The endless historical battlefield that began with World War I

Joseph stayed inside for twenty minutes.

Jenkins sat half-upright, leaning against the pillows, his face pale, but his eyes were still bright. Joseph said some useful and useless things to him, and after confirming that he was in good spirits, he stood up to leave.

"Joseph," Jenkins called out to him, "thank you for bringing me back."

Joseph stood in the doorway without turning around. "That's thanks to Flynn. Thank him."

He pushed the door open, went out, and closed it behind him.

Emily was still in the hallway.

She stood by the corridor window, leaning against the wall, reading a note in her hand. Light streamed in through the cracks in the wooden planks, illuminating her gentle profile.

She heard footsteps, looked up, and asked, "How is it?"

"He's fine," Joseph said, "but he talks a lot."

"Being talkative is a good thing," Emily said, closing the record. "It means everything's alright."

The corridor was silent for a second. A breeze blew in through the gaps in the wooden planks, causing the candle flame to flicker.

"Aren't you busy?" Joseph asked.

"The shift has changed," Emily said. "I don't have anything to do for another half hour."

"Shall we take a walk?"

Emily glanced at him, tucked the notes under her arm, and said, "Okay."

**********************

There is a small courtyard on the side of the church, which used to be the priest's vegetable garden. Now, everything that was planted there is long gone, leaving only a few rows of empty furrows and a crooked old apple tree with a few leaves still clinging to its withered branches.

The stone bench was still there; Joseph sat down on it, and Emily sat at the other end, a distance between them.

"To be honest, I wasn't very confident the day Jenkins was brought in," Emily said.

"He's tough," Joseph said. "I know."

How did you know?

"When he was shot in the orchard," Joseph said, "he didn't make a sound. He just sat there, pressing his wound, waiting for us to take out the shooter. Anyone else would have been yelling by now."

Emily looked up at Joseph, then looked away again, returning her gaze to the notes in her hands. She didn't say anything more.

"How long have you been here?" Joseph asked.

“Eight months,” Emily said. “She came from London last July.”

"Did your family agree to you coming here?"

Emily smiled, but the smile didn't look happy. "I disagree. My mother thinks it's undignified, my father thinks it's unsafe, my three brothers think I'm crazy, and my two aunts came to talk to me three times before I left, saying I'd never get married if I continued like this." She paused. "In London, I was the youngest daughter of the Cavendish family, and every day I had to think about which dress to wear, which salon to go to each week, which officer to meet, and which marriage to seriously consider."

She paused, placing her hands on her knees. "But it's different here. Sometimes someone is brought in, and I don't know if they'll make it. All I can do is try my best to save them. When they finally pull through, open their eyes, and say thank you to me, that feeling is something I would never know if I were in London."

Joseph didn't respond immediately, but listened quietly until she finished speaking.

Emily glanced at him sideways. "Don't you think I'm complaining?"

"No," Joseph said, "you're telling the truth."

Emily stared at him for a second, then turned her gaze back to the front. "People who know my background either keep talking about the Cavendish family, afraid of upsetting me, or they see me as just a decoration, thinking that a noble lady like me is here as a battlefield nurse for fun." She raised her chin. "You're different."

“You’re a nurse,” Joseph said. “I saw Nurse Emily, not the youngest daughter of the Cavendish family.”

"Really?" Emily turned her head to look at him, as if to confirm whether he really thought so.

“Really,” Joseph said, meeting her gaze without looking away. “My men—Tom was a stable boy on the plantation, O’Connor was an Irish hunter, Jenkins worked in the bakery, and Will was a poor student who wanted to write poetry. In the trenches, they were all my brothers. I didn’t have time to think about their backgrounds.” He paused. “It’s the same outside the trenches. Background is given by others; you came here because of your own choice. The two things are unrelated.”

Emily didn't speak immediately, she just looked at him, but something in her eyes softened a little.

"How do you think this war will end?" she suddenly asked.

Joseph looked at the stone wall in front of him. "One side will give out first," he said. "It might take a few more years, but it will eventually end."

Are you sure?

“Wars always end,” Joseph said. “There are no wars that don’t end. The only question is the cost.”

"But many more people will die before it's over," Emily said.

Joseph didn't answer. The two sat quietly for a while, the only sound in the yard being the wind.

"Do you regret going to war?" Emily asked.

"Regret solves nothing," Joseph said.

"That's not an answer."

Joseph thought for a moment. "I regret not bringing everyone back. But I don't regret going to the battlefield myself." He paused, then turned to look at her. "What about you?"

Emily met his gaze without looking away. "What I regret are those I couldn't save. But being a nurse here, in itself," she paused, "I'm grateful."

"Being able to feel fortunate means you did what you were supposed to do."

Emily was silent for a moment, then looked at his face. "You talk strangely. It doesn't sound like you're trying to coax someone, nor does it sound like you're just saying polite things."

"I was just stating a fact," Joseph said.

Emily gave a soft laugh.

"Sergeant Lyndon," she said, "after eight months here, I finally feel like I've met a normal person here."

Joseph glanced at her. "Is this the assessment of a normal person?"

Emily paused for a moment, then smiled slightly. "For now."

"What do you plan to do after this war is over?"

"We'll see how things go as we live," Joseph said. "Plans can't keep up with changes."

As darkness fell, a commotion came from the direction of the chapel, and the people changing shifts began to move.

Joseph stood up. "I have to go."

"Okay," Emily stood up, "I'll see you to the door."

As dusk deepened, a faint, dark red glow lingered on the distant horizon, and intermittent cannon fire echoed across the sky, its direction unknown.

Joseph walked down the steps, paused, and turned around.

Emily stood on the steps, at eye level with him, her apron fluttering in the wind.

The two looked at each other for a second.

"Take care," Joseph said.

Emily nodded. "You too."

Joseph turned and walked away, onto the dirt road leading towards the camp.

Emily stood on the steps, watching his figure gradually disappear into the twilight.