Etienne woke to pain, like daggers in each temple. Every muscle in his arms and torso felt like it was squeezing the very blood from him.
Slowly memory returned. Sitting out all night in the rain, shivering, dozing, waking drenched, finally sometime near dawn by the crow of a rooster in the distance, Pierre came and wheeled him inside. By then, Etienne’s throat was too raw, his mind too numbed, his body too racked by tremors to say anything.
With a string of oaths, Pierre flung him onto his cot and threw his blanket over him. “You should have died long ago, you miserable wretch! I wouldn’t have had the burden of you for so long. Well, now perhaps you’ll finally be finished off!”
Dimly, he realized his only lifeline was leaving him. “Wait—!” The plea came out hardly above a whisper.
“Aha, so you finally see what straits you are in without Pierre!” He chuckled. “Too late, mon ami. Here, let that be your only comfort as you think about what an ungrateful wretch you have been!”
Etienne flinched as something landed on his face. The scent of muguet told him immediately it was Katie’s glove. He grabbed it before Pierre could change his mind.
Pierre’s chuckle deepened. “Fine help that will do you in your state! Perhaps it will help ease your passing.
“Think on the pretty demoiselle—and remember she will forget you faster than a whore her last customer!” With a final curse, Pierre turned on his heel and left him.
The remark hardly registered with Etienne. Amidst shivers that wouldn’t stop, his hands clutching the glove, he finally lost awareness.
* * *
As soon as she sent a footman with a message to Gerrit, impressing upon him the urgency of her need, Katie hurried to collect as much as she could think of to nurse Etienne for as long as it took until she could bring him home.
Dressing in her most serviceable gown and packing a change of clothes, she finally left for Les Invalides once again. Thankfully, another guard was on duty by then, and he behaved with more friendly respect. She had only been there a moment when one of the old veterans approached them and she was quickly given entry.
She found willing hands to carry her bags and soon she was back in Monsieur Santerre’s cell.
She found him almost as she had left him, except that at least he was in a dry nightshirt and bedding. The lieutenant sat in the hard chair at his side. He turned with a look of relief at her entry and rose immediately. “Thank the bon Dieu you have come so quickly.”
“How is he?” she asked, removing her gloves and approaching the bed. The older veteran, who had accompanied her, set down the rest of her things.
Lévêque clucked his tongue. “Worse, I believe. I cannot keep him warmed although his skin feels hot.”
She felt his forehead. It was burning. “We must bring down his fever.”
“He is already so wasted,” Lévêque murmured, looking down at him. “It will be a miracle if he is able to pull through.”
“Then thank the good Lord miracles are His specialty,” she said with more confidence than she felt. In truth, Monsieur Santerre’s fever was dangerously high. With a deep breath, she stood and laid her cloak on the only chair and began rolling up her sleeves. “I will stay with him tonight. I have brought nursing supplies and provisions.”
Leveque nodded. “Bon. If anyone can help him, it will be someone who cares enough to fight for him.”
As she rummaged in one of her satchels for cloths to use as compresses, she said over her shoulder, “I have sent word to my brother-in-law to return to Paris as quickly as possible. I’m hoping he has enough influence to get permission to have Monsieur Santerre released into our care.”
“That would be a miracle indeed! To be in a home where he can be cared for around the clock—perhaps he will have a chance then.”
Before leaving her, the two old veterans brought her a basin of water and a more comfortable chair. She asked them to heat up some of the broth she had brought, and they appeared with a small bowl as well as a pot of tea for her.
“Thank you so much,” she said as she dipped a cloth in the cool water and wrung it out. She placed it over Monsieur Santerre’s forehead and he stilled, as if soothed.
“I will come by and relieve you in a little while,” Lévêque told her. “We can all do our part. There are plenty of us here. Now, are you sure you don’t need anything more?”
She smiled in gratitude at the veteran. “You have been most kind. There is one most important thing all of you can help me with.”
“Bien sûr! whatever you need, it shall be done.”
She reached out her hand and touched his arm. “Pray for Monsieur Santerre.”
He blinked, then nodded slowly. “We shall stand with you in this.”
“Thank you, that is the most important thing you can do.”
He nodded. “Good night, mademoiselle.”
When she was alone, she attempted to spoon feed a bit of the broth to Monsieur Santerre, remembering only then that she had forgotten to eat herself before leaving the house.
He took only a few sips before starting to cough it up.
“There, there,” she murmured, cradling his head and wiping his mouth gently until he subsided. As she rested his head back on the pillow, she smoothed back the damp hair from his forehead.
“Dear Lord,” she prayed, laying her hand on his hot forehead, “I pray for your healing touch on Etienne Santerre. You, who rebuked fevers, please bring down this one. Give him the strength to fight off this infirmity. In Your name I ask this, dear Jesus.”
She continued changing the compresses on his forehead. She removed his blanket and bared his arms, placing compresses on them as well. Every little while she managed to get a spoonful of the now cool broth down his throat.
For a while his sleep seemed to grow more peaceful.
Lieutenant Lévêque returned after a few hours. “Let me sit with him a while. You must keep up your strength. I’ve found an unused cot where you can lie down for a little while.”
“I don’t think I could sleep,” she said, rising and stretching her muscles. “I think his fever has come down a little. Feel how damp his nightshirt is.”
The lieutenant complied and nodded. “Yes, he is sweating. Let me fetch one of my clean nightshirts.”
“And perhaps some fresh bedding.”
Lévêque frowned. “It doesn’t seem as if that manservant of his took very good care of him. This bedding is filthy.”
“How could anyone do such a thing to someone who is helpless?”
Lévêque shook his head, his lips pressed together. “Ah, he is a scoundrel indeed. It is a good thing he has not dared to show his face here anymore. We would have fixed him good if he had!”
“Good riddance!” she added.
After they had changed the bedding and nightshirt, they sat together for a while.
“He does seem to be resting a little easier.”
Lévêque nodded. “Yes.” He smiled. “I am sure he senses your tender touch, ma chère. If there is one thing a soldier appreciates when he has fallen, it is a pretty young nurse to be at his side!”
“I doubt he has any awareness I am here,” she replied with a smile, though she wondered how Monsieur Santerre would react when he realized she had nursed him. She knew he was a proud man. Would he feel humiliated?
Lévêque sighed, stretching out his legs. “Unfortunately, even if the poor man lives through this, he cannot take care of himself, with his manservant gone.” He shook his head. “He will receive little attention here. There are not enough hands.” He gave her a significant look. “What he needs is a good home, where loving people will take on the duty.”
Katie bit her lip, hating the thought of Monsieur Santerre with no one to look after him. “I wonder that he has no family.”
Lévêque gave a harrumph. “It’s clear whatever family he has has put him away here!”
Her glance flew to his. “How can that be?”
The older man shrugged. “I’d hazard my pension he’s a gentleman’s son. These aristocratic families can be very proud.” He gestured with his chin to the prone soldier. “It is easier to hide away their misfortunes or anything they deem shameful.”
“Oh, it doesn’t bear thinking of! How can a family not care for one of their own?”
“Bah! Perhaps Santerre is a younger son and easily expendable.”
She shuddered. “How can a child be expendable to his parents! Oh, I would never want to live in such a society!”
“The rich are a strange lot.”
She pondered what he had said. “Why do you suppose he is so reticent about his past?”
Lévêque shook his head. “Undoubtedly it’s due to his disability. I know little about him. Imagine, until the other day, he hadn’t even revealed what regiment he belonged to or even his rank—and that is the first piece of information we veterans share with each other.” He clucked his tongue.
She leaned over and adjusted the thin sheet around Monsieur Santerre’s torso. “I picture him an officer.”
“Undoubtedly, despite the uniform of a plain foot soldier that he wore.”
She raised her eyebrows. “It was not that of an officer?”
“Mais non! But that means little. With the looting going on after Waterloo, anyone could have stripped him of his uniform. His medals would have been the first to go. War souvenirs!” he spat in disgust.
“Oh, my.”
Lévêque chuckled. “Yes, I picture the boy as a captain at least, perhaps even a chef de bataillon.” He drew in a deep breath. “Perhaps now we’ll never know.”
“Hush! Don’t say such a thing.”
At the sound of a soft moan, she leaned over Monsieur Santerre and noticed he was shivering. “His fever is returning.”
Lévêque brought over some of the blankets he had scrounged. “Yes, that is not strange.”
They covered him but he couldn’t seem to get warm.
“I shall look for some more blankets,” Lévêque finally said. “It will be a long night.”
* * *
They finally managed to get him comfortable. Katie sent the lieutenant away in the wee hours of the morning, insisting she could doze in her chair.
Everything was still around her. She continued placing cold compresses on Monsieur Santerre’s hot forehead. All the while she prayed for him.
She awoke with a crick in her neck to the sound of a rooster crowing somewhere in the distance and the small cell gray in the pre-dawn light. Her candle had guttered.
Her glance flickered to her patient. He still looked as flushed as the day before. His forehead felt clammy but it was still warm.
He opened his eyes. His hand groped weakly around the bedclothes. “Are you still there, Katie?”
She smiled. “Yes, I’m here.”
“Mon ange. I wasn’t dreaming.”
He’d called her his angel again. “No.”
He had difficulty swallowing.
“Does your throat hurt?”
He nodded once. “Every...thing hurts.”
“Let me get you something warm to drink.”
He closed his eyes and drifted off again.
She went in search of the kitchens.
When she came back with a fresh pot of tea laced with honey and a mug of broth, she found him in a fitful sleep. She placed another pillow under his head and attempted to spoon some of the tea into his mouth. His lips were beginning to get chapped and she recognized the signs of dehydration.
He shook his head against the hot liquid, but she whispered, “‘Tis I, Katie. Please, this will soothe you.”
Hearing her voice, he stilled and did as she bade. But after a few sips, he turned his head away. “It makes my stomach hurt.”
She didn’t insist but set the cup down. A short while later he curled over, cradling his stomach.
“Are you in pain?”
He merely gave a short nod of his head.
Suddenly, he moved his torso over the side of the narrow cot. “Oh—” he gasped.
She understood immediately and moved a chamber pot under his head. She was not a moment too soon. She held his head as he wretched. Little came out as he hadn’t eaten anything.
Finally, he collapsed back against the bed. “I’m—sorry.”
“Shh, don’t be,” she murmured as to a child as she wiped his face with a cool, wet cloth.
Again, he slept.
When it was fully light again, though still early by her watch, another old veteran came by. “Henri Dupont, at your service,” he said with a bow and click of his heels. “How is our young man?” he asked with a smile.
She tried to return the smile but couldn’t quite manage it. “About the same.”
He shook his head and came to see for himself. “I will sit with him a while until someone from the infirmary comes by. Why don’t you go home and see if there is news from your family?”
She nodded. “I shall return as soon as I can.”
There was no message from Gerrit yet, but she left instructions for any word to be brought to her at Les Invalides.
Shortly after noon, she received a note, which she tore open.
Katie,
We are on our way. Be strong and of good courage!
Gerrit
She slumped over in relief, feeling as if a great weight had been removed from her shoulders. Thank you, dear Lord.
As soon as Lieutenant Lévêque reappeared, she told him.
“Bon!” He touched Santerre’s forehead. “He will surely recover speedily at your home.”
The afternoon was another long vigil. Occasionally, Etienne would awaken but he was in such misery that he hardly acknowledged her presence. He only seemed more peaceful when he heard her voice.
He kept calling her his angel, and she didn’t bother to correct him. Anything that would sustain him...
* * *
Shortly after the supper bell sounded, she heard rapid footsteps outside the corridor and then her brother-in-law stood in the doorway with a smile on his face.
“What’s this, Katie girl? We leave for a few days and I return to find you ensconced in a military compound with every veteran rushing to do your bidding?”
She ran to him and his strong arms enfolded her. “Oh, Gerrit, thank God you’ve arrived!”
“What project have you taken on this time, some grizzled old veteran down on his luck—” His words died as he loosened his hold on her. She stepped back to give him full access to Monsieur Santerre.
He walked slowly to the cot and gazed down at Etienne, who was dozing peacefully at that moment. “So that’s the lay of the land.” He turned back to her, his expression gentle. “You should have said something. Your sister and I aren’t ogres to forbid you to see a young gentleman.”
She could feel the blood rushing into her cheeks, and her hands flew up to her face. “Oh, no—it’s nothing like that! You misunderstand—”
Seeing her distress, he let the matter drop and turned his attention back to Santerre. “Ill is he?”
“Yes, he developed a fever two nights ago from having been exposed to the elements.” She decided to keep the details for later. At the moment all she wanted was to have Etienne moved to their house.
Gerrit placed his hand on Monsieur Santerre’s forehead. “Yes, indeed. Quite a sick young chap, aren’t you?” He lifted one of his wrists. “At least his pulse is still strong.” He replaced Monsieur Santerre’s arm gently on the bed and turned back to Katie, all humor gone from his expression. “What would you like me to do, Katie girl?”
She could have wept for her family whom she could always count on. “I—I’d like to take him home with us—where he can be b—better nursed,” she added quickly, before he could draw the wrong conclusions. “They’ve told me here that he won’t get adequate attention, and you see how grave his condition is. H—he’s not strong...” Her voice faltered, as she hesitated to go into just how unique his condition was.
Before Gerrit could reply, Monsieur Santerre stirred and opened his eyes. Katie moved quickly to the bedside, afraid of what Gerrit would see or say.
“K—Ka—tie?” he said.
She took his hand. “I’m here. How are you feeling?”
He only shook his head against his pillow.
“My brother has come,” she said quickly, knowing how Monsieur Santerre hated to have an audience and be unaware of it. “He—that is—we would like to bring you home with us, where you can receive better care.”
In reply he only shook his head again and closed his eyes once more. “Die...just let me...die.”
Katie turned back to Gerrit. “You see how ill he is,” she whispered. “Is there any way you could get permission from Les Invalides to have him removed?”
“He’s blind, isn’t he?”
Katie swallowed and turned away, busying herself with preparing another compress for Monsieur Santerre’s forehead. “Ye—es.” She would not detail the extent of his disabilities yet. Gerrit would find out soon enough.
“Katie, Katie, what will Hester say...” Gerrit murmured as he moved away from the bed.
“Is she all right? I didn’t want to disturb her—”
Gerrit sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I tried to get her to stay in Ouen another day at least, but she insisted on returning with me, knowing you needed her.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He cracked a smile. “It’s all right. The trip wasn’t bad and she would fret, not knowing what the situation was. You weren’t very forthcoming in your message.”
“I know, I’m sorry. It’s just that I didn’t quite know how to explain.”
“Quite.” The twinkle in his blue eyes took away the sting of the word. “Well, I had better go see about moving your young man.”
Ignoring his reference to her “young man,” she said only, “Please hurry!”
He nodded.
Dear Gerrit, always teasing but there when a person needed him. Her smile died, realizing how wrong he’d interpreted things. If her brother-in-law had immediately assumed Monsieur Santerre was her sweetheart, what would Hester think? She’d have to disabuse them of the notion—once the more important concerns were taken care of.
She turned back to her patient and removed the compress. His forehead still felt uncomfortably hot.
Her fingers lingered there, remembering Gerrit’s words.
She’d never thought of Monsieur Santerre in that way. Her face grew warm as she considered the notion. It was true she had been growing very fond of him. He was the reason she hadn’t been more homesick for Maine and her family. She had looked forward each day to seeing Monsieur Santerre at l’Esplanade. She enjoyed their conversations, reading to him, and bringing a smile to his austere face.
Lately, with the arrival of more veterans, she’d simply assumed she enjoyed their company equally, but she knew deep down it was Monsieur Santerre’s that really drew her.
She dropped the compress into the basin of water and sat back down beside the cot.
Did that mean she was growing to like him in the way Gerrit implied?
But how could she? He resided in a veteran’s home, he was confined to a wheelchair, he had told her very little of himself, he had turned his back on God—or at least believed that God had turned His back on him—and if all that weren’t enough, he was probably some aristocratic gentleman who was from a wholly different world than her own.
She belonged in Bangor, Maine amidst her father and mother and sisters and brother. If Monsieur Santerre were not in the condition he was in, he would never give her a second glance.
She reached over and smoothed away a lock of his hair. When he recovered, she would make sure he had a proper barber, who would trim his hair and shave him.
He stirred. “Mon ange, tu est là?”
She squeezed his hand in reply. “Yes, I’m here,” she said in French. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She wasn’t his angel as he called her, but she was certain the Lord had sent her to look out for his welfare.
After what seemed an hour, she finally heard Gerrit’s footsteps returning. She rose to meet him in the doorway. “Can he come with us?”
He pressed her shoulder and winked. “After lots of gesticulating in that frog’s tongue, cajoling and threats, and finally, with what my old batman used to call ‘a fine greasing of the palm,’ yes, he’s ours.”
Her eyes widened, hoping she was interpreting him aright. “You mean we may take Monsieur Santerre with us?”
“That’s right, Katie girl. Pack up his things while I go out and prepare the coach and bring a footman with me. They must have a litter in a place this size.” He turned back to the corridor. “Your father will have my neck when he discovers my part in this. At least the lad was an ally in the war...” he muttered as his long strides took him back down the hall.