The Poppy Field: A gripping and emotional historical romance. Deborah Carr

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      Waking hours later, she rubbed her puffy eyes gently. The fire was low, and she was cold. She banked up the embers thinking how her mother often insisted that a good cry was a release of pent up emotions. After her faux pas earlier in the day, she was glad to be rid of the accumulation of emotion inside her since her arrival. Deciding she wasn’t going to be any use in the morning if she didn’t get some proper sleep, Gemma went upstairs.

      She washed and changed into her pyjamas. Then, cleaning her teeth, she looked in the mirror and hoped that her eyes would look less swollen in the morning. She didn’t want Tom to think she felt sorry for him. That would be the worst thing she could do. She hated what he had been through, but he had found a way to cope with a life-changing injury and she admired him for it. He was a strong man physically, that much was obvious when you looked at him, but now she knew that he was mentally strong too.

      She lay in bed staring at the moonlight shining through the small gap in her curtains. Gemma thought back to the letters and couldn’t help wondering how Alice had coped a hundred years earlier. The nurses at most casualty clearing stations didn’t have the luxury of a building to sleep in. How brave she and other women like her friend Mary, must have been to volunteer. The horrific wounds and traumatised soldiers would have been bad enough, but Gemma found it difficult to imagine dealing with such pressure day after day, year after year. No antibiotics or penicillin to help battle infection, far more basic implements than she was used to having at her disposal. She could only imagine how exhausting it must have been.

      Working in a trauma unit, she’d seen many injuries that would forever be engraved in her mind, but never in the numbers that Alice and her friend Mary would have faced. Their food, sleeping quarters and being far away from their families, only increased Gemma’s admiration for them and the other medical staff.

      “And I’m lying here feeling sorry for myself,” she said to the moonlight. “I need to focus on this farmhouse.” After all, she wasn’t having to live in a tent and this work would get easier and more enjoyable as the weather warmed up.

      And Tom. What about him? She pictured his navy-blue eyes, always twinkling, having to deal with the unwelcome changes in his life. There was something about him; maybe it was the cheeky look he gave her, or maybe, the way he helped her without her having to ask him first. It was as if he was in tune with her. It wasn’t something she was used to and despite her resolution to stay man free, she had to admit that she quite liked him. She was glad that he had been lucky enough to have modern medicine to help him survive being blown up. Unlike so many men that Alice must have helped look after.

      She plumped up her two pillows and tried to make herself more comfortable. She was desperate for sleep and for her mind to stop whirring and tormenting her. She hated it when her mood was low, especially when she acknowledged that she had very little to be miserable about. What was it about Alice’s letters that had upset her, she wondered? Probably the fear that came across in them. The fear of losing loved ones, as well as the uncertainty that the war didn’t seem to be coming to an end.

      “When did you come here, Alice?” she whispered, aware that she would have died of fright should anyone reply. Had she just visited and hidden her letters, or had she lived here? She hoped Alice had been happy here at the farm.

      Eventually, Gemma contemplated getting out of bed and going down to the living room to read more of Alice’s letters. She tried to fight against getting up but, unable to sleep, threw back the covers and slipped her feet into her trainers. She pulled on her dressing gown, grabbed the blanket from her bed and carried it over her shoulder.

      She was going to look like hell in the morning, she thought, tying the fleecy belt as she walked down the stairs. She made a tea, added a few sticks of wood to the fire, with a larger log on top and turned on the light. Opening the black tin box, she gazed at the two batches of letters inside. She was tempted to go to the last one and read it, she never had much in the way of patience, but these letters were too fascinating to read them out of order.

      Sitting down, she made herself comfortable and read the next letter.

       Chapter 5

      Alice

      1916

      “Nurse! Nurse, come quickly.”

      Alice heard the frantic tone of the patient lying in the bed next to Captain Woodhall’s. She hurried over to see what was wrong.

      “He was havin’ a fit, Nurse,” The young private said, his eyes wide with fear.

      Lifting the captain’s wrist, Alice took his pulse, flinching at a loud explosion she estimated to be only a couple of miles away. Taking a calming breath, Alice felt the captain’s forehead. He was running a temperature and she knew it could be the reason for the convulsion, although her instinct told her he wasn’t in immediate danger.

      “He’s fine, Private Allen,” she soothed, pushing him gently back against his pillows and straightening his sheet. “Try to relax. I’ll look after Captain Woodhall.”

      The private grimaced and waved her closer. “I would, Nurse, but I’ve wet me bed,” he whispered, glancing from side to side to check no one else had overheard. “I’m sorry. Those loud bangs, they frighten me silly they do.”

      “Leave it with me,” she soothed. “We’ll sort you out in no time.”

      She waved over one of the probationers. “I think it’s near enough time for the men to have some refreshment, don’t you?” She gave a pointed glance in the private’s direction.

      “I’ll see to it right now, Nurse Le Breton,” the young girl said.

      Alice pulled a screen around the private’s bed and helped him out. “Change out of those things and I’ll bring you some clean pyjamas.”

      She was back a couple of minutes later with fresh clothes and bedlinen. Alice hated seeing the poor boy so embarrassed. She understood how terrifying the nearby explosions were to some of the men. Hadn’t she nearly jumped out of her skin many times on hearing them? And she hadn’t spent months sleeping on a fire step in a muddy trench with explosions going off all around her.

      She helped him to wash quickly and change. “You do up your jacket and I’ll change this bed. You’ll be back in it in a jiffy.” She smiled at the volunteer nurse. “It’s Nurse Jenkins isn’t it?”

      “Yes, that’s right,” she said. “I arrived last week. Still haven’t quite found my footing here.”

      “You’re doing fine.”

      The bed changed, Alice left the young private to be settled by Nurse Jenkins and turned her attention to Captain Woodhall. She gave him a thorough check to be sure she hadn’t missed anything. Determining to try and reduce his temperature, she dipped a flannel in a bowl of cool water, rung it out and placed it over his hot forehead. His eyes flickered briefly, then opened. He took a while to focus before gazing up at her.

      “Where am I?” he asked, his voice croaky from lack of use.

      Alice poured a little water into a glass and raising his head gently, held the drink to his lips. He took a few sips. Looking exhausted from the effort, he closed his eyes again.

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