“I hope the Germans are suffering as badly as we are. If not, in a few weeks they’ll be able to walk unimpeded to Paris.”

I smiled. “If they try, they’ll be struck down as well. All the lines are reporting influenza cases.” On a more somber note I said, “Seeing that orderly reminds me. When he has time, Private Wilson has been carrying linens to the laundry and bringing back fresh supplies. And still we’re running short.”

“I’ll pass the word,” she said, “when he comes back this way.” She cocked her head to one side. “I can hear the guns again. You’d think the Germans would have the decency to stop fighting until this influenza is over.”

“There was an hour of blessed silence earlier. I even heard a lark somewhere.” I pulled my mask back into place. “I must look in on the Major. His fever is soaring.”

“Go on. I’ll bring cool water to you to bathe his face.”

I thanked her and went inside. We did what we could to help each other as well as our patients. Even Matron had taken her turn bringing round the tray of tea.

I wasn’t sure whether it was in the middle of the night or early morning when Lieutenant Benson died. I had sat by his bed for an hour or more, knowing the end was near but refusing to give up. My head ached from leaning forward to hold his hand at the last as he’d asked me to do, and I was rather dizzy from missing my dinner, but there had been no time to spare for it.

Lieutenant Benson’s death had not been a tranquil one-influenza never lets its victims slip easily away-and as I closed his eyes, I felt a crushing sadness.

Dr. Timmons came then and confirmed that the patient was dead. I went to ask the orderlies to bring the stretcher to our ward.

Private Wilson was on duty, as he so often seemed to be, and as he followed me back to the Lieutenant’s bedside with his stretcher bearers in tow, he leaned forward and said in a low voice, “Sister, will you come to the shed with us?”