You've come close.” He frowned. ”I thought I'd seen you in France. When Harry was taken to the dressing station.”

”It was dark, you were very upset. We look alike in our uniforms.”

”That's true....” He hesitated. ”Will you tell the doctor that I won't try again? He won't believe me. My mother-in-law is set on sending me back to the clinic. I want to stay here.”

”Dr. Philips has already given you one chance. And Mrs. Denton is sick with worry for her daughter. Wouldn't you be in her shoes?”

”I tried to make her understand about Harry,” he said defensively.

”Oh, don't be silly, Lieutenant. If you had a daughter and she'd married a soldier who seems bent on breaking her heart if he doesn't frighten her to death first, what would you do?”

He gave me a twisted smile. ”I'd try to knock some sense into the bas-” He broke off. ”Beg pardon, Sister.”

”That's precisely what Sally's mother feels.”

”Tell them I'm sorry. Tell them to give me one more chance. I won't let them down.” His eyes pleaded, and I tried to judge whether he meant it at this moment but would succ.u.mb to his nightmares again.

There was no way of telling. ”I'll speak to Dr. Philips.”

”I can't help that the trenches come back-”

”That's not your fault,” I agreed. ”This” ”This”-I gestured to his surroundings, the bandages and the straps holding him down-”this is your doing.” your doing.”

He shut his eyes, and I could see tears beneath the lids. Men don't like to be seen crying. I turned and quietly left him alone.

I wasn't sure Dr. Philips believed me when I told him that Ted Booker had promised not to do anything rash again. I could read the skepticism in his face. After all, I was a nurse, and he was the medical man.

Walking back to the Graham house, I was overtaken by the rector-he called to me, introducing himself in the same breath.

”Miss Crawford? I say, I'm Christopher Montgomery, the rector.”

I turned to meet him as he caught me up.

He was a man of middle height, with light blue eyes and fair skin. I put his age at forty, perhaps forty-five.

”I understand you were with Arthur Graham when he died.”

”Yes, I was. I came to Owlhurst with messages for his family. We nearly met before, Rector. I was in the church the other day, when you were repairing something in the organ loft.”

He smiled ruefully. ”I must have been making a terrible racket. But the bench was wobbly, according to my organist, Mr. Lessing, and I took it upon myself to find a solution. Thankfully, all four legs of the bench were even when I finished.”

I laughed. ”I'm sure they were.”

”I saw you leaving the surgery just now.”

”I was looking in on Lieutenant Booker.”

”Yes, I sat with him earlier. A sad case. I don't understand what sh.e.l.l shock does to the mind, but I can see very clearly how much he's suffering. I was a chaplain in the first months of 1915. They sent me home because I had a very bad case of trench foot. Embarra.s.sing, to say the least. But I've thought for some time that it might have also been my reluctance to convince men that G.o.d intended for them to die for King and Country.”

”There are worse cases than Mr. Booker's.”

He shook his head. ”That's beyond my ability to imagine.”

We had turned to walk together toward the church gate, where I would take the shortcut to the Graham house.

The rector said after a moment, ”I wanted to ask you about Peregrine Graham.”

I was immediately on my guard. It wouldn't do to gossip about the Grahams behind their backs.

”It came to my ears that he'd been brought home and is not expected to live. Is it true?”

”He's much improved, I'm happy to say. Someone came for him only this morning.”

”Yes, the neighbors were quick to inform me that the ambulance had returned, but they couldn't tell me whether it took him away alive or dead. I tried to call one morning, but was turned away. They told me Peregrine had no wish to see me.”

I hadn't known that he'd called. I said, trying to be judicious, ”I don't think he was really well enough for a visitor.”

”It was kind of you to help the family in their hour of need.”

It hadn't been kindness, it had been necessity. ”I was glad I was here to step in,” I answered instead.

”Where have you served?”

I told him, trying to keep my voice neutral-an experience, but stiff upper lip and all that.