Nurse No Evil （First Person）
TIRED! That is what I was: tired! Weary to the bone, and tired in my very soul! I wanted nothing more than to return to my father’s house, take to my bed for a day or a month, and hope to recover some strength and perspective on all I had seen in the past year.
It had appeared such a sensible idea at the time.
There was a war on, I was seven and twenty, and nearly on the shelf.
What a horrid term that was, but I heard the whispers at every assembly, every supper, every gathering of any kind.
I lived in a town where even the jewels of the county remained unwed, and my chances of domestic felicity seemed ever thinner by the week.
I sat one day, listening to my silly younger sister blather, when my brother returned from university.
I saw his eyes sweep the parlour. Some may consider this pessimistic, but I thought I detected a look of pending distress.
Years and years of sitting in this parlour doing absolutely nothing stretched before me, and he viewed the same prospect with no more enthusiasm than I.
Naturally, he was my brother and was to inherit everything, so he would be honour-bound to take care of me, but was that anything to aspire to?
Did I truly wish to spend the rest of my years teaching his wife’s ten children how to embroider?
Did I truly want to be under the control of my brother and his wife—forever?
In a flash of insight or insanity, I conceived that the problem and the solution might be one and the same.
I was unmarried because too many of the local men, both gentlemen and tradesmen, had been called off to fight the madman in France.
Many of those boys returned in pieces, if at all, and were of no use to me.
However, they were doing their duty while I sat here doing… nothing… absolutely nothing!
Once the idea occurred, there was no stopping me.
I was deemed sensible, which mostly was a synonym for accommodating or invisible.
I took a leaf from the book of some of the less appealing young ladies of the county, and I started working on my father and brother to bend them to my will.
My brother was easy enough to work on; my father took several weeks before my plan finally came to fruition, and I was reluctantly sent on my way.
I had been at my duties for just over a year, on that blisteringly hot day in late August, when I was tired enough to decide it was worth going home for a month.
I was only slightly richer in fortune than I had been when I left, though I did consider myself much richer in character and experience.
My chosen profession was not exactly well-paid, so with little coin to spare, my options were to continue my current duties or return home.
I had not seen my mother or father in quite some time, so home it was to be…
for a while. It was hard to imagine returning to sit around the drawing room all day, so I was dubious about the long-term viability of that plan, but a short rest had some appeal.
The year had started simply enough. My interview with the matron went well, and I was soon assigned to the simple tasks of a beginner.
I brought water or food to wounded soldiers, read to them, helped them with their letters, adjusted their bedding, or tried to see to their comfort.
Some of the men in the lower ranks could not even read or write, so I wrote to their families on their behalf and read the responses as often as they liked.
Gradually, I learned how to change bandages and dress wounds; then progressed to more difficult bandages; and then more arduous tasks.
Sometimes the nurses had to cajole a man onto his feet when he just wanted to rest but had to be up and about.
Sometimes we bathed a fever in wet rags, even though there was little to show for our efforts.
Sometimes we acted as maids, changing sheets, emptying chamber pots, and cleaning around a bed.
Every day there was something new, and I determined there was no task suitable for any nurse that I would avoid.
Gradually, my duties increased along with my experience and my resilience.
I eventually learned, much to my dismay, how to sit holding a man’s hand while his life bled out around me.
I learned how to be a man’s wife, mother, or sister if he was burning up with fever, and nothing but a beloved voice would calm him.
I plumbed the depths of pain, death, and sorrow—but also the depths of brotherly love and affection on display all around me every day.
After a time, I became known as someone who was sensible, but that word carried a quite different connotation.
In an army hospital, it indicated a strong constitution and willingness to do anything to help the boys and men under her charge, and I must admit to a feeling of pride in this flavour of sensibility.
If the doctors needed somebody to talk calmly to a man while a surgeon hacked his leg off with a bone saw, I was considered eminently suitable.
Did they need somebody to talk to a man who had no hope whatsoever of surviving, just to make his last few hours on this earth bearable?
It was no difficulty for me. If they required someone to scream at a man like a cross between a badger, an angry mother, and a hostile nursemaid, to get him out of bed and onto his feet, one could do worse than me.
Day by day, I continued doing my work, like the other nurses around me.
Just like them, I eventually reached the point where I needed to rest. I had by that time lasted very much longer than most of the gentlewomen who came in to volunteer for the duty.
They were usually as desperate as I was, but most of them were not quite as resolute or as stubborn.
Many women lasted but hours or days and then disappeared, but among those of us who stayed, a sisterhood was made that was quite appealing.
I finally reached the point where I needed a short rest. The women who made this their life’s work took care not to be in the thick of things constantly, but I had shown no such restraint.
I needed a rest, and thought I was likely to return to the most rewarding yet difficult task I had ever undertaken.
The decision made, I acted with the alacrity I applied to every action and requested leave.
It was naturally granted, especially when I indicated that I planned to return…
though the matron’s gaze led me to believe she was sceptical.
I was sure she had heard it many times before, but she was grateful for my past service, so had no room to complain; even if it should occur to her, which it would not.
She was who I measured all other women against, and hoped one day to emulate.
My trunk packed, I was taking leave of my colleagues and the soldiers in for treatment that day, when I received a most unusual summons from a corporal.
“The general wishes to see me?” I squeaked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“General Smyth?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“He wishes to see me?”
The man delivering the message likely thought I was not quite as sensible as my reputation indicated.
However, as the man who delivered the general’s notices, I suspected little truly surprised him.
A slight smile suggested he enjoyed my discomfiture, yet I judged it not malicious.
He simply found levity in the situation, not truly at my expense.
Wondering what in the world a general could want with the likes of me, I followed the corporal immediately and entered the general’s office.
To my surprise, a young maid, dressed in a uniform much better than average, entered immediately behind me.
I supposed the general worried about propriety, as if such a thing could exist at a military hospital.
I wondered if he kept a maid merely for that purpose, and why she was dressed so particularly well, but I had not long to ponder; the general was not a man to waste time.
“Thank you for coming, Miss Lucas.”
I curtseyed, and he offered a belated bow. He seemed more accustomed to salutes, but rallied well enough.
“How may I assist you, General?”
The general led me to a set of chairs in the far corner, signalling the young maid to seat herself in the other corner, out of hearing. I had no idea whether this was a good omen or bad.
The general seemed not a man to waste time in civilities, so he came directly to the point.
“Miss Lucas, you have requested and been granted leave, but I wonder if I might prevail upon you for a favour?”
“A favour, sir?”
I wondered when I had become incapable of simple conversation but supposed the general would say what he needed whether I filled the space with blather or not.
“You are on your way to visit your father’s house in Hertfordshire, are you not?”
He seemed to have decided to veer toward civility, which I was not convinced was a good idea. Whatever his favour, I wished to know it and be done. There was little chance I would decline any favour the general deigned to ask, but it would be nice to know what type of trap I was walking into.
“Yes sir, I am to take a short leave, but I will be back in a month.”
He looked as sceptical as the matron, but held his tongue.
“Would you consider it impertinent for me to ask how you came to be in service?”
I did in fact consider it impertinent, bordering on rude, but I had learned to obey orders, just like the men I treated, so it never occurred to me to answer with anything less than the complete truth.
I had to admit, that was one thing I liked about this environment.
When men were dying around you, nobody bothered with trivialities.
I suspected I would find the rules of propriety stifling when I returned to my father’s house, and I thought I might very well make a life here in this hospital after home drove me mad for a month, or perhaps merely a fortnight.