Page 16 of Alive (Shadows of a Forgotten Past #2)

CHAPTER 16

~ LIVING TRUTH ~

I awoke in a grand hall lined with rows of beds. Groans of patients, the clatter of medicine carts, and hurried footsteps of nurses echoed off the high ceilings and bare walls, a cacophony of distress.

A sharp throb pulsed in my head. My arms ached, stinging with each movement. I sat up on the cot and saw the bruises mottling my skin. I reached up, and my fingers brushed against a bandage wrapped around my forehead. I remembered—the explosion, the force of the blow, my spirit leaving and reentering my body. Miraculously, I had survived with only cuts and contusions. Nothing broken.

“Doctor Jones . . .” I murmured. “William.” The truth hit me, poignant and undeniable. I couldn’t stay here. I had to speak to Will. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, but I froze before my feet reached the floor. Truth was both friend and enemy. How could I tell Will that I was his mother? I was his age, younger in fact. He would never understand.

I stood. On the chair beside me sat my handbag. At the civil office, I’d slung the strap over my shoulder and across my body, Eldad’s papers were inside. Next to it, my overcoat lay in shreds, having protected me from worse injuries. I grabbed both.

A low groan, followed by a string of curses, pulled my attention two beds down. A man thrashed against the thin blanket, causing it to slip to the floor. His bandaged stump, where his right leg had once been, now lay exposed. My breath caught, a wave of nausea tightening my throat—the fabric was soaked in blood.

Where was the nurse? I neared the man, retrieved the blanket, and spread it over him. At the motion, pain radiating from my legs, clawing up my spine. “Sir, I’ll find the nurse for you. Just hold on.”

He grunted in response, his jaw clenched against the suffering.

I moved into the aisle and waved at a brunette woman in a white uniform tending to a patient at the far end. “Ma’am, this man needs help.”

“Why are you out of bed?” She hurried to meet me, her expression stern. “You should be resting.”

“Me? I’m fine.” I signaled toward the injured man. “He’s not. He needs fresh bandages.”

“I’ll check on him, but please, you must return to bed.”

“I need to call home.” I was desperate to find out if Mr. Brown had called, if he was all right.

“Have it your way.” She shook her head at my supposed foolishness, and quickly busied herself with the patient.

The nurses’ station was bound to have a telephone. I focused on the exit, counting the beds as I passed them, each one bringing me closer to freedom. Twelve, ten, eight. Almost there. Seven. I stopped midstride, not believing my eyes. But I would have recognized that profile anywhere. My chest swelled with euphoria, drowning out my aches and exhaustion. I rushed to his side.

My dear Alex lay on the cot, his features softened in sleep, his breath steady. Tears blurred my vision as I stood over him, aching to touch him—to prove he was real. But fear held me back, as if the slightest contact would shatter the moment, dissolving him like a dream upon waking.

“Miss, what in the world are you doing?” the same nurse asked impatiently. “Move on.”

“This is my husband,” I choked out, emotion thick in my throat. “I’ve been looking for him.”

“Your husband?” The nurse’s skepticism was evident as she glanced from Alex to me. Picking up the chart at the foot of his bed, she read aloud, “Matthew Oakley, forty years of age , from Leeds?”

True, this man was a bit older than I was, but, “Matthew Oakley? His name is not Matthew Oakley. He is not forty, and he is not from Leeds. This man is General Alexander Sterling from Breamore, my husband.”

“If the chart says he is Matthew Oakley, he is.” The nurse sighed with exasperation. The medical personnel, already at their wits’ end with the influx of injured, need not be bothered by a delusional woman, but I wasn’t delusional. “I suggest you return to your bed. Your concussion might be worse than we thought.”

“Nonsense!” I stood my ground, my resolve hardening. “You’ve made a mistake. Here, I can prove it.” I extracted a photograph from my handbag, creased but intact. “This is Alex.”

The nurse frowned as she studied the picture, then glanced back at Alex. “Hmm. There’s been a serious mistake.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“I don’t understand how this happened.” She flipped through his chart carefully examining each line.

“When did he arrive?”

“Last night.”

Thomas mentioned that the medical ship arrived last night.

“And he didn’t say his name? Has he been unconscious all this time?”

“He’s on heavy medication. He could very well sleep until morning. I understand he survived a shipwreck. However, a piece of metal perforated his side and lodged under his rib cage. The procedure to remove it went well, and he should recover fully.”

With a silent prayer of gratitude, I pulled a chair from the neighbor, who also lay dormant, and settled beside Alex. “Has no one inquired after Matthew Oakley?” I wondered aloud. “I mean, his family would’ve discovered the misunderstanding.”

“Leeds—it might take them a while to get here, if they were even notified. The past day was quite chaotic, and it only got worse with the air raid. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must see to this error.” She scribbled a few notes on the chart and walked away with urgency, leaving me to my thoughts.

Who was Matthew Oakley? How had the hospital confused him with Alex?

* * *

Since the nurse’s prediction was proving accurate, and Alex might not wake up until morning, I went in search of a telephone. From the nurses’ room, I called Thomas and left him a message about Alex. Then, after several tries, the operator connected me with Forti Radici.

“Oh my, Florence, where have you been? We heard about the air raid and were worried sick about you and Mr. Brown.” Zaira’s voice crackled with concern on the other end.

“Mr. Brown—he hasn’t called?”

“No. We haven’t heard from him.”

Fear rippled through me. I was the reason he came to London, why his life was placed in danger. Oh, heaven, let him be safe . I briefly explained how Mr. Brown and I had been separated and how I later found Alex.

“I can’t believe it! It’s wonderful, but, seriously, what are the odds?” Zaira exclaimed.

“I know—I know. It is hard to believe.” And she knew nothing of the transcendental day. “How are things at home?” I thought of Will.

“I’m afraid Mrs. Haywood is not getting any better. She’s had a rough day. Doctor Wales is here and, for now, has no plans to leave.”

“How is Will handling it?”

“You know military men. He’s keeping a stoic facade, but I can tell he’s quite distressed.”

“I can imagine.” He had already lost Adeline, and now this. “Please, Zaira, do all you can to help Mrs. Haywood.” If Mr. Haywood knew nothing about his son’s true identity, which I found hard to believe, but possible—then Mrs. Haywood was the only person on earth apart from Mrs. White who could tell Will the truth.

“That goes without saying.”

“Thanks, Zaira. We’ll be home as soon as we can.”

I returned the receiver to its cradle just as a tired-looking doctor with a gray mustache walked in.

“Is there a list of names of those injured during the air raid?” I asked, though he didn’t seem eager to talk.

“There is, but some lacked identification. If they passed, there is no way of knowing who they are right away. Are you looking for someone in particular?”

“My friend, Albert Brown. He was waiting for me outside the civil office when the bombing started.”

“Let’s see.” From a stack of folders on the cluttered desk, he pulled a paper and traced the writing with his finger. “No, no Browns here.”

“Hmm.”

“Would you like to check the deceased? He might be among them,” he suggested, his tone matter-of-fact.

“I . . .” I hadn’t considered examining corpses, but it was the logical next step. “I think so.”

“Follow me.”

We descended a set of concrete steps to the underground floor. Three things hit me as we crossed the landing into a cavernous space—the cold, the dark, and the silence. Then, of course, came the scent of decay. The doctor flipped a switch, and a few lightbulbs buzzed to life, casting weak, uneven light across the room.

On the floor lay several inert bodies under white sheets. My heart sank to my stomach. These were sons, daughters, husbands, and wives—real people with dreams and hopes. Someone would miss them dearly. A thought struck me: the dead would also miss their kin.

The lights flickered, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw shadows dancing on the wall. My gaze snapped to them, gooseflesh prickling my arms. There was nothing there but plaster and paint. Still, I sensed the presence of others. Spirits who might be in shock at their newly disembodied states and who might linger until their loved ones offered a final farewell. Death was heart-rending, but when premature, its agony and sorrow could be staggering.

“These are the males.” The doctor veered to the group of bodies on the left, bringing me to the present task. “Are you ready?”

“As much as I’ll ever be.”

He studied me for a second or two, his eyes on the bandage wrapped around my head. “You aren’t going to pass out on me, are you?”

“I have no intention of doing so.” I must have looked worse than I thought. “It’s dreadfully cold, that’s all. Please go on.”

He leaned over and uncovered the first body. I shook my head. It wasn’t Mr. Brown. One by one, he lifted the sheets, each time met with my negative response, until we reached the third body before the last. The sight of short legs, thick arms, and a potbelly took me aback. My hand flew to my mouth, stifling the scream rising in my throat.

The doctor pulled down the sheet, and I released the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Mr. Brown was not among the dead.

* * *

With its windows shrouded in black fabric and its lights strategically dimmed, the hospital had disappeared into the night.

Alex still slept. I caressed his face, but he didn’t stir. I sat in the chair, took his hand, and rested my head on the mattress.

As the ward quieted, I drifted into sleep, interrupted every few minutes by the images of the corpses in the underground morgue—startling white faces, eternally frozen in the shock of sudden death.

“I thought I would never see you again.” A hand brushed through my hair accompanied the familiar voice.

I raised my head and met the blue eyes that I loved. “Alex . . .” I leapt from the chair and kissed his cheek, then his lips.

“Don’t stop. Keep kissing me,” he said when I pulled away. “I can’t believe I’m here with you.”

I kissed him again before sitting back down, not wanting to overwhelm him. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“What happened to you?” His gaze moved between the bandages on my head and the cuts on my arms.

“I was caught in the air raid.”

“Another raid?” He glanced at the daylight slipping past the edges of the curtains. “Who told you I was here?”

“I didn’t know you were here.”

“You didn’t?”

“No. I knew you were in the wreck, but Thomas said you weren’t aboard the medical ship. In fact, according to the hospital, you are still not here. They think you are Matthew Oakley from Leeds.”

“For heaven’s sake! How?” His expression darkened for a moment, then cleared. “Oh, I see.”

“You know?”

“Yes.” Alex shifted slightly, wincing at the movement. “When the torpedo hit the ship, all hell broke loose. I was helping people into lifeboats when the explosions started. One blast threw me overboard, and something from the wreckage pierced my side.” His hand went to his ribs.

“It was a piece of metal, surgically removed.”

He pulled open the hospital gown to reveal the wrapping around his chest. “I hope they didn’t butcher me,” he joked.

“You shouldn’t complain.” I smiled.

“I know, but I will.” He smiled back. “When I flew off the ship, I thought I was dead. The water felt like a million knives as it sucked me under. I struggled to surface, and when I did, I found myself surrounded by debris—and bodies. My head was foggy, my limbs ready to give out. Even in the worst battles, I had never felt so helpless—for it was my body that fought against me. I feared I would fall asleep and never wake up. Worse, I feared I would never see you again in this life.”

“Thank heavens that’s not the case.” Tears stung my eyes as I pressed his hand to my cheek, his warmth grounding me.

“Then I saw a man go under, and something in me snapped. I found the strength to pull him onto a teak plank. His name was Matthew Oakley. Before he passed, he asked me to deliver his pocket watch, an heirloom from his father and grandfather, to his son. His name is engraved on it. I had it in my pocket.”

“Oh . . . that’s how your name was switched with his.”

“I’m afraid so,” Alex said. “You know, as I watched him die, I promised myself I would fulfill his last wish. That promise kept me awake. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before a lifeboat spotted me. Next thing I remember, we were in London, but I was in and out of consciousness.”

“You have been under heavy sedation.”

“Well, I’m done with that. I want to get out of here. I want to go home.”

Home.

“Alex, I . . .” There was so much I needed to tell him.

“You haven’t told me why you came to London.” He raised an eyebrow. “You were supposed to stay out of trouble.”

Any other time, I would have waited until he was stronger before breaking the news. But some of it was too urgent, too important, to delay.

“I came to adopt a child.”

“I might still have seawater in my ears. What did you say?”

“I better start at the beginning.”

I recounted the events selectively. There would be a better time for full disclosure if necessary. The outing to the cottage outside town in search of Mrs. White tumbled from my lips first. I then told him about the refugees, diphtheria, Mrs. White’s attack, my visit to Dr. Jones, and the doctor’s subsequent death. I hesitated before revealing my trip to the cemetery to unearth our son’s coffin.

“You did what?” Disbelief, grief, and anger tightened every muscle in his face.

“Please, hear me out. Please.” I rushed to explain, knowing my actions, while startling, were justified. Otherwise, as Zaira had warned, I might end up without a husband.

I described the events at the civil office, the air raid, and finally, what I’d learned during my trip back in time: the unplanned meeting between Mrs. White and Mrs. Haywood at the dispensary, the lies, and the swapping of babies. I ended with Mrs. Haywood’s fragile health.

“Will . . . if it weren’t for our surreal past experiences, I wouldn’t believe it.” Alex’s voice was soft, his eyes distant. “But I should have known. He is so much like me.”

“A daredevil, pigheaded, and handsome?”

“Don’t forget intelligent.” He faked a smile. “Tell me he is back home.”

“Yes. He is safe with the Haywoods.”

“We need to speak to Mrs. Haywood before it’s too late. She can tell Will the truth,” Alex said.

“We can’t tell him I am his mother, at least not for now.”

“But we can tell him I’m his father.”