24. PARIS

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" It hurts, but I'll be okay. "

-

MAY 10th
1917
Lyon, France

-

THERE WAS A whistle from outside. After that came the mechanic rumble.

At Jo's feet laid her suitcase as her eyes were turned towards the window. The train had just started to move.

In her hands was a crumpled piece of paper that she held tightly onto. Her eyes peaked to read the text on the letter just once again. Just like she had done many times before that.

'Dear Josephine,'

She stared at those words, pressing her lips together to a subtle smile. When she first read the letter, she knew that she could just stop there and then be happy. To be reminded that at least someone was left and waiting on you somehow.

'I couldn't describe to you how happy I felt when I noticed that I'd gotten a letter. I know it wasn't much, but believe me when I say that it actually gives me hope.

I'm sad to hear about your troubles. I wish I could do something, but you should be the one to know that I'm pretty trapped here for now.
As you said, it's becoming quite tiring.

I do want you to know that I miss the talks we used to have. It was quite comforting to be around you and I would be lying if I said that I sometimes didn't wish you were here.

Wish you only the best,

William.'

Her eyes closed. William, William, William. How she wished that he was sitting there across from her in the small compartment. How she wished that he would just talk with her for hours while the green landscape passed by outside the window.

He missed her. William Schofield was out fighting in the war every day since a year back and still he missed her.


Josephine had sent a letter to the hospital a couple of days earlier. It had been her mother who had written it finding that Jo wasn't very good with words, at least not according to herself. They replied quickly, not giving very much information other than a place, a date, and a time.

The suitcase she held onto did not contain very much. Only a few essentials. The rest of her clothing and belongings were in a much larger case which was already at the hospital and the room where her bed would be staying, a small space shared with other nurses.

The time Jo spent on the train turned out to be many hours, yet she didn't really grow tired of the long waiting or the similar view from her window.

The peace was all she needed. The silence. She never knew how comforting it would be to be sitting still and silently upon a train like this. But after some horrific nights where the non-stop agonizing yells of soldiers and civilians were all you heard- she wanted nothing more.

And then there was William.
How could she forget?

Josephine found herself somehow charmed by him. Will wasn't the greatest at everything and he definitely wasn't the stereotypical ladies' man.

But he was William.

And he was kind and he was brave.

And he missed her.

Her.

-

The low and thick heels of her shoes clicked against the street. Their edges were greasy and dirty on the otherwise leathered material clothing.

Jo was pretending that she knew where she was going and what was waiting for her when she in fact did not.

Paris was a beautiful city. But at this point it was cold and it was drained from what it had left. The people were kept inside and the streets were empty so when Jo arrived at the large beige-colored building she was surprised by how crowded it was.

Nurses and doctors running around with bags and trays in their hands. Distressed looks on their faces. Their uniforms were much the same as what Jo had been wearing before and their white nursing caps were placed neatly upon their heads.

Jo would soon be wearing the same uniform. Looking at herself in the mirror; she felt like she couldn't breathe with the fabric of her high collar pressing against her throat. She then stood there for a long moment, flattening out her shirt and apron, just so slightly feeling the chills running down her back as her hands touched the garment.
She wouldn't let it get to her- so she ignored it.
Or at least tried to.

Just like she forced herself to not think- she forced her old routines and instincts to start all over again.

'Jo was a nurse. She was a trained nurse and she had done all these things before.' This she told herself over and over again. Letting her hands work for themselves, leaving her eyes left to only watch.

She then saw them, the soldiers. The wounded and the dead. They were in beds, separated from each other by pale drapes hanging in between them on metal poles. It wasn't the same amount of masses of them as there was in the trenches, but Jo could still feel her heart racing.

It felt reassuring with all the other women around her, loads more than what she had been with before. They were nurses too. They were also trained and they must have seen it all too. She didn't know why that sometimes helped- it just did.

"Tiens ça s'il te plait," Francine spoke softly.
Hold that, please.

And Jo did, smiling a pressed together smile and taking the rather large tweezer in her hands. Standing closely behind- she watched as the young woman gently cleaned and wrapped the wound of a soldier.

Francine was twenty-one, one year older than Jo who was turning twenty that year. She was clever at her job, but she was also quite new at it. With this in mind, Jo noticed Francine hanging onto her when she required guidance during certain tasks.

In some ways, she did remind Jo of Rosie back when she was in the Second Battalion. Francine's hair was auburn, but their eyes remained the same green color.

"Avez-Vous froid?" she asked the man lying in the bed next to them. His head wrapped in bandages and a medical tape strapped over his bare chest. Are you cold?

He stayed silent for a couple seconds, staring at the two of them. His face was slightly swollen and red.

"Non," he breathed out as if it took all the power in the world to just say that word.

No.

She nodded stiffly, glancing over her shoulder to see more soldiers being brought in.

How were they supposed to help them all?

-

Hi again <3
Thank u so much for reading! Please heart and comment, it's always so great hearing your response.

Take care,
/connie

 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍 | | 1917 Where stories live. Discover now