“That doesn’t sound good.” Svetlana knelt beside her and touched a hand to her sister’s brow. “You’re warm.”
“No, it’s cold in here. The nights are turning cooler, and this floor is like an ice block come morning.”
Taking the blanket from her own pallet and a fur-lined cloak of Sheremetev’s offering, Svetlana stuffed it under her sister. It wasn’t much, but it might muffle out some of the chill. “Try to sleep. In the morning we’ll help Mrs. Varjenksy make a large batch of hot soup.”
“You’re a terrible cook.”
“I can stir, can’t I?”
“Only when you remember to and half the potatoes are already stuck to the bottom of the pot.”
Svetlana pulled the thin blanket up to Marina’s chin, cutting off further remarks on her lack of culinary skills. “Good night.”
A few hours later, when the sun was no more than a lingering consideration on the gray horizon, Svetlana awoke to a violent shuddering. She rolled over to find Marina shaking next to her. Drenched in sweat, her entire body convulsed hard enough to rattle her teeth.
“Marina! Wake up.” Svetlana shook her sister. A shocking heat scorched through her nightdress. “Wake up.”
Marina’s eyes barely fluttered as a wheeze escaped her throat.
“Mama!” Svetlana flung the wet blanket off her sister and quickly covered her with her own dry one. “Marina is burning up. Get Mrs. Varjensky.”
Mama flew out of their quarters and was back in a matter of seconds with a groggy Mrs. Varjensky in tow. The old woman took in the situation in a glance and knelt beside Marina. She touched the girl’s forehead, throat, arms, and opened her eyelids to reveal a solid white.
Mrs. Varjensky’s face wrinkled. “Herbs no help this. Need something more.”
Panic bolted through every inch of Svetlana. The old woman was a wise healer. If she couldn’t help . . . Svetlana jumped to her feet and pulled her clothes on, her decision immediate. “I know precisely the person.”
Chapter 11
Sleep was the only thing on Wynn’s mind as he made out the last of the Blighty tickets. Slips worth more than gold to send the wounded home to England for recovery or for good. He printed Harkin’s name on the last ticket, which boldly stated “rest and release from formal duties.” Harkin had done his bit. He was free at last. Wynn signed the bottom and added the document to the stack to be given to the patients in the morning. This time next week those lucky devils would be crossing the Channel, leaving the stench of war far behind. If only all his patients were so lucky.
Stretching out of the stiff chair, he left his office and made a final round of the post-op ward. Rumors abounded of faltering
Austria-Hungary lines and Germany doubting continued victories on the battlefield. The words
As Wynn made his way back downstairs and crossed the vestibule, the front doors banged open. An echo thudded down the length of his body, not from the disturbing sound but rather the sight.
Svetlana. Wide-eyed. Clothes haphazard and breathing hard.
And she was staring straight at him. “I need you.”
* * *
There is a sense of pride when a physician is able to diagnosis a patient correctly—not in a sense of gloating righteousness, but that his skills could be used for the betterment of his patient. Too often skills are not enough and must concede to bitter failure. It was with this knowledge Wynn grappled when Svetlana told him of Marina’s symptoms. He could be wrong, but he doubted it.
Ordering an ambulance to find them at the church, Wynn grabbed his medical bag and raced with Svetlana to Marina as dawn cracked the sky. Running was faster than waiting for the ambulance to twist through the narrow streets. Even so, by the time they arrived, blood had begun to trickle from the young girl’s nose. Wynn kept the diagnosis to himself as they loaded her into the ambulance and drove back to hospital with masks covering their noses and mouths. Once there, he had to block the entrance to the quarantine ward as Svetlana and her mother tried to push past him.
“This is a restricted area,” he said in his calmest doctor voice, bracing his arms across the door. “Medical staff only.”
“Restricted for what?” Ana shrieked, wringing her hands and fluttering about like a caged bird.
“Influenza.”
With a gasp, she wilted against the wall.
Svetlana didn’t flinch. “What will happen?”
It had been a long while since he’d seen her. She was thinner, with a weary countenance that had become more pronounced. Awkwardness from their ill-parting lingered in the tension between them.