A Game of Shadows (27 page)

Sam woke up sometime in the middle of the night; at least he thought it was the middle of the night.  He was terribly hot, but the heat was coming from somewhere inside, consuming him like a raging inferno. 
That’s what it must feel like to be burned alive
, he thought before throwing off the blanket and gulping lungfuls of air in an effort to cool down.  Sam gingerly felt his side, yanking his hand away.  Even the slightest touch sent waves of excruciating pain throughout his entire torso, setting his guts aflame.  He wished he could call out, but his mouth felt like cotton wool.  He’d been feeling much better when he fell asleep after talking to Susanna.  She was going to help him escape, and now he’d and ruined everything. 

Sam tried to shift positions, but even the slightest movement resulted in unbearable pain, causing him to cry out.  The man in the other bed looked up, concern on his face.  “Are you all right, soldier?” he asked. 

“Can you call Doctor Freeman, please,” croaked Sam.  “Something is wrong.” 

“
Of course, just hold on.”  The man got out of bed laboriously, grunting with effort.  Sam barely noticed that his right leg ended just below the knee, the bandage covered with pus and dried-up blood as he used a pair of crutches to limp to the door. 

Sam looked up to see his mother coming toward him, a reassuring smile on her face.  She was saying something, but he couldn’t quit
e make it out.  It didn’t matter, she was there, and everything would be all right, just as it had been when he was a little boy and had taken ill.  She always nursed him back to health.  She hadn’t been able to save Luke though, his mind protested as he remembered his brother.  Abbie had been heartbroken after Luke died, taking to her bed and refusing to eat for days.  Where was Abbie?  Sam looked around, almost expecting to see Abbie appear out of thin air, but she never materialized.  His mother seemed to vanish as well, leaving him all alone and in pain.  Sam’s brain felt terribly muddled and the room swam before his eyes, making him dizzy and forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut.  Where was everyone?

Sam
wasn’t sure how much time had passed.  It might have been five minutes or five hours, but Doctor Freeman appeared at last, still wearing his nightshirt, which was tucked into his trousers.  His hair was standing up on end, but his face was alert and full of concern.  Susanna was right behind him, a long braid snaking down her shoulder from under her cap, her shoulders covered with a shawl.  She held a candle as her father pulled aside the blanket and pulled up Sam’s shirt.  Another time he might have been embarrassed to be naked in front of a woman he barely knew, but the delirium chased all shame away.

“Just bear with me,
Corporal.  I’ll just take off the dressing and see what’s going on.”  He peeled off the dressing very gently, finally exposing the wound.  Sam heard Susanna’s intake of breath, but kept his eyes shut having finally gotten a handle on the dizziness. 

“It’s festered,” the doctor said quietly, “quite badly.  I don’t know what caused it.  I cleaned it most carefully before stitching it up.” 
Sam’s eyes flew open, the meaning of the words sinking into his fevered brain.  Doctor Freeman scratched his head, his eyes huge behind the glasses. 

“Will I die, Doctor?” Sam asked.  He preferred to know the truth.

“Not if I can help it, son, but you won’t be rejoining your regiment for some time to come.  Susanna, we must operate immediately.  Any delay will cause the infection to spread.  Please get me all the necessary instruments and ask two soldiers to come in here.  I’ll need to move Corporal Johnson to an operating table where I can work with greater ease.” 

Sam could see the other
patient peering over Susanna’s shoulder, his face full of curiosity.  “That looks awful,” he said before Susanna shooed him back to his own bed.  After that, everything was a blur.  Two uniformed men came in and lifted Sam off the cot, placing him on a high table in a different room.  Susanna was laying out instruments while Doctor Freeman consulted a medical text, which to Sam didn’t seem like a very good omen.  The sun was just beginning to rise, filling the room with a rosy glow that moved across the walls, casting a pink pall over them and chasing away the shadows of the night.  Waves of heat rolled over Sam as he tried unsuccessfully to push aside the blanket, which Susanna kept replacing.   

“Daylight will be most helpful,” Doctor Freeman said, glancing toward the window.  “Much better than working by candlelight
, I say.”

“What are you going to do, Doctor?” Sam
stammered, although he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.  The doctor stopped what he was doing and looked over at Sam, coming to stand where Sam could easily see him.

“I’m going to reopen the wound and clean it out once again.  I might have to shave away some of the infected flesh until I’m satisfied that all
the putrefaction has been removed.  I will then clean it with wine, and pour boiling turpentine into the wound before applying a salve and dressing it once again.  I’m sorry, Patrick.  It won’t be pleasant, but it must be done.  If I’m successful, it will save your life.”

“And if you’re not?”

“If I’m not, then the infection will spread and eventually enter your bloodstream, resulting in death.  I will do everything in my power to make sure that doesn’t happen.”  Doctor Freeman took Sam’s hand, squeezing it gently.  “I need you to be brave for me.”

Sam tried to answer, but he had a lump in his
throat the size of a brick.  He just nodded, returning the pressure of the doctor’s hand.  “Do what you must,” he whispered, barely able to get the words out.  He closed his eyes when he saw Doctor Freeman pick up a small knife that was about to be used on his tender flesh. 

“Susanna,
give him something to bite on so he doesn’t bite off his tongue, and then I need you to stand on the other side and sponge off the blood and pus.  You there,” he turned to one of the soldiers still hovering in the doorway.  Hold this metal container over the candle until it boils.  There’s no sense lighting a fire just to boil a bit of turpentine.  Let me know when it’s ready.”

“Yes, sir,” the soldier replied, holding the little pot over the candle very carefully
and throwing looks of pity at Sam, who was still shivering with fever. 

Sam sucked in his breath as
Doctor Freeman touched his abdomen, ready to begin the procedure.  He knew it would hurt, but the pain that tore through him was like nothing he’d ever experienced.  It was white hot and all encompassing, but most of all relentless.  Sam tried to hold on, but he felt a merciful blackness enveloping him, and he welcomed it with open arms, unable to take the pain any longer. 

He slipped in and out of
consciousness, waking up to an agony beyond anything he’d ever known.  The doctor was scraping away inside his stomach, intent on his task.  Sam tried to hold still, but his legs shook of their own accord, his back arching from the unbearable pain.  Susanna wiped his forehead as she continued to sponge out the wound, the putrid smell of pus filling the small room.  Sam passed out again, grateful for the respite.  Mercifully, he stayed unconscious for the grand finale.  Doctor Freeman poured the boiling turpentine into the wound, then proceeded to stitch it up before applying a smelly salve of some sort and dressing the area once again. 

**

Sam felt the touch of a cool hand on his forehead as he began to surface from the dark hole he’d been sucked into during the surgery.  He was still in pain, but it was nothing compared to the agony he felt earlier.  His legs were no longer jerking, and the inferno that had taken over his belly seemed to have cooled a bit.  Susanna sat on the side of the bed, holding a cup of water to his parched lips.  It was dark outside once again, and he had no idea whether it was evening or early morning. 

“How do you feel, Patrick?” she asked, cupping his cheek in an unexpectedly intimate gesture.  Her eyes were full of sorrow as she looked at him lying there, making Sam feel sorry for
himself.  Maybe he wasn’t really feeling better, and the surgery didn’t work.

“Am I dying?” he asked.  He was suddenly scared, not wanting to die among strangers under a false name. 
No one would know what happened to him or visit his grave.  Sam sighed, bracing himself for the answer.

“We won’t let you die.  Father thinks he got everything out this time
, and the turpentine and wine should do the rest.  You are still much fevered, but not like you were earlier. Father thinks it must be working.  Do you want something to eat?” 

Sam just shook his head.  The thought of food made him nauseous.  “I just want to sleep, if that’s all right.” Susanna just nodded, touching his cheek again. 

“Sleep then.  I’ll sit with you until you fall asleep, then lie down on one of the empty cots so that I can be close to you if you need me.”  She smiled down at him, his large hand in her small ones, tethering him to the world.  Sam closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift away, secure in the knowledge that an angel was watching over him as he slept.

The milky light of dawn was just creeping across the floor and walls of the room as Sam woke up.  He wasn’t sure what woke him because everything was quiet, inside and out.  Even the yard below was silent, the soldiers still in their beds, getting a few more minutes of sleep before their wake-up call.  The room was pleasantly cool, the air fresh and clean, despite the closed window.  Doctor Freeman gave orders to air out the room twice a day, but the windows were firmly shut after that to prevent infection and the possibility of catching a chill.  Sam didn’t think it was possible to catch a chill on a glorious September day, but what did he know? 

Doctor Freeman
checked on him during the night, shuffling in with his glasses jammed onto his face at a strange angle and his nightshirt swishing against his legs.  He seemed satisfied with Sam’s progress as he took his temperature and pulse before examining the wound.  He nodded in satisfaction, then quietly retreated to his own room at the end of the hall, but not before pulling the blanket over Susanna and tucking it around her shoulders. 

Sam slowly turned his head, half expecting Susanna to be gone, her cot empty and neatly made, but she was still there, sleeping soundly.  Her
breathing was even and shallow, her face luminous in the morning light.  Her cap had come off during the night, her hair fanned out on the pillow as she slept.  It was a few shades darker than Abbie’s; a honey-blonde that caught the rays of the rising sun and shone like a halo around her head.  Susanna’s mouth was slightly open, her full lips rosy against her pale skin.  Sam tried to look away, but couldn’t.  She was so lovely just lying there completely unaware of his scrutiny.  The blanket that her father so carefully tucked around her had slipped off, exposing the curve of her breast against her nightdress.  Sam suddenly wished that he could go over to her and adjust the blanket to keep out the chill of the morning, but even the merest motion left him sweating and pressing his hand against the wound in a fruitless effort to hold in the pain. 

Sam lay back against the pillows panting, and tried not to stare at Susanna’s sleeping form, but his eyes kept sliding to her face, his lips stretching into a goofy smile. 
Susanna was nothing like the women Sam normally found attractive.  He liked them buxom and saucy; the kind of women who weren’t shamed by their desire or need for a man.  They were honest and refreshing compared to the demure misses he was normally exposed to, whose only goal was to catch a husband and breed like cattle. 

Susanna was slight and
graceful, her somber-colored, high-necked gowns doing little to disguise her natural beauty.  She wasn’t the kind of woman who needed to display her bosom or make suggestive comments to get attention.  She exuded a quiet dignity as she moved about the empty ward, helping her father and doing her best to make her patients feel cared for.  Under different circumstances, Sam might have found her to be cold or repressed, but he noticed sadness in her eyes and a look of longing as she gazed out of the window, most likely wishing to return home to England rather than molder in a fort in the middle of a war she probably cared nothing about. 

Susanna seemed heartbreakingly earnest and dedicated, and her concern for him touched Sam deeply
; for no girl had ever really cared about his well-being.  She seemed drawn to him, whether because he needed her help, or because she genuinely liked him, but he had to stay aloof for fear of causing her pain.  He felt terrible enough lying to her the way he had, knowing that she believed every word and prayed for him to be reunited with his nonexistent fiancée. 

And suddenly Sam wished he had
a fiancée.  He’d had his share of romance, but no girl ever really touched his heart.  He secretly envied Finn when he saw him with Abbie.  It wasn’t just physical love.  Theirs was a union of souls as well, and Sam prayed that he would be blessed enough to experience something similar before he died.  It was ironic that the girl who wormed her way into his soul was the daughter of an enemy surgeon, someone he could never have.  Maybe in another life they could have had something special, but for now, he had to keep his distance while still taking advantage of her kindness.  Sam sighed and turned to his side, suddenly feeling lonelier than he ever had in his life.