"Nurse Lewis, there you are." Sister Foster said, grabbing her wrist as she came out of the sluice room. "I have a very important job for you. I need you to go up to ward 16 and sit with Sergeant Burns."
Clara nodded. Maybe she had misjudged Sister Foster's stern outward demeanour. When Clara had emerged from the sluice room she was as pale as her pristine, white nurse's apron. Had Sister Foster noticed and gone easy on her? Either way, Clara was grateful.
Ward 16 had it's all blinds shut, there was a thin strip of light streaming through the edge of the blinds where they didn't quite shut. A greenish haze covered the ward, as did an uncomfortable silence, only occasionally broken with the wheezing coughs of the few soldiers who occupied the beds. Each soldier in the ward was accompanied by a doting nurse at his bedside. All of them expect Sergeant Burns.
He was half asleep, lying motionless on his bed. Clara sat in the chair to the right of his bedside. He opened his eyes and smiled weakly at her. He looked normal, almost healthy if he hadn't been so exhausted. He wriggled up the bed to prop himself up on his elbows. It was a long ordeal for the poor man to the point where Clara had to get out of the chair to haul him up by the arms but together they managed to get him upright. In the struggle, his bed cover had fallen down to reveal his bare and bandaged chest. There was circle of blood seeping through the bandage that was bigger than Clara's palm. That would need to be changed. But for now, what the soldier needed was some company.
"I can't thank you enough, miss, for coming down to see an old fool like me." He murmured. All of his energy had been drained, he barely had enough left to support himself. Clara smiled at him sweetly.
"It's my pleasure, Sergeant Burns."
"Please, call me Lucky."
"Lucky?" Clara asked, surely that couldn't be his name. Lucky Burns...
"A nickname. I've had it since I was a kid. Suppose it's ironic now, ain't it?"
"Not at all, Sergeant." Clara lied. She could tell how ill he was. Now she knew why Sister Foster had asked her to just sit with him. He didn't have long left.
"You look just like my girl back home." He pondered, not quite meeting her eyes.
"Really?" She smiled, "What's her name?"
"Sarah. She's the most beautiful woman out there. We're getting married in the spring."
Clara could only smile and nod for she didn't have the heart to tell him spring had ended two months ago.
"I'm going to marry that girl and we'll have a beautiful home and a beautiful family. Just you see! You can come to the weddin' if you like. Then you'll see that I ain't lying that Sarah's the most gorgeous gal you'd ever see."
"I'm sure she's lucky to have you." Clara smiled bittersweetly. Sergeant Lucky Burns had slipped down the bed, his head contorted against the headboard. Clara rose to her feet and helped to move him further down the bed so he could lie down properly. It seemed to use up the last of his energy as his voice became softer and more strained.
"You...you never told me your name."
"My name." Clara wondered. Surely she could tell him. He wouldn't be around much longer for the ward sister to find out. Could she break that oh so sacred rule and tell him her name?
"My name..."
The soldier stared at her expectantly. His eyes were unmoving, staring widely up into her face.
"Clara."
The ward sister placed a hand on her shoulder as a sheet was pulled across Sergeant Burns' body.
"Nurse Lewis," the ward sister began and Clara was sure she'd get an official warning, "we have an urgent case in the maternity ward. I'd like you to head down there."
Clara nodded. The curtain around Sergeant Burn's bed had been drawn. So had two others in the ward. That left only one.
The maternity ward only had one patient yet made five times the amount of noise. The poor woman had been in labour for fourteen hours. Rumour had it that her husband was somewhere upstairs, no one knew if he'd made it. Clara was thrust a large pair of gloves to put on that swamped her hands. She was positioned at the foot of the bed and told to get ready to catch the baby. Catch?
There were four other nurses crowded around her, two holding each of her hands, one holding a cool, damp cloth to her brow, the other was next to Clara, holding her legs open at the knees and yelling phrases at her that were meant to be encouraging that just sounded aggressive.
"Push, Mrs Johnson. This baby is ready to come out now. Push, woman!"
The baby's head was poking out but not getting anywhere. One of the women holding her hand was pressing two of her fingers into the pregnant woman's wrist.
"Sister." she said and shook her head.
"There's too much blood." the ward sister holding the woman's legs muttered and turned to Clara. "Get ready girl."
The ward sister reached in to grab the baby's head and pulled with all her might. The baby did cry at all as it was forcefully dragged away from it's lifeless mother's body. The ward sister thrust the baby upon Clara as she ushered the other nurses away. The baby was motionless in Clara's arms. It was completely covered with blood from head to toe. It's eyes were shut. Clara clutched it to her chest, holding it protectively. She didn't know how long she had been standing there but when the ward sister came back to her the ward was completely empty.
"Nurse, you need to let go now."
Clara shook her head, tears now spilling over her cheeks. The child looked so peaceful in her arms. The ward sister latched onto the baby's cold body. Clara couldn't do it. She couldn't let go of that child. She watched it as the nurse sister prised it from her and took it into a room that it never came out of. The maternity ward sister returned with Sister Foster who each lead Clara by the arm to a secluded break room. Sister Foster made her a cup of tea and the maternity ward sister managed to find a slice of vanilla sponge from somewhere. The both of them stayed with Clara until all the nurses were allowed to go to bed. It was gone midnight and the dawn was breaking. In a few hours they would have to wake up to start a new day of nursing. By then, the blood on Clara's white apron would have to be cleaned.