The Lost Soldier (26 page)

Molly still had grave reservations about God. He seemed to her to be entirely irrelevant to what was happening in the war-torn world about them, but she could see that her time in the chapel was important to Sarah, and so she said no more.

It was two Sundays later that they paused outside the gate. Tom had tucked Molly’s arm through his as they walked the short distance in the dark from the camp to the convent, and Molly could feel the warmth of his body against her own in the chill of the evening. Just before they reached the gate Tom stopped and pulling Molly aside from the path turned her towards him. Her face was a pale oval in the darkness, turned up to him half-expectantly, and he slipped his good arm round her, drawing her against him. He looked down into her face and though he could not see her expression in the dark, she made no move to pull away. As his arm tightened round her, her pale face under its Sunday hat tilted towards him and he felt her arms slide up and round his neck. He lowered his head and very gently kissed first her forehead and then her lips. For a moment her lips were cool and dry against his own, then to his delight they parted and she returned his kiss. After a moment they drew apart, a little breathless.

“Molly?” Tom whispered, wonder in his voice.

“I’m here, Tom,” she answered softly.

“You didn’t mind?”

“No, I wanted you to.” Molly stifled a laugh and added, “I shouldn’t say that, should I?”

“Why not if it’s true? Is it true, Molly?”

For answer Molly pulled his head down, and this time she kissed him first.

They stood together, their world contained in their embrace. Even as they stood there, each held close to the other, Molly thought, I’ve held him in my arms before, but it felt nothing like this.

“I’ve never walked out with anyone, Molly,” Tom told her, “you’re my first girl… if you’ll be my girl?”

She smiled up at him in the darkness and whispered, “Oh yes, please, Tom.”

She believed what he said. She knew he was shy, not the sort to have been consorting with girls like some of the other lads. She had never walked out with anyone either. This was the first man she had ever allowed near her except her father, and with him it wasn’t a question of allowing him. She wondered again, if she could ever tell Tom about that, but doubted that she could. For the moment that didn’t matter; for now it was enough to feel his arms around her, to feel protected and safe. Safe within the circle of his arms she felt she would never need to feel afraid of her father, or anyone, again, and she gave herself over to the new and wonderful sensations that were sweeping through her body as he kissed her hard and long.

This time when they drew apart he said, “I love you, Molly Day.”

Molly didn’t answer, simply laid her head on his chest, nestling against him like a child, not wanting the moment to end. The wonderful moment was short-lived; from the other side of the wall there was noise, raised voices, and the spell was broken. Reluctantly Tom released her and Molly said urgently, “We must go back. Something’s happening.”

She hurried to the gate and saw at once that more wounded were arriving. Men were being led round from the front of the building and brought into the wards at the back.

“Looks like I’m needed,” she said briefly over her shoulder and without a backward glance headed directly to ward one, where Sister Eloise handed her an apron to cover her church clothes and a clean cap to replace her hat and the work began.

Molly was up most of the night helping with the influx of men. “How will we fit all these in?” she asked Sister Marie-Paul as they tried to sort the waiting men out.

“Those go up to restoration,” Sister Marie-Paul nodded over Molly’s shoulder. Molly glanced round and saw six of their patients, almost all of those who were able to move, collecting their few possessions and leaving the ward. Two novices were hard at work stripping and making up the beds with fresh sheets.

Used to be my job, Molly thought, but she knew that Sister Eloise needed her for the nursing side of things now, and she turned back to look at their next patient. As she helped strip and wash the man Pierre had lifted up on to the examination table, peeling away the filthy bandage that covered a jagged wound in his shoulder, her thoughts were concentrated on the job in hand and it was only later when she and Sarah were once more creeping into their beds for a few hours’ sleep, that she thought what the consequences of clearing the ward might be for Tom. They would need space for the men who had moved into restoration. Almost certainly Tom would have been sent to the convalescent camp. She felt suddenly cold. Once he was in the camp it would not be long before he was sent back to his regiment. Everyone knew of the huge losses suffered during the fighting at Loos in September, and though the onset of winter had halted any major confrontation with the Germans and there was a dreadful stalemate in the trenches, it was also common knowledge that the British army was desperate to bring its number up to strength. Private Thomas Carter of the 1st Belshires would be sent back to the lines the moment he was considered fit for duty.

The time he spent in the restoration ward had worked wonders. Tom’s gaunt face had filled out a little, his skin no longer stretched, a pale shade of parchment over his cheek bones, but had regained its normal, healthy colour. His arm had regained much of its movement and the film of constant pain no longer covered his eyes. He would probably spend only a comparatively short time in the camp.

Molly knew it had to come. They had talked of it, but only as a distant prospect. Now, she felt, it was about to become a reality.

This very evening, Molly thought, Tom had told her he loved her. She had not responded, not in words at least. She had not reassured him with a declaration of her own. Why not, she wondered? She had never been in love before, had no experience with men at all, but as the prospect of losing Tom back to the trenches stared her in the face she finally accepted what she had known for some time, that she loved him and couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. How she wished now that she had told him so. He had been braver than she, telling her of his love without being sure she returned it. She lay in bed in an agony of despair. She wouldn’t be able to see him again until Sunday, but suppose they had moved him on before then? Suppose they decided that he was fit to go and she never saw him again? He might be killed and she would never know.

I must see him, she thought. I’ll go over to the camp. We’ve done it before.

So they had, but always she and Sarah together and not recently. She would not be permitted to go on her own, and what reason could she give for wanting to? If she asked permission it was unlikely to be granted as Mother would know that Tom was now in the camp, and if she risked going without asking she might find she was banned from going on a Sunday. Since she had begun her meetings with Tom, she’d had the feeling she was being watched by the nuns. Was it her imagination, or was Sister Marie-Paul whispering about her to Sister Eloise, or worse still Reverend Mother? Result of an uneasy conscience, Molly told herself firmly. After all, she had no evidence that they were keeping watch on her, but what little time off duty she had enjoyed before had been cut to a minimum. Necessity, Sister Eloise called it when she regretted on several occasions, that Molly and Sarah would not be able to have their free time to go to the village. How could she get a message to him? Molly drifted off to sleep at last and when she awoke the answer seemed obvious. Perfectly simple. She would write to him and post the letter to the camp. Soldiers received mail all the time; it was important for morale and the service was good. Yet even as this solution came to her she had to reject it. First, because mail for the troops had to be sent to a special address and she didn’t know what it was, and, second, there was no way for her to get the letter posted. Molly had not been in the habit of writing letters, but Sarah posted hers when they went down to the village. As they hadn’t been able to go recently Molly knew Sarah’s letters had been entrusted to one of the lay workers who came in every day, but Molly knew she couldn’t entrust her with a letter addressed to a soldier, it might go straight back to Reverend Mother. She’d have to wait until Sunday, six whole days of not knowing.

Pale with dark smudges under her eyes from lack of sleep, Molly prepared for another day. The creeping grey dawn was cold, as she and Sarah dressed quickly, neither wanting to linger over their chilly ablutions.

“Do you think they sent everyone from restoration over to the camp last night?” Molly, who was brushing her hair, tried to make her question sound casual.

Sarah looked at her quizzically. “Most of them I should think, why?”

“I was just wondering,” Molly sounded unconvincing even to her own ears. She watched Sarah in the mirror, whilst steadily brushing her hair. “We sent six up to restoration from our ward, and other wards must have had to do the same.”

“We sent three,” Sarah said. “I suppose they’d have to send some across anyway.” She looked across at Molly and said, “Anyone in particular?”

“Anyone in particular what?”

“Molly, you’ve been miles away the past couple of weeks. I haven’t been able to get near you, and,” she added with a sudden smile, “so much church on a Sunday evening? What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Molly’s answer came a little too quickly. Sarah noticed the colour creeping into her friend’s face, but she didn’t push her. She was sure that Molly had somehow got herself involved with one of the patients, one who must have already moved on from her ward, so she simply said, “I’ll try and find out how many were sent across… but a name would help.”

There was a pause, and then Molly said softly “Tom Carter, Harry Cook’s friend.”

“Can’t you ask yourself?” suggested Sarah. “Sister Marie-Paul knows most things.” It was from Sister Marie-Paul that Sarah had already had a hint about Molly and a patient.

“She is your friend,” Sister Marie-Paul’s little eyes had lit up with the whiff of scandal. “I thought you should know. To be interested in a patient is not
comme il faut
.” Unknowingly, she echoed the words of Reverend Mother, and Sister Bernadette. Nothing between patient and nurse was
comme il faut
Sarah thought wryly, yet surely something warmer than a brisk and clinical relationship which the nuns seemed to advocate must help with the healing. All she had said was, “You clearly know more than I do, Sister.”

A little disappointed, Sister Marie-Paul had gone on her way. Remembering this incident, Sarah said now, “No, on second thoughts, better not. I think you should watch what you say to Sister Marie-Paul. She’s, well, I’m not sure I trust her.”

“Nor do I,” Molly admitted. “I always feel she is watching me. It’s probably my imagination, but I certainly don’t want to give her ideas.”

“Don’t worry,” Sarah said, “I’ll do my best to find out from someone, but it may not be today.” She suddenly broke into a huge beam. “Freddie’s coming today.”

“Oh, Sarah,” Molly was conscience stricken. She had been so tied up with her own thoughts and problems, she had entirely forgotten that Sarah’s brother was coming to visit her that day. “I’d forgotten it was today. You must be so excited. How awful I forgot!”

“Don’t be silly,” Sarah said cheerfully. “But I am excited. I haven’t seen him since February. Reverend Mother has said he can take me out for lunch.” She gave Molly a quick hug and said, “I can’t
wait
to see him.”

The two girls were in very different moods as they set to work that morning. Sarah was excited and light-hearted as she went about the tasks. Nothing seemed too mundane today as she scrubbed bed pans, made beds and cleaned up the ward.

“You’re in a good mood, today, Nurse,” said Corporal Evans as she moved him into a chair so that she could make his bed.

“My brother’s coming to see me,” she told him. “He’s coming down from the front. I haven’t seen him since February. I’ve been given the afternoon off. We’re going out to lunch.”

“No time for chatter, Nurse,” Sister Bernadette said as she passed along the ward, “especially as you have the afternoon off.”

“Silly cow,” remarked Corporal Evans conversationally. He hadn’t understood the French, but he’d understood the tone of voice. When Sarah said, “Hush, Corporal, you mustn’t call her that,” he gave Sarah a broad wink. “Hope you enjoy yourself, miss,” he said as she moved to next bed.

Sarah treated him to a dazzling smile and said, “Don’t worry, I will!”

Molly went about her work like an automaton, her mind whirling with thoughts of Tom, and it wasn’t until one of her patients, a cheerful cockney lad whose foot had been amputated, called to her, “Cheer up, Nurse, you look like a wet weekend,” that she pulled herself together and began to concentrate on what she was doing. She longed to ask about the men in the restoration ward, but she knew it would be better to leave it to Sarah, even if it meant not knowing where he was until the next day.

Though she was busy, the morning crawled for Sarah, but just before twelve o’clock Sister Bernadette came and found her putting dirty linen into the laundry baskets.

“It is time you went,” she said, not unkindly. “Your brother will be here soon. You’ll want to change.”

Sarah was surprised that the nun, whom she always felt despised her for some reason, had taken the trouble to send her off. She smiled at her and said, “Thank you, Sister.”

Sister Bernadette did not quite return the smile, but said gruffly, “I hope you enjoy your afternoon.”

It was a wonderful afternoon. Freddie had driven up to the convent in a battered old car and was waiting in the bleak little parlour where Sarah and Molly had first met Sister St Bruno. He turned as Sarah opened the door and she flung herself into his arms.

“Oh Freddie,” she cried as she hugged him, “it’s so good to see you! Let me look at you. You’re looking well, very well.” Indeed he was, tall and broad shouldered, with his fair hair neatly cut, his uniform clean and well-fitting. His open face with its mobile mouth and determined chin, was strong and good looking, and his deep-set eyes were alight with happiness at seeing her. She hugged him again. “You look very smart.”