Read Online When the Clouds Roll By by Myra Johnson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Myra Johnson
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heard correctly.
The fine lines around Gilbert’s mouth and eyes deepened, whether from pain or anger or grief, Samuel couldn’t tell. “I said she’s yours. Just be good to her.”
Samuel palmed the back of his head. His gaze darted around the ward to see if anyone had overheard this insanity. Then he grabbed the lapels of Gil’s pajamas and leaned over him until his face was inches away. “Listen to me, Gil. Annemarie loves you— you ! You will fight for her. You will fight to live . Do you hear me?”
“Mary McClarney! Are you eavesdropping again?”
Mary fumbled with the tray she carried, snagging a medicine vial a split-second before it careened over the edge. “I, uh—no, Mrs. Daley. I was just checking my supplies before I start rounds.”
“Then you’d best get to it. We have a ward full of patients to attend to.” Mrs. Daley’s stern glare softened slightly, and she laid a hand on Mary’s arm. “It doesn’t do you or our patients one bit of good to get emotionally attached. Do your work and keep your distance. Take it from someone who knows.” Giving her chin a firm jerk, Mrs. Daley marched off.
Aye, and no wonder the crusty old chief nurse remained a spinster. Besides, how could anyone who worked so closely with these poor servicemen not become emotionally attached? The stories they told—and even more to be pitied, the stories that never passed their lips! Had Mary been stationed at one of the larger hospitals like Walter Reed or Fort McHenry, she could only imagine how much worse she’d hear and see.
As it was, most of her patients were veterans suffering from rheumatism, arthritis, or other conditions unrelated to serving in the Great War. Only a few, mostly locals like the troubled Lieutenant Ballard, had been transferred to the Hot Springs hospital for treatment of their battle wounds. If Mary had been eavesdropping, it was only because she worried about the poor man.
Her greatest concern, however—in fact, the concern of everyone on staff—was the outbreak of Spanish influenza that had spread rapidly during the past few weeks. She thanked the Lord above that she hadn’t been assigned to the isolation floor. Though the doctors and nurses took every possible precaution, Mary lived in fear of catching the disease herself, and even worse, spreading it to her poor sainted mother. Already suffering from chronic bronchitis, Mum would never survive this dreaded illness.
Donning her brightest smile, she set her tray upon a bedside table. “Good afternoon, Corporal Conroy. And how are those knees of yours feeling on this wintry day?”
The whiskered soldier sat up straighter and smoothed back his sparse gray hair. “One kiss from my angel in white, and I’ll be dancing a jig down Central Avenue.”
“Kisses, I have none, at least not for the likes of flirts like you.” With a wink and a nod, Mary pushed up his pajama sleeve and swabbed his arm with alcohol, then reached for the syringe she’d filled with his medication.
Corporal Conroy winced as the needle pierced his skin. “Bet you’d have plenty of kisses for that pretty boy across the way.”
Mary followed his gaze. Of course, he would be looking right at Lieutenant Ballard. Face tingling, she busied herself with the supplies on her tray. “Now, Corporal. I treat all my patients just the same. And that doesn’t include kisses.”
Still, her heart beat a little faster as she crossed to the lieutenant’s bed. A handsomer soldier she’d never laid eyes upon. He had a dark, brooding look about him, a sadness in his soul that called out to some deep instinct within her. As he lay there dozing, she longed to touch the errant curl that barely hid the jagged scar above his left ear.
Enough of this nonsense, Mary McClarney . Giving herself a mental shake, she set down her tray and reached for the lieutenant’s chart. It was time for another morphine injection, but she almost hated to rouse him when he finally seemed to be
The fine lines around Gilbert’s mouth and eyes deepened, whether from pain or anger or grief, Samuel couldn’t tell. “I said she’s yours. Just be good to her.”
Samuel palmed the back of his head. His gaze darted around the ward to see if anyone had overheard this insanity. Then he grabbed the lapels of Gil’s pajamas and leaned over him until his face was inches away. “Listen to me, Gil. Annemarie loves you— you ! You will fight for her. You will fight to live . Do you hear me?”
“Mary McClarney! Are you eavesdropping again?”
Mary fumbled with the tray she carried, snagging a medicine vial a split-second before it careened over the edge. “I, uh—no, Mrs. Daley. I was just checking my supplies before I start rounds.”
“Then you’d best get to it. We have a ward full of patients to attend to.” Mrs. Daley’s stern glare softened slightly, and she laid a hand on Mary’s arm. “It doesn’t do you or our patients one bit of good to get emotionally attached. Do your work and keep your distance. Take it from someone who knows.” Giving her chin a firm jerk, Mrs. Daley marched off.
Aye, and no wonder the crusty old chief nurse remained a spinster. Besides, how could anyone who worked so closely with these poor servicemen not become emotionally attached? The stories they told—and even more to be pitied, the stories that never passed their lips! Had Mary been stationed at one of the larger hospitals like Walter Reed or Fort McHenry, she could only imagine how much worse she’d hear and see.
As it was, most of her patients were veterans suffering from rheumatism, arthritis, or other conditions unrelated to serving in the Great War. Only a few, mostly locals like the troubled Lieutenant Ballard, had been transferred to the Hot Springs hospital for treatment of their battle wounds. If Mary had been eavesdropping, it was only because she worried about the poor man.
Her greatest concern, however—in fact, the concern of everyone on staff—was the outbreak of Spanish influenza that had spread rapidly during the past few weeks. She thanked the Lord above that she hadn’t been assigned to the isolation floor. Though the doctors and nurses took every possible precaution, Mary lived in fear of catching the disease herself, and even worse, spreading it to her poor sainted mother. Already suffering from chronic bronchitis, Mum would never survive this dreaded illness.
Donning her brightest smile, she set her tray upon a bedside table. “Good afternoon, Corporal Conroy. And how are those knees of yours feeling on this wintry day?”
The whiskered soldier sat up straighter and smoothed back his sparse gray hair. “One kiss from my angel in white, and I’ll be dancing a jig down Central Avenue.”
“Kisses, I have none, at least not for the likes of flirts like you.” With a wink and a nod, Mary pushed up his pajama sleeve and swabbed his arm with alcohol, then reached for the syringe she’d filled with his medication.
Corporal Conroy winced as the needle pierced his skin. “Bet you’d have plenty of kisses for that pretty boy across the way.”
Mary followed his gaze. Of course, he would be looking right at Lieutenant Ballard. Face tingling, she busied herself with the supplies on her tray. “Now, Corporal. I treat all my patients just the same. And that doesn’t include kisses.”
Still, her heart beat a little faster as she crossed to the lieutenant’s bed. A handsomer soldier she’d never laid eyes upon. He had a dark, brooding look about him, a sadness in his soul that called out to some deep instinct within her. As he lay there dozing, she longed to touch the errant curl that barely hid the jagged scar above his left ear.
Enough of this nonsense, Mary McClarney . Giving herself a mental shake, she set down her tray and reached for the lieutenant’s chart. It was time for another morphine injection, but she almost hated to rouse him when he finally seemed to be
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