Page 62 of Nineteen Letters

I open it to the page I placed the ribbon bookmark on and start reading.

It has been over a week since I’ve sat down to write because I am both physically and mentally exhausted. The days seem to get longer, and the casualties are growing at an alarming rate. One thing I’ve learned from my time here in England is that war is senseless. Beds line the corridorsdue to the lack of space in the wards, and if this continues, it won’t be long until we’re completely out of room. I pray this never happens.

I’ve made it my mission not to become attached to my patients, but in one particular case I’m afraid I have failed.

Private Albert Griggs was unconscious when he arrived three days ago, and I was assigned to help one of the doctors attend to his wounds. I was putting pressure on the large gash in his forehead when he first opened his eyes.

“Are you an angel?” he asked as his large brown eyes focused on me. “You are so beautiful, just how I imagined an angel would look.”

“I’m a nurse at the hospital.”

“Then I’m not dead?”

“No, you’re very much alive. You were injured in a mortar attack, but you’re in expert hands. Doctor Adams is one of the best.”

His face lit up as he reached for my hand, moments before losing consciousness again.

His isn’t the first hand I have held. There have been many occasions where I have tried to comfort soldierswhen they were afraid or in pain, or those dreadful moments when I know they won’t survive their injuries. Holding someone’s hand when they take their last breath is a feeling I don’t think I will ever fully recover from.

There’s something different about Private Griggs. A light flutter settled in the pit of my stomach as he gripped my hand. That has never happened to me before.

In the days that followed, I felt drawn to him. Some of my quieter moments were spent by his bedside. He was still unconscious, but I held his hand, just like that first day, and sang to him.

“That’s exactly what she did with me, Braxton,” I say, looking up from the diary. “She held my hand and sang to me. You believe me, don’t you?”

Braxton’s eyes widen slightly before he speaks. “Do you think there’s a chance that you dreamed it? I dreamed about my mum once, years after she died.”

“I don’t know. Maybe. But it felt so real.” In my heart I want to believe it was more than just that. I feel like I got to know a part of my grandparents that even the old me didn’t, and it brings me a sense of peace. “How would I know she used to sing to Pa?”

“I have no explanation for that, Jem. Maybe it’s a story you were told as a child.”

I shrug. “Possibly.”

“If it’s any consolation, the dream I had about my mum seemed realistic. And it comforted me.”

“Believing that Ma came to me gives me comfort too.”

He reaches across the centre console and places his hand on my leg, which reassures me. “Then that’s all that matters, Jem.”

His words make me smile, though just moments later my mood sours when Braxton’s phone rings and I listen to the message played back via voicemail.

“Hi, Braxton. It’s Diane.”Right away, I’m wondering who this woman is.“I’m just checking in to see how things are going with Bella-Rose. You two seemed to hit it off the other day. If you could call me back when you get a chance, that’d be great.”

“Bella-Rose?” I have so many questions, but that’s all I manage to get out.

His eyes dart to me briefly before focusing back on the road. “I’ve been lonely without you,” he breathes, and my heart sinks.

I know I am the one who has kept him at arm’s length, but hearing his words hurts so much. I have an immediate dislike for Bella-Rose, whoever she is.

I’m thankful when we pull into the car park at the rehabilitation centre a few minutes later, because I feel like I’m on the verge of tears, which is stupid. I’ve been wondering what he does in his spare time; now I know.

My logical side knows it’s unfair of me to expect him to wait around until I’m ready. I don’t know if that day will ever come, but right now I can’t even process all the emotions I’m experiencing: hurt, sadness, jealousy, disappointment and confusion. In one tiny moment my entire world has come crashing in around me.

“There’s no point in you hanging around,” I say, when he turns off the ignition and unbuckles his seatbelt. “I have plans this afternoon anyway.”

His brow furrows at my response. “That’s fine. I can take you wherever you need to go when we’re done here.”

“There’s no need.” I can’t even make eye contact with him as I reach for the door handle. “Thanks for the lift, though. Have a great day.”