Hush by Hazel Gaynor

Author:Hazel Gaynor
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2016-01-22T00:00:00+00:00

THE WHITE CAP IS THE FIRST THING WILL SEES WHEN HE STIRS. A white cap, standing in a stiff peak, like the Alps when they have snow on them. He will go there, someday.

She has her back to him, standing perfectly still, gazing out of the small gap at the side of the field tent. She is bathed in a soft peach light. It is a peculiarly pretty light. Will wishes he had his brushes and oils. He would paint her. Right here. He tries to lift his hands to frame her between his fingers, but winces with pain as he tenses his muscles. His fingers brush the cool of the sheets. His arms lie idle at his sides. A light breeze tugs at her skirt, moving it around her ankles like seaweed beneath the waves. She takes small sips from a mug—tea, he presumes—or perhaps she prefers coffee. He would like to know. He would like to know so much more about her.

He turns his head carefully the other way, looking around, trying to remember. Slowly, it comes back to him: the explosion, the smothering earth. He starts to panic, the bile rising in his throat. The bedsheets are pulled so tight across him that he cannot move his arms or legs. He tries to cry out but he cannot hear. He cries again, louder. She rushes to him, her mouth moving, but he cannot hear her. For an awful moment, he is back in his earthen tomb. Her mouth keeps moving as she looks at him, her eyes fixed on his so that there is nothing and nobody else in the world.

She has the prettiest eyes. Her hand, in his, so soft like velvet. She loosens the blankets, shakes his pillow, helps him to raise his head, gives him something to drink, and lays him gently back down. She stays with him, sits on the side of the bed, holds his hand. He grips it tight in return.

His breathing slows. His heart beats softer within his chest.

“You’re very pretty.” His words the softest whisper.

Her cheeks flush a beautiful shade of pink, just like the carnations in his mam’s garden.

The nurse straightens the edge of her starched white apron and moves on to the next bed, but she looks back over toward him and in that very moment, he feels alive.

He says a prayer of thanks as he thinks of his mother and the words that brought him back from the earth. “Thank you, Mam,” he whispers. “Thank you.”

He closes his eyes and drifts into a peaceful sleep, visions of pink carnations dancing in the breeze in the garden.

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