With a sob she followed the stretcher to the operating table where a weary Major Patstone and his assistant waited.
She grasped the arm of the surgeon and told him, “This is Captain Colin Hill. He was our liaison officer and he is my fiancé!”
The bald surgeon raised his eyebrows. “You want to send in another nurse to replace you while we work on him?”
“No!”
The surgeon sighed as he stared at the white face of the unconscious Colin. Then he began probing at the bloodied left sleeve of the unconscious man on the table. He asked for a knife to cut away the bloodstained cloth, and revealed what seemed more a mass of pulverized, bloody flesh than a recognizable arm.
Major Patstone said harshly, “The left arm is damaged beyond repair!”
“Surely something can be done to save it!” she pleaded.
The bald man gave her a look. “You want him to live, don’t you?”
“Yes!”
“His only chance is to be rid of that mess of shattered bone and flesh. If we can amputate we may be able to avoid infection and save him!”
She nodded dully. “Yes. I know you are right.”
“You still want to assist?”
“Yes,” she said tensely. “I’ll manage. I’d rather be the one to assist.”
“You are a sensible, young woman and a brave one,” the Major said. “So let us get along with it!”
It brought back memories of her first experience with surgery in the tiny hospital in Invermere. The memory of the rasping sound when John Hastings had sawed through the shattered bones of Jock’s legs! She had stood up to the ordeal then, she should certainly be equal to this challenge.
The tent in which they were performing the surgery had become more like a butcher’s shop than a hospital operating area. There had been no time to clean the ground around the table. And there was no time for anything but the most elemental surgery. She obeyed the curt instructions of the surgeon as she helped with the amputation of the left arm of the man she loved.
Her great concern now was whether or not he would live. Half of those with amputations died from loss of blood or infection. As soon as the surgery was over Colin was moved to the larger tent serving as a ward for post-surgical cases. For twenty-four hours he remained there.
Then Major Patstone came to her and said, “We are ready to transport some of those who’ve had surgery back to Scutari. I’d like you to take charge of the move.”
“Very well, Major,” she said, relieved that she would thus remain close to Colin, who would be among those transported. She asked, “How has the battle gone?”
“Disastrously!” the bald man said grimly. And he turned and walked away.
Colin was still delirious from fever when the transport party reached the main hospital in Scutari. Despite her busy schedule Joy managed to be at his bedside a good deal of the time. And the other members of the nursing group who had come to care for the handsome, young captain also gave him any special attention they could.
Several nights later Florence Nightingale came to stand soberly at his bedside while Joy was sitting beside him. Colin was still lost in a feverish coma brought on by infection. The veteran nurse said in a low voice, “Has he made any noticeable improvement?”
“I can’t see any.”
“He has failed greatly,” the older nurse observed as she studied the hollow-eyed Colin, his pale face showing a scraggly, brown beard. It was hard to recognize the handsome Captain in this human wreck.
Joy worried, “I can get no assurance from the doctors. They are hardened to seeing many die of fever!”
“So many cases! The hospital has never been so crowded! Even I am stunned by the enormity of it!”
She sighed. “At first I worried how he would feel about losing his arm. Now I can think only of his recovering. I cannot care about anything else!”
Florence Nightingale said, “I shall join my prayers with yours. He must recover!”
The battle for Colin’s life went on. Then one morning, when she was busy in another ward, Nurse Ellman hurried to her and exclaimed, “Captain Hill has come out of his fever coma! He spoke to me just now!”
Joy was filled with happiness. She ran to his bedside. His eyes were open, and a gleam of recognition showed in his haggard face. His cracked lips moved in a whisper, “Joy!”
“Colin, dearest!” She said with a grateful sob and knelt down and kissed him.
So his recovery began. His fever decreased, and the arm stump slowly healed. At first he did not mention his loss, nor did she say anything to him. Until one evening, when she came to sit with him for a while.
A wry smile showed on his thin, pale face as he indicated his missing arm. “Lucky Hill!” he said. “It seems my luck finally ran out!”
“I think you are especially lucky,” she argued. “Have you any idea how many of your comrades died out there?”
His face shadowed. “It was a senseless slaughter! I shall never forget it! You are right, I should not complain.”
She said, “At least you’re finished with it now. Let them mismanage the war as they wish, they can’t make you one of the victims any longer!”
Colin smiled weakly. “Maybe I can get back my post with Miss Nightingale as liaison officer.”
“We never had a better one!”
“But now I shall be short-handed! Remember that!” It was a small attempt at a joke, and a hint the old Colin was fighting his way back.
She felt the time had come to discuss some of the things which had happened while he was at the front. She said in a troubled voice, “I’ve not said anything until now. But you must know that Colonel Sanger is dead.”
He nodded from his pillow. “Miss Nightingale was here to see me one day. She told me all the facts! I wish I had been here to defend you! What a rotter that man was!”
She looked down at her hands. “I did not mean to kill him.”
“The Court Martial realized that or they wouldn’t have cleared you,” he said. “You had to save yourself. From the beating he gave you it would seem he was ready to kill you.”
“It happened so swiftly!”
“Try to forget it,” Colin urged her.
She looked at him soberly. “It won’t be easy. I hope I didn’t disgrace the nursing corps or you.”
“You did nothing of the sort,” Colin told her with some of his old spirit. Reaching a thin hand up to take hers, he said, “You must erase it from your mind. I do not want to ever talk about it again!”
“If that is your wish.”
“It is,” he told her. And he drew her down to be kissed.
They went on to talk of other things and she decided it was a good time to tell him about Jock’s grave injuries and his recovery. She said, “When I was in Scotland, a man who was a good friend was injured in a woods accident. Both of his legs had to be amputated.”
“I seem to vaguely remember your mentioning it,” Colin said. “Now it has new interest for me. Tell me more about him.”
She proceeded to tell him the whole story. She explained how his bride-to-be had given him back his ring after he was crippled, and how Heather had a love affair with him. And of his subsequent recovery and happy existence.
When she finished, he smiled faintly and said, “I dare say Heather played the most important part in Jock’s recovery, just as you have with mine.”
His improvement was slow. But he was among the fortunate who were able to get up for Christmas dinner. Joy and her little band of nurses made forlorn attempts to brighten the hospital with such decorations as they could find. Someone had sent a box of mistletoe from England. This reminder of happier times was strategically placed in doorways and other places where it would do the most good.
As a result, there was much kissing between nurses and patients, and much good-natured teasing about it. Even the usually stern Florence Nightingale gave her approval to this.
Colin had gained weight, and his face though pale was once more handsome. He moved about the wards, giving what comfort he could to the more grievously wounded, and paying no attention to his empty left sleeve.
On Christmas Eve he came face to face with Joy under a sprig of mistletoe in the doorway of one of the wards. He took her in his arms and kissed her to the approving cries and laughter of his fellow patients.
She laughed and blushed. “That was wicked of you! Now I shall not be able to keep any kind of discipline in the wards.”
“Everyone is kissing with the possible exception of Miss Nightingale,” he teased her. “And for all I know she may be joining in!”
They exchanged simple Christmas presents. Her gift to him was an amber pipe and some tobacco sent her by her brother. He had also sent her a warm woollen sweater. Colin somehow found a silk shawl with exquisite embroidery, which he gave her.
The holiday season brought a welcome slowdown in the number of wounded arriving in Scutari. The fighting seemed to have become sporadic. They celebrated the New Year with the dismal feeling the war might drag on forever. But in late January of 1856, there were rumors of peace talks. The rumors became so numerous that Joy dared to hope.
Florence Nightingale, never blessed with good health, had so over-taxed her strength that she fell ill. She rose from her sick bed, weak and thin. Joy had been forced to take on many of her superior’s duties.
One morning as Joy stood before the desk of her superior discussing the day’s problems, Miss Nightingale said, “I know now I made no error in taking you on as my assistant. I can’t think how the work would have gone on during my illness if you hadn’t been here to take over.”
“I’m sure someone else would have done as well,” she protested modestly.
“I can think of no others with your qualifications,” the veteran nurse said. “I would like to recommend you for some sort recognition but, alas, I have little influence with London. You know that.”
“The recognition is not important to me,” Joy told her.
“Still, you deserve some official praise.”
Joy said, “In view of the Sanger incident I think it might be better not to say anything. I’m quite content.”
The older woman sighed. “I had almost forgotten about Colonel Sanger. And I trust you have. Even with him gone I have had to put up with intrigues and jealousies. The heads of the medical staff are the worst. Now, with the war near an end, they have decided to approve my recommendation for more nurses.”
Joy was startled. She pointed out, “Yet when the battles were at their worst we were refused help!”
The veteran nurse confided, “The talk is that this new nursing group will be sent out here under the direction of a military officer who has been my chief opponent at the War Office.”
“I believe he was a crony of Colonel Sanger’s,” she recalled. “But surely the War Office ought to treat you with more respect!”
“It is not Sidney Herbert’s fault,” Florence Nightingale said. “Someone else in high position is responsible. But I do not care. The troops here know what I have accomplished. The Queen takes an active interest in what we are doing, and she will not be deceived.”
“That is truly important.”
The veteran nurse smiled knowingly. “You may be certain of that. For only this morning I have been informed that Her Majesty has bestowed on me the authority and title of General Superintendent of the Nursing Staff.”
“You deserved such recognition long ago!”
“No matter,” her superior said. “We have made our mark here. Nursing will go on! I shall be part of it. What about you?”
She blushed. “I haven’t thought much about it. I expect when this awful war finally ends Captain Hill will ask me to marry him.”
“He’d be a fool if he didn’t,” Florence Nightingale said.
“His being wounded deferred our plans.”
“He will make you an excellent husband. I’d prefer him with one arm to most men with two.”
Joy smiled. “You may be sure that is how I feel.”
“See that he names a date soon,” the veteran nurse told her. “I have reason to believe the war will soon be at an end.”
Florence Nightingale’s prediction was sound. The Armistice came, and Joy sailed for England on the same ship with Colin. He was in excellent health, and carried himself with a jaunty air. Happily the voyage home was not too rough. She had a ship filled with patients needing care but she had plenty of help.
There was little privacy for them on the crowded vessel. One fine afternoon, as the ship neared the English coast, they stood together by the rail at a temporarily deserted part of the deck.
Colin said, “I’m counting the hours until we dock.”
“Very soon now,” she said with a smile.
He said, “I can’t wait to be in London again. And yet I’m not sure what will happen to me after I get there.”
“You will come and stay with me at Berkeley Square,” Joy said.
His handsome face showed a sad smile. “How kind you are, dear lady. Not every wounded soldier can be so lucky.”
She said, “You are a very special wounded soldier as far as I’m concerned.”
He became serious. “You must not think you are bound by any promises we made in the past.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you are free,” he said.
“Free!” she exclaimed.
“Face it! I’m a cripple. I shall have to make my way as best I can. Build some sort of new life for myself.”
“You think that makes a difference?”
“Of course it does!”
She pressed close to him in a most outrageous manner, and placed his arm around her. “As long as you have one good arm to embrace me I’m more than satisfied!”
“Joy!” he said gently and touched his lips to hers.
London was a welcome sight. The flags were out at the windows of Berkeley Square to greet her. James and Hilda were on hand as a welcoming party when she and Colin came off the ship. Her brother and his wife gave them a fine dinner and showed their approval of Colin.
Hilda whispered to her when they were alone for a moment, “I’ve always liked him. He’s the best man to come your way since John!”
The wedding was held at Berkeley Square two months later. The servants stood respectfully in the background as the marriage ceremony was performed. Some of Colin’s family came up from Devon. All had a merry time. A champagne supper was enjoyed in the great dining room. The officiating clergyman had a bit too much of the bubbly stuff and became hilarious, and then sleepy. James had to assist him to his carriage.