An Expectation

1

Lewis could still feel his hand. Phantom pains shot through the space that held nothing, and had made him lose everything.

He wondered how.

And the blackness that enveloped his left half didn't seem real. He was seated on the left side of the car, and he had to turn his head to see out the window-- and that stretched his burned skin out in a way that was almost as painful as the explosion that had made him like-- like this. He saw the buildings in his dreams, the all-but-abandoned village that he'd been stationed in. The cloudy night, and his companions all gathered around the fire, stolen French wine in their hands, and laughter in their faces.  Beaumont-en-Verdunois was a pretty town, in eastern France, and for a while it was easy to pretend that he was on holiday.

February 1916, though, marked the end of that, and on a cold night late in the month, the bombs began and--

"Are you thinking about a girl at home?" asked the driver of the car. "Don't worry, lad. You'll be at the Abbot estate in about ten minutes, and she can visit you there."

"The Abbot estate? I thought I was going home." Lewis' voice was cracked from damage and disuse.

The driver shook his head. "There's a bit of an infirmary at the Abbot house for you city boys. The fresh air is supposed to do you good. After you've made a bit of recovery, you can go home to your family and your girl."

Lewis paused before speaking. "I haven't got one."

"A family?"

"No, a girl back home."

"Why not? That's all the other boys talk about is their girl." The car slowed at the intersection of two country roads, then turned left towards a hill covered in trees.

"I never really found one, I guess."

"Well," began the driver. "There's a few nurses at the Abbot place that I'm sure would be thrilled with your attention. Lovely girls, all of them. One of them's my daughter."

He wasn't really interested, but it was very clear that the driver was proud of his daughter, so Lewis asked, "What's her name?"

"Martha-Grace Fielding," came the reply, with a proud smile. "She said to me, 'Dad, war's broken out and I want to be a nurse.' Only eighteen, can you believe it? And of course I gave her my blessing, for king and country, you know. My son's signing up the minute he turns eighteen, but I told him, just go for it now, yeah? Plenty of sixteen year olds are off, and he wants to do his duty..."

The driver kept going, but Lewis wasn't listening. He sat in silence, staring out the windshield at the grey manor looming in front of him, and wondering if it'd really be appropriate to become close to a nurse. He'd always been shy, but maybe...? It seemed exactly like the beginning of one of the romance novels his sister liked.

The Abbot house sat atop a hill, surrounded by trees a hundred years old or maybe more. White metal benches sat among them, with a few people milling about, mostly on crutches. Figures in grey stood by them- nuns? No, they were nurses, though from a distance it was hard to tell, what with the black dress and the white wimple.

The car stopped with the sound of crunching gravel. Immediately a door opened and a young nurse stepped out of the front door to the enourmous stone manor. Lewis had never, ever seen a house so big in all his life.

"You must be Lewis Miller," she said, opening his door. She had an elvish face with mousy brown hair and huge, dark eyes. A smile lit up her pink cheeks as she reached for his existing hand.

Lewis grabbed her hand and tensed at the warmth, then almost jumped as the nurse put her arm around his waist for support.

"Terribly sorry. My name's Nurse O'Leary, and you're in my ward. Wing, actually- I'm in charge of the whole second- floor west wing. Ten soldiers, all blind or lost arms. You're a bit of both, I suppose- step up- and don't worry, you won't need to climb more stairs because the lift works fine." She opened the door skilfully with one hand, held it open with a foot, and pushed Lewis inside gently, kicking the door so that it wouldn't hit him.

The inside of the house was grander than the outside. Stone floors led to a double staircase next to a tiny lift. The ceiling must have been twenty feet high, and he could see the second floor beyond railings that had flower baskets  hanging from them.

"Nice, isn't it?"

He nodded. "Beautiful."

Nurse O'Leary laughed, a beautiful sound Lewis could only compare to a singing bird. "He speaks! Come on, into the lift."

Lewis had never ridden a lift before. It made him a bit nauseous to go up without moving, so he closed his eyes and gulped.

"Are you alright, Mr. Miller?"

Lewis nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Just dizzy."

Nurse O'Leary nodded as the doors to the lift opened. A tall, rail-thin woman waited at the top.

"Is this Mr. Miller, Marion?"

"Yes, Mrs. Abbot. He arrived just a moment ago."

Mrs. Abbot smiled slightly. "A pleasure," she said as she stepped onto the lift, and the iron doors shut.

"She owns the house," whispered Nurse O'Leary, opening a bedroom door. "Her husband was killed a year ago and she feels it is her duty to help those who have been wounded for king and country. Oh, and I don't know if Mr. Stewart is awake or not, so we'd best be quiet. He's your roommate."

"Is your first name Marion?" he asked, not really listening to what she'd said about Mrs. Abbot. 

"Yes. You can call me Nurse Marion if you want, just keep the 'nurse' or else Mrs. Abbot gets terribly offended. Propriety, she says. We all have to have our titles in order."

Marion gestured to a white-sheeted bed by the window. Another bed sat a few feet away, with a night table between them. "This one is yours, Mr. Miller. Ring the bell-" she pointed to a string on the wall above the table- "if you need anything, day or night. We'll hear it in the nurses' quarters and someone will come up to help you. Probably me. If not, then most likely Nurse Fielding, because she's my assistant."

The blankets of the other bed moved to reveal a red- haired man with bandages around his eyes. 

"Ah, Marion," he said in a sing-song voice. "Is that you, my love? Come give me a kiss, maybe it'll make my eyes better."

He held out his arms -Lewis jealously noted that there were two of them- and grinned.

"Not today, Mr. Stewart," Marion replied quietly. "And you must  remember that I am Nurse  Marion." There was a tight, forced smile on her face and her shoulders had tensed up in a clear show that she was very uncomfortable, but Stewart was blind and couldn't sense her discomfort. "Here you are, Mr. Miller. I've got to go to do some kitchen work, but ring the bell if you need me, yes?"

She lifted the sheet from the bed and he climbed in, not realising how tired his legs were. 

"I'll be back at four-fifteen to take you two to the garden," she said as she went out the door. "Sooner if I can. I hate kitchen work." She made a silly face of disgust and Lewis smiled, even though it stretched his burns.

"Is she pretty, mate?" asked Stewart. "She sounds pretty. Or are you blind, too?"

"She's alright, I suppose," Lewis responded. And it was a lie- he thought Marion the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen, and it was then he realised that his face didn't hurt when he was with her.