“Bed?” asked the captain.
“The one with the bear on it.”
They lowered Liza gently onto her bed, which was covered with a steamer rug, a sleeping bag, four blankets, and one slightly battered teddy bear.
“We need to get her out of those wet things,” said Emmie worriedly. “She’s soaked through with mud. She doesn’t need a chill on top of an injury.”
The captain didn’t waste any time on false modesty. “We’d best cut her jacket off. Getting those sleeves off will only hurt her.”
“But her uniform—” Emmie shook her head. “Never mind. You’re right.”
She’d never realized before just how durable wet wool could be. After what seemed an eternity, they had Liza out of her wet skirt and jacket, covered with three blankets filched from Maud’s bed, the covers carefully tucked just so, so they wouldn’t put pressure on her left side.
Kneeling by the side of the cot, Emmie checked Liza’s pulse. It was slow but regular. Captain DeWitt, she realized, had risen to his feet and was standing just behind her.
Looking up at him, Emmie said quietly, “Thank you.”
He held out a hand to help her to her feet. “All in a day’s work.”
“Rescuing fallen damsels?”
“I warned you that duckwalk was a German trap.”
“So you did.” In her thick rubber boots, she was only an inch or two shorter than Captain DeWitt. They stood eye to eye. His, Emmie noticed, were a rather pleasant shade of hazel, all greeny brown like the sort of stream one stumbled on in the Adirondacks in summer, green leaves and brown silt and quiet contentment.
“Where’s my patient?” Dr. Stringfellow stalked into the room, followed by Miss Lewes.
“Over here,” said Emmie, dropping Captain DeWitt’s hand. Or maybe he dropped hers. She wasn’t quite sure. “She’s insensible, poor thing.”
“Lucky thing, you mean,” said Dr. Stringfellow. “We haven’t enough morphia to spare. The less she feels, the better.”
“I’d be happy to examine—” Miss Lewes began.
“When I have a lamb that needs looking at, I’ll call you.” Dr. Stringfellow leaned over Liza’s recumbent form. “It’s her collarbone. No heavy lifting for her for quite some time, I’d say. You. Captain. Do you have any experience setting bones?”
“I’ve some experience with field dressings.”
“Good. I need to put that arm in a sling—we’ll immobilize it and hope for the best. You can lift while I wrap.”
“Doctor,” said Captain DeWitt gravely, and saluted.
Dr. Stringfellow snorted. “Less nonsense, more lifting. Save your flirting for the young fry.”
Emmie was feeling decidedly de trop. “I’d best tell Kate.”
“Better you than me,” said Dr. Stringfellow without looking away from her patient. “Let her know she’s down a driver.”
“I’ll get my things,” said Miss Lewes.
“Oh goodness,” Emmie said guiltily. She had forgotten all about their new member. “What a welcome for you. I wish I could say it was out of the ordinary, but I’m afraid it’s always something around here—although not always something like that. Poor Liza.”
Miss Lewes’s carpetbags had been left just outside, half-off the duckwalk, cheerfully soaking up mud.
“No matter,” said Miss Lewes, picking up one bag and giving it a brisk pat. “There’s nothing wrong with a bit of dirt.”
“Except that it leaves the most dreadful stains,” said Emmie, struggling to extract the other bag from the mud, which appeared to have gotten hold of it and didn’t want to let go. “Marie, our mayor and general factotum, does the laundry for us—she starts on Monday and we get our clothes back on Sunday, although not always the same ones we started with.”
“Washing is highly overrated,” said Miss Lewes cheerfully. “There’s nothing like a good layer of dirt for keeping the warmth in.”
“Well, we’ve certainly plenty of that. . . . Dirt, I mean, not warmth. We’re two barracks down, that one, over there.”
As she struggled along the duckwalk that led between the barracks, Emmie wondered how she was going to break it to Kate that they were a driver down. That meant Kate taking more shifts in the truck . . . and Kate was doing too much already.
“Kate?” Emmie called as she opened the barrack door. “Kate?”