Authors: Costeloe Diney
“When?” cried Molly. “When’s this big push?”
Tom shrugged. “Don’t know. No one does, but it’s coming all right. We’ve had no rest even when we’ve been relieved at the front. We’ve been marching, carrying stores, digging trenches and training, training all the time we’ve been in billets, as well as the usual chores.”
“Training? What sort of training?” asked Molly.
“Some of our company have been trained with Lewis guns,” Tom replied. “Special courses teaching them to maintain and clean them. Fix them when they jam. They’re light, those Lewises, a bloke can carry and fire one on his own if he has to. We’ve all had rifle and bayonet practice. Men are moving everywhere, new trenches are being dug, sunken roads built to move stuff up the line out of sight. And all the time the old ones have to be repaired. It’s what we do most of the time when we’re up in the front line. Jerry shells us all day, then at night we have to repair the damage. Some of the older trenches cave right in.” Tom paused for a moment, thinking of the three stinking corpses that had been unearthed from the collapsed wall of the last trench he and his mates had been repairing.
“Christ!” Tony Cook had yelled leaping backwards as what looked like a stinking bag of rubbish fell out at his feet. It was only a decomposing arm with its hand still hanging off, sticking out from the stinking bundle that had told them what they had found. As they had mended the wall of the trench they had re-interred that body and the other two that were with it.
No need to tell Molly about that, he thought, and jerked himself away from the vision of the black-fleshed arm which had slid into his mind. “The wire in front has to be re-laid as well,” he told her. “Has to be fixed up so that the Jerries can’t come through on a raiding party. We go out after dark looking for holes and mending them.”
“And the Germans just let you?” asked Molly.
Tom shook his head. “Nope. But they’re doing exactly the same,” he said, “trying to mend what our gunners have flattened. Flare goes up, everyone freezes, snipers try and pick off a few and then as it gets dark again everyone gets back to work.”
“All for this ‘big push’?” asked Molly faintly.
“Definitely coming,” said Tom. “There’s men coming in from everywhere.”
An angry flurry of rain brought them back to the present and Tom looked up at the sky, lowering grey, filled with rain. “We’re going to get drenched,” he said. “We’ll have to go back, or at least find somewhere to shelter.”
“I know just the place,” Molly cried. She was determined that she wasn’t going back to the confines of the convent yet, for as she listened to Tom’s rumour of the big push and the carnage that must accompany it, Molly had come to a decision. Pulling Tom to his feet, she led him along the path. With their heads down against the wind and the driving rain, they battled their way to the old stone barn where she and Sarah had sat in the autumn to eat their picnics. Laughing, they ducked inside and collapsed amongst the last of the hay that was still stored there. Molly took off her coat and laid it down on the hay, and then Tom pulled her into his arms and they lay together, their bodies close, intensely aware of each other. As he kissed her and Molly returned those kisses, Tom tweaked off her hat and pulled the pins from her hair. It fell round her shoulders, framing her face, and he came up on his elbow to look down at her, his Molly with the shining eyes and the gentle, loving mouth. Even as he looked, she reached for him again, pulling him down so that her mouth could claim his, and he felt her hands pushing at his jacket, sliding in under his shirt to touch his skin.
“Molly!” His voice was ragged and he twisted away. Molly sat up and very deliberately began to unbutton her blouse. He watched as her fingers undid each small white button, as she slipped her shoulders free and shrugged her arms out of the sleeves. He made no move to touch her, but he ached in every inch of his body.
“Molly!” he groaned again, but Molly laid a finger to her lips and unhooked the waistband of her skirt. Without getting to her feet, she slid it deftly down her legs and kicked it free, away over the hay. Dressed only in her chemise she reached out and began the same deft work on his tunic and then the shirt underneath. As she slid the shirt from his shoulders, her fingers ran cool and softly down his arms and then across the skin of his chest. It was, at last, too much and he pushed her back on to the hay, his body hard against hers as he stroked the bare flesh above her chemise, as he pulled the white cotton away, up over her hips, over her shoulders, over her head, leaving her breasts naked and beautiful. He raised his head to look at her, and Molly put her arms up above her head, stretching like a cat, the skin smooth and taut across her breasts and belly. Tom put his finger on her cheek and from there traced a wondering line, circling each breast, touching each eager nipple before moving slowly down her body. The touch of his exploring finger made her quiver. In that moment she heard her father’s gruff voice saying, “Lovely little bubbies you’ve got, Moll,” and she stiffened. Tom looked sharply into her face, but when she saw the anxiety in his eyes she smiled up at him and relaxed again. The memory vanished and she closed her eyes, arching her body towards him. He knelt beside her, his hands wandering lingeringly over her skin until he came to the drawers that still covered her. His fingers came to rest on their waistband and Molly murmured huskily, “Tom. Don’t stop!” Her eyes flew open and he looked into them anxiously.
“We shouldn’t be doing this, Molly,” he said. “Not till we’re married. Not till you’re really my wife.”
Molly slid her hands down his body and played with the fly of his trousers. “We may never be married, Tom,” she said softly. “We have to face reality. You go back tomorrow and I may never see you again. You say there’s a big push coming. You may be killed and we’d never have known what it was to love each other properly, completely. If we never spend another hour together at least we’ll have had this. We’ll have shared our bodies as well as our hearts.” Her fingers, stroking him, aroused him almost beyond endurance. “I want you to make love to me, Tom, so that I can hold this moment to me on the bleak and lonely nights when you’re not there. If you love me, Tom, please make love to me now.”
“I love you, Molly, too much to be doing this to you, but I can’t help myself.” He lowered his head and as they kissed the last of their restraint faded away.
Later, as they lay side by side in the hay listening to the rain still pattering on the roof, Molly curled herself against him and sighed. “I love you, Tom,” she said. “I’ll always love you.”
The wind dashed a flurry of rain in through the open doorway and Molly shivered. Tom said, “You’re cold. You must get dressed. Look at the time, Molly, you’ll be missed.”
“I don’t care,” Molly insisted, but she took her chemise when he handed it to her and put her clothes back on. Tom helped her pin her hair back up with the few hairpins they could salvage from the hay, and then she set her hat on her head. Looking at his watch, she saw that the hours had fled and it was half past six. They stepped out into the rain and hurried back towards the convent. The heavy blanket of grey cloud made the evening dreary, and the wind was cold. They didn’t speak, just huddled together as they walked. When they reached the copse at the end of the track they kissed again.
“I’ll go in through the courtyard door,” Molly said. “It should be open. With luck nearly everyone will be at supper and I won’t be seen.”
“Will you be all right?” Tom asked. “You know I have to leave here at first light.”
“Yes, I know.” Molly was fighting to keep back tears. “I’ll never forget this afternoon,” she said.
“No more will I,” Tom said. “Look after yourself, my darling girl.”
Molly nodded and whispered, “You too.”
They walked quickly up the track to the gate in the convent wall, and with the touch of her hand on his, Molly went through without a backward glance. The courtyard was empty, the ward doors all shut against the cold wet evening. She pulled the gate closed behind her and was just starting across the yard for the door when the door to ward one opened and Sister Marie-Paul emerged carrying a bucket. She looked at Molly in surprise and said, “I thought you were ill.”
“I was, earlier,” Molly replied, “but I felt better and I thought a breath of fresh air would do me good, so I came down into the courtyard.”
“You don’t look ill,” remarked Sister Marie-Paul suspiciously. She had been annoyed when Sister Eloise had sent Molly to rest just because it was the time of the month. Didn’t they all have to contend with that? No one would have dreamed of even mentioning such a thing, let alone going to bed with it. She’d had to work an extra hour because Molly was sick.
“As I said, I feel much better now. Sister Eloise gave me some aspirin. They must have done the trick.”
Sister Marie-Paul sniffed and turned away to empty her bucket in an outside drain and Molly took the chance to scamper inside. Thank goodness Sister Marie-Paul hadn’t come out thirty seconds earlier and caught her actually coming in through the gate.
She gained the safety of their room without meeting anyone else, and with a fast-beating heart she threw herself down on the bed. The note she had left for Sarah had gone, so she must have read it.
Sarah had indeed read the note. When Sister Eloise told her, whilst she was having her midday break, that Molly wasn’t well, Sarah went straight upstairs to find out what was wrong. All she found was an empty room and the note. She read it through incredulously and then a second time with mounting anger. How could Molly do something so deceitful, so stupid and then worse still expect her, Sarah, to cover her tracks?
When she came up to the room at the end of the day she found Molly in bed. “How dare you!” she exploded. “How dare you, Molly Day? You break all the rules we’ve been asked to keep, you creep out in an underhand manner to have a clandestine meeting with a soldier you hardly know, and you expect me to cover it up for you. You expect me to lie for you. ‘No, Sister, she isn’t very well, but I’m sure she’ll be fine tomorrow. No, Sister, she doesn’t want anything to eat just now, I’ll take her a tray up at supper time. Yes, Sister she has been looking a bit peaky. Yes, Sister, I’m sure you are right, sleep is what she needs. Yes, Sister, she was fast asleep when I came down. Please don’t trouble yourself, Sister, I can look after her, you’ve enough on your hands.’ How dare you involve me in your tawdry little affair!” Sarah’s eyes blazed with anger as she stood looking down at Molly. “What have you got to say for yourself, you little slut? What have you to say to me?”
Molly felt the words hit her, battering her like hailstones, so that she almost put up her hands to ward them off.
“I’m sorry, Sarah,” she began, “but I had to go. There’s a big push coming, he may be killed…”
Her voice trailed away as Sarah interrupted. “Sorry isn’t good enough, Molly. I expected more of you than running out to a man like a kitchen maid…” She, too, broke off as she realised what she’d said.
“I am a kitchen maid, Miss Sarah,” Molly pointed out softly. “But that don’t make me a slut. I went to say goodbye to the man I’m going to marry. A man fighting for his king and country, for you and me. A man that’s maybe going to die.”
“Oh, Molly, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” cried Sarah dropping down on to her own bed. “But you shouldn’t have gone, really you shouldn’t. What Reverend Mother would say…”
“She isn’t going to know, Sarah… unless you tell her.”
“Why would I tell her now?” asked Sarah resignedly. “I’ve been lying for you all afternoon. I certainly shan’t be telling her now. Oh Molly, I’ve been so worried about you. Where’ve you been? Surely not to the village? Not to Madame Juliette’s.”
“No, we walked by the river and then when it rained we sheltered in the old stone barn, you know where we used to picnic?”
“Oh, Molly,” Sarah said, not knowing what else to say.
“Thank you, Sarah, for standing by me.”
Molly held out her hand and Sarah took it with a reluctant grin. “Don’t ever put me in that position again, Molly,” she said. “Has he gone back now?”
Molly nodded. Sarah’s burst of anger had at least served to deflect her thoughts for a moment or two, now she felt the tears pricking the backs of her eyes. “Yes, he leaves at first light. But next time we meet I’ll be of age and we’ll be able to get married.”
“What’s this ‘big push’?” asked Sarah and Molly told her what Tom had said.
“So I suppose Freddie will be in it too.”
“I suppose so,” Molly said uncertainly. “Well they’re in the same company, aren’t they? So he must be in it too. Tom says there are men being brought in from everywhere. A load arrived from Egypt the other day. I bet they notice the difference in heat.”
“I had a letter from Freddie, today,” Sarah said. “Heather, his wife, is going to have a baby. It’s due in September.” She looked bleakly at Molly. “He may never see it.”
“Now, come on, Sarah, this big push is going to end the war. Our boys are going to shove them Germans right back into Germany where they belong.”
“Those Germans,” Sarah corrected her absently.
“Yes, well those an’ all!”
They both laughed at that and when at last they put out the light and lay as always with their thoughts, it wasn’t very long before both had drifted off into sleep.
15th June
Dearest Tom
I got your last letter and am glad you’re safely back in billets, though it sounds as if you are very busy. I know you can’t tell me much because of the censor, but it is nice to know that you are safe. Thank you for the snap, you look very spruce!
I have some news for you, Tom, which I hope will please you, but may cause us a problem as well. It is difficult to explain how I feel so I’d better just tell you straight. You are going to be a father. I am going to have a baby. I know we planned to have children, but it will be difficult over here. I will have to go home, dear Tom and have our baby there. No one else knows yet, not even Sarah, as nothing shows and I am keeping well, thank goodness. I am sure that they are not handing out leave at present, but if you could manage to get 48 hours I could meet you somewhere and we could get married. I know you will stick by me, dear Tom, whatever happens, but I would like the baby to have your name, and this may be the last time we could get married for a while. Now I am 21 my father has no say.