Page 108 of Two Wars and a Wedding

There were cheers from the less delirious men in the bunks around them, who were following their conversation with interest.

Dr. Baird’s waxy face turned a faint pink. He made a point of not looking at Betsy’s skirt. “Er, yes, well . . .”

“It’s decided, then,” said Betsy. “If you won’t talk to the captain, I will.”

“Nurse Hayes?” Holt was back. “There’s something you need to see. Can you come with me?”

“What is it?” Oh, Lord. She’d sent Holt to check on the cabins. On Kit. “Is it Kit?”

“I’ll talk to the captain,” said Baird weakly, sidling away.

Betsy whirled back to face him. “Tell him now. We must make port. Not tomorrow. Not the day after tomorrow. Tell the captain. Today. It must be today.”

If she’d spoken to any of the doctors in Greece like that, they’d have had her up before the matron. But there was no matron. There was nothing but one sick doctor, one broken doctor, and she, Betsy, with a boatload of dying men.

“Kit?” she asked Holt.

Holt put an arm around her as he shepherded her upstairs. He and Captain Dowdy had taken it upon themselves to make sure she slept, for at least a few hours here and there, but the accumulated exhaustion was beginning to make Betsy feel as though she’d been tippling Dr. Hicks’s whiskey. She couldn’t quite seem to walk straight.

“You’ll see,” he said, holding her steady as she swayed on the steps.

Kit was lying in bed, just as she’d been lying for the past six days. Her face was so white it was gray. Her hair hung in sodden strands around her face; her sheets were soaked.

Betsy drew in a ragged breath.

“Go on,” said Holt gruffly.

Betsy staggered to Kit’s side and put the back of her hand against that damp forehead. That damp, cold forehead.

Betsy dropped to her knees next to the bed, pressing her face against Kit’s limp hand as the sobs tore out of her.

Betsy knew she needed to pull herself together; she knew there were a hundred and thirty other people on this boat who needed her, but Betsy just couldn’t seem to stop crying.

The fever had broken. Against all odds, Kit’s fever had broken.

There was a movement against Betsy’s forehead like the flutter of butterfly wings.

“Oh, honey.” Kit was too weak to move; her voice was barely audible; but she was trying to pat Betsy’s tears away. “What did I miss?”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Miss Elizabeth Hayes

Dear Madam:

The undersigned, United States officers and other passengers on board this steamer returning from Siboney, Cuba, full of sick and wounded men from the Santiago campaign, have observed with admiration the heroic and self-sacrificing manner in which you have cared for those suffering men. We have seen how unremitting you have been in your attentions to these sick and wounded, who were put aboard the steamer without the more ordinary provision for their care and comfort . . . and we have been witness to your devotion in preparing food for them, in watching for their wants, in administering medicines and making them as comfortable as possible.

We cannot see this trying voyage come to an end without giving you some expression of our admiration for your conduct, and our hope that your devotion will meet with a fitting reward.

We are Very Truly Yours,

[Forty signatures follow]

—From the passengers on board the transport Seneca, off Fortress Monroe, July 18, 1898

Hampton Roads, Virginia

July 18, 1898