A Refuge at Highland Hall (19 page)

Pain pulsed through his head again, clouding his thoughts. He'd taken down the Zeppelin, but he'd crashed his plane before he could return to St. Pol. Yes, he remembered now. Somehow, he'd reported the bare facts of his mission to the men who had rushed to the plane after he'd crashed. Then…

He couldn't remember anything after that.

A sudden thought jolted through him, and he forced his eye open. “Nurse?”

She turned back to him. “Yes?”

“What's wrong with me? What are my injuries?”

Her lips parted, and some unnamed emotion flickered in her eyes.

“Tell me. I want to know.”

She returned to his bedside and leaned over him. “You have three fractured ribs, a compound fracture of your left arm, and a broken collarbone.” She started to say more, then glanced away with a slight frown.

“What else?”

“The doctor will be coming around soon. He'll explain everything to you.”

“I want to know now.” His voice sounded raspy, demanding.

She sat down beside his bed with a tired sigh. “All right. You've ruptured your spleen. You have a head injury, probably a concussion. You have multiple cuts and bruises to your face, and your right eye is…damaged.”

His eye? Was that why everything was so fuzzy? Slowly, he lifted his right hand off his chest. Piercing pain shot across his side. He gasped and stifled a shout but kept going until his hand reached his face. Slowly he traced the bandages covering his right eye and the right side of his head.

With a gentle touch, the nurse took his hand and laid it across his chest again. “How's your pain level? I can give you more medication if you need it.”

He gave his head a slight shake, but that set off the throbbing pain again. He clenched his jaw and closed his eye. He hurt so bad he could barely think, but he didn't want to take more pain medication, fall asleep, and then miss talking to the doctor. He needed to find out how long it would be until he could fly again.

A wave of nausea hit his stomach and rose in his throat. He tried to swallow it down, but it was no use. “I'm going to be sick.”

She reached for a basin and held it out just in time.

When it was over, he shuddered and lay back. Waves of pain crashed through his pounding head, side, arm, shoulder, jaw, ribs. Was there
any
part of his body that did not hurt? “I think I'll take that pain medication.”

“Very good. I'll be right back.”

“If you see the doctor, tell him I want to speak to him.”

She sent him a sympathetic smile. “I will.”

“And tell him if I'm asleep to wake me up.”

She didn't reply as she hurried off.

He released a slow, deep breath and let his eye drift closed. His mind danced in and around reality, floating from one thought to the next. He shouldn't have tried to make it all the way back to St. Pol. He could've brought the plane down sooner and saved it and himself all this trouble. Was his plane destroyed? He tried to remember, but everything was so fuzzy after the crash.

This was bad…but he could've crashed in enemy territory instead. Then he'd be in a German field hospital or, worse, a prison camp. Who knows what they would've done to him if they learned he was the aviator who'd knocked one of their prize Zeppelins right out of the sky?

The King wanted to award him the Victoria Cross? He'd have to go to England for that. Out of his misty thoughts swirled a smiling face…Penny.

If he went back to England, he would see Penny. Maybe he could visit her at Highland Hall. That would be wonderful. Then he'd go back to St. Pol and rejoin his squadron. They had a war to win. Yes…He'd see Penny, then go back and fly again…That's what he'd do.

He drifted off to sleep then and blessed relief.

Lydia looked up through the lush green leaves of the cherry tree to a cluster of fruit hanging overhead. She'd have to climb higher up the ladder if she was going to reach them. She looked down at the ground, and a dizzy feeling washed over her. She clutched the sides of the ladder and closed her eyes tight.
Take a deep breath. Calm down. You'll be all right.

But it was hard to stamp out the memory of seeing her brother fall out of the hayloft and break both arms when he was only nine years old. It had scared her to death, and ever since then she liked to keep her feet firmly planted on the ground.

“Lydia, look, my basket's full again!” Rose pushed a branch aside and held out the almost overflowing load of cherries.

“Rose, hold on to the ladder!”

“I am holding on.”

“Well…just be careful when you climb down.”

“I will.” But Rose scrambled down the ladder almost as fast as she usually ran down the stairs. She hopped to the ground, carried her cherries to the farm wagon, and poured the fruit into one of the wooden crates.

Lydia sighed. It was a wonder Rose or one of the other children hadn't gotten hurt with the way they were all running up and down ladders like it was nothing at all. She glanced at the wagon with the six crates stacked in the back. Three of them were already full of cherries. Thank goodness Mr. McTavish drove the wagon out to the orchard and left it with them to carry the fruit back to the house.

Mrs. Murdock and the kitchen maids would have their hands full, making preserves and baking tarts and puddings. Maybe Chef Lagarde would use some of the cherries in one of his recipes. Just thinking about it made her mouth water. She smiled and popped a sweet, warm cherry in her mouth.

Rose ran back to their tree and scooted her ladder over to a new section. Lifting her skirt and basket in one hand, she scampered to the top.

Goodness, that girl was as surefooted as a mountain goat.

When Rose was settled and picking again, Lydia turned and scanned the orchard. She had ten children with her today, the three boys and Andrew, and four girls, plus Millie and Abigail. They all seemed to be enjoying the outing and had been working at top speed for the last hour and a half. No doubt the promise of a prize for the one who picked the most cherries was spurring them on.

It wasn't quite fair. The older children with longer arms had an advantage over the young ones. Maybe she should make sure they all got a reward for their work today.

She looked up through the leaves again. There were still plenty of ripe cherries on her side of the tree. It was time she got busy and finished this section. She slowly inched her way up to the next step.
Just don't look down and you'll be fine. Rose is higher than you, and she's not afraid.

In the distance she heard the sound of tramping feet. She turned to look through the trees. A group of German prisoners walked up the lane toward the orchard, carrying scythes and rakes over their shoulders. A stern-faced guard in a khaki uniform walked behind them, carrying a rifle.

Lydia gripped the sides of the ladder. Why were they coming this way? She took hold of her half-full basket and carefully started down.

Rose looked at Lydia through the leaves, her lips in a slight pucker. “Are those the German prisoners?”

“I think so.” Lydia stepped down into the tall grass. Did they intend to pass through the orchard, or were they planning to work nearby?

“Hey, the Huns are coming!” Donald shouted from a tree to her left.

“What are you talking about?” Andrew called from another tree.

“Look and see for yourself!” Donald swung out from his ladder and pointed to the approaching men.

Lydia gasped. “Donald, be careful!”

The boy sent her a surprised look, but he took hold of the ladder again with both hands.

Lucy, Edna, Abigail, and Millie climbed down their ladders and walked over to join Lydia, while Rose and the boys continued picking.

Lydia brushed her hands on her apron as the prisoners drew near. She glanced at the men, and recognition flashed through her. The two at the head of the line were the same men who had spoken to her the day she and the children passed them working in the field.

The tall blond man, Marius, looked up at Lydia, and a slight smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He nodded to her. “Good morning, miss.”

A smile overtook her before she could look away.

“Keep moving,” the guard called from the rear of the group.

The shorter man walking beside Marius touched his cap and grinned at Lydia. Then he chuckled and elbowed Marius, saying something in German.

Marius scowled at him, and his ears turned red. “That's enough, Siegfried.”

Lydia didn't even want to guess what Siegfried had said.

“Halt!” The guard frowned at Lydia and motioned for her to come over.

She looked around, but there was no one else he could mean, so she took a few steps closer and stopped in the middle of the lane.

“I have orders for the prisoners to cut the grass in the orchard. But we can't very well do that with you here.” He shifted his rifle to the other shoulder and sent her a stern look. “Are you about finished?”

Lydia straightened and met the guard's gaze. “No, we planned to pick until noon.”

Irritation flashed across the guard's face. He shot a glance at the farm wagon, and his mouth twisted into a surly line. “Looks like you've picked more than enough cherries to me. Take the children and go home.”

Who did he think he was, ordering her around like that? She lifted her chin. “That section is done”—she nodded to the right—“we just have these last few trees to finish. I don't see why you can't start over there.”

He pulled back and looked at her as though she was simpleminded. “These are dangerous German prisoners. Aren't you afraid of them?”

She wasn't happy about working near them, but she wasn't about to admit it to this rude guard. “No, I'm not afraid.”

The guard huffed. “Well, you ought to be.”

She held her tongue, determined to wait him out. Just past the guard's shoulder, she had a clear view of Marius. He watched her, admiration shining in his eyes.

The guard snorted and shook his head. “All right. I warned you. If you won't listen to me, that's your problem.”

Lydia clenched her hands.
Arrogant, foolish man!
He had no right to speak to her as if she were a child. If he did his job and kept a good eye on the prisoners, she should have nothing to fear.

“We'll start on that far side. But you better finish picking by the time we reach these trees.” The guard directed the men to the opposite side of the orchard, barking orders as he marched them off.

Lucy stepped closer to Lydia. “Are you sure it's all right for us to stay here with those prisoners so close by?”

She swallowed, hoping she hadn't let her pride get the best of her. “I don't think we have to worry. The most dangerous man among them is probably that awful guard.”

“We'll protect you,” Andrew shouted from the tree on her left. His laughter rang out, and Donald, Jack, and Tom joined in.

The boys' carefree response seemed to reassure the girls, and they climbed their ladders again and went back to picking.

Lydia watched the prisoners spread out around the trees across the lane. Marius set to work with his scythe, swinging it back and forth in a smooth, easy rhythm. Siegfried worked next to him, but he took shorter strokes, and it didn't look as though he was putting much effort into it.

Lydia turned away and walked back to the farm wagon. She dumped her half load of cherries into the wooden crate, admiring the growing pile of shiny, dark-red fruit.

A startled cry filled the air. Lydia spun around. On the far side of the lane, under one of the largest trees, Marius reached for his leg and fell to the ground. Lydia's hand flew up her mouth to stifle her cry.

“Marius!” Siegfried tossed his scythe aside.

Marius groaned and writhed in the grass.

The other men ran toward Marius and Siegfried. “He's bleeding!” one man shouted. “It looks bad!” The men crowded around Marius, blocking Lydia's view.

The guard strode toward them, his gun aimed at the group. “Step back! Let me through!”

The prisoners made way for the guard, opening the view for Lydia again. The guard looked down on Marius, his mouth set in a hard line. He shook his head and muttered something Lydia couldn't hear. His lip curled. “What happened?”

“It doesn't matter now!” Siegfried shot a wide-eyed look around the group. “We've got to help him.”

The guard glared at the men. “Who did this?” No one replied. “There will be no help for this man until someone tells me exactly what happened.”

The group stood silent, their eyes on the ground. Marius lay still on the grass now, his hand wrapped tightly around his leg. If he knew who had done it, he wasn't willing to say.

“He stepped in my path,” Siegfried cried. “I couldn't help it.”

The guard gave an impatient snort. “I'll have to report you.”

“But it's not my fault! I didn't mean to do it! It was an accident!”

Lydia shook her head. What was wrong with these men? Didn't they realize Marius needed help? She tossed her basket into the back of the wagon and strode across the orchard. The men stared and stepped back as she approached.

She dropped down on the grass next to Marius. His face had gone pale. He clutched his pant leg at the calf, and bright-red blood oozed out around his fingers.

“We've got to stop this bleeding.” She whipped off her apron, wrapped it around his leg, then eased his hand away.

“Thank you,” he said softly, then winced and closed his eyes as she tied the apron around the wound.

She looked up at the guard. “Have your men carry him to the wagon. I'll take him back to the house.”

“No! He can't go there.”

Lydia stood and faced the guard. “He needs a doctor, and there's one at the house right now, if we hurry.”

The guard studied her through narrowed eyes. “I'd have to get permission from my commander.”