Page 96 of Two Wars and a Wedding

Holt didn’t sit. “The doctors—”

“They don’t know what they’re in for. They haven’t a clue. But I have.” Nurse Hayes wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stop herself shaking. Her eyes had the horrible blank look Holt remembered from Tampa. “I was on a ship. In Greece. A hospital ship. We were evacuating men from Vólos to Athens. Our supplies were locked in the hold and the medical officer wouldn’t listen when we tried to tell him what needed to be done. . . . Six men died that night.”

“That was Greece,” said Holt.

At least that woke her up a bit. Her eyes focused on his, alive with pain and fear, as if all the demons in the world were burning away in there. “That was a better provisioned ship! And that was only one night! Six men. In one night. How we’re to spend four days on here—three days if we’re lucky and the weather is fair—with only the medical supplies I brought and one kettle to cook food for a hundred men . . .”

“One kettle?” Holt seized on the least of it. “Isn’t there a galley?”

“Whoever prepared the boat stripped the ship. Anything that wasn’t nailed down is gone. Except for the passengers. They left passengers on board. Passengers!” Nurse Hayes made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “We’ve got wounded stuffed into bunks while the cabins are clogged with foreign observers and newspapermen. I guess we’re giving them something to observe. They can go home and tell everyone what a disaster this was.”

“Hold on.” Holt put his hands on her shoulders. “It’s not a disaster yet.”

She looked up at him, her eyes huge. “I searched the ship, Holt. I searched it from top to bottom. The only medical supplies aboard are a few quinine tablets and a roll of bandages. Oh, and one forceps.”

It was a disaster.

Holt looked down at her. “What can I do?”

“Not get sicker?” She bent forward, leaning her forehead against his chest. He could feel her struggling not to break down.

Holt tentatively touched her back. “I meant more than that. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

She pulled herself upright, her lips pressed very tightly together. “I don’t want you falling and hurting yourself.”

Holt didn’t particularly want to fall and hurt himself either, not least because the last thing Nurse Hayes needed was more injuries on her hands.

He seized on a sudden inspiration. “You said there are passengers. Newspapermen and foreign observers. They’re not wounded. Why not put them to work?”

“As orderlies?” she said skeptically, but he could see the wheels beginning to churn.

“As whatever you need. Or at least see if they’ll give up their cabins for the more severely wounded. The bunks below—they’d be hard on a well man, much less a sick one.”

“They’re not going to go gently,” she said thickly. “These are men who are used to the Hotel Grande Bretagne and the Tampa Bay Hotel.”

“It’s only for three days, you said. They can bear the inconvenience for that long, can’t they?” Holt watched Nurse Hayes closely. Her nose was dripping slightly and her eyes were red, but there was a bit more color in her cheeks, and he could see her standing straighter. “This is war. They come to watch a war, they get what they get.”

“That’ll show them?” She gave a laugh that sounded like a hiccup. “You’re right, you know. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it.”

“Because you’ve been caring for all of us for weeks without rest?” Without thinking, Holt peeled a bit of tear-damp hair off her cheek and tucked it behind her ear for her.

She gave him a wobbly smile. “I’ve had the odd nap.”

“You need more than a nap,” said Holt roughly. It was the remains of the fever making him light-headed. Not Nurse Hayes with the tip of her nose red and damp hair clinging to her cheeks. “What needs to be done?”

Nurse Hayes took a gulp of salt air, looking down at her hands as she ticked off items on her fingers. “Food for the wounded. Beef tea for the invalids and oatmeal for those who can stomach something firmer. They need to be made in sequence because we have just the one cookpot, so I’ll need someone who can man the galley. I’m also not so sure about the water. When I asked the captain about the tanks, he said they’d last been filled in May. The water’s gone brackish. It’s drinkable with ice—just—but we don’t have enough ice to last.”

They really hadn’t thought of anything. And they’d left Nurse Hayes holding the bag. Holt tamped down his own simmering rage. “It’s a steamship, isn’t it? We should be able to use the engine to distill water. It’s slow, and it won’t produce as much as we’d like, but it will be something.”

“But what do we distill it into? There’s just the one—”

“Kettle, I know. Let me figure that out.” Never mind that the deck wasn’t entirely steady under his feet. She couldn’t be left to do this on her own. “Point the way to the engine room. I’ll deal with the water if you deal with the passengers.” She was looking lost again. He chucked her under the chin, doing his best to keep his voice light. “Hey. You’re not in this on your own. We’ll pull through together, Nurse Hayes.”

“Or we’ll all fall apart?” She grimaced at him, holding out a hand as if they’d just been introduced. “And it’s Betsy. ‘Nurse Hayes’ makes me sound like someone who knows what she’s doing.”

Her hand burned in his.

“You know more than you think,” said Holt, and escaped to the engine room before she could see how shaky he really was.