by Evelyn James
Lina took out a handkerchief from her pocket and hastily held it to her mouth as a sob escaped her lips.
“I’ll never be free of this grief, never. Whoever stole Christian from me, whatever the reason… I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t…”
Chapter Seventeen
Dr Jacobs lived in a chalet-style house. It looked newly built and the garden was still at that stage of development when everything looks undergrown and plain. A polite handwritten notice on the garden path asked visitors not to step on the grass as it had only just been laid. Since the path was not very wide, Tommy and Colonel Brandt walked up it in single-file.
The door to the house was on the left-hand side, not in the middle, and the right-hand wall was split by two large windows. They bulged outwards, giving a good view of the garden. An older gentleman was sitting in one of these windows, reading a book and smoking a large pipe. He spotted his visitors before they were halfway down the path and rose to greet them. Tommy reached the door before Dr Jacobs and wondered if he should knock or not. It seemed the polite thing to do, but was also rather redundant as they had been spotted. His quandary was resolved by Dr Jacobs opening the door before he could reach a decision.
“Good afternoon,” the doctor appeared curious, but also concerned.
Tommy imagined the man was asked to help with medical emergencies on occasion. He was a surgeon, after all, and would probably be summoned to deal with any injuries and urgent operations in the town.
“Tommy Fitzgerald,” Tommy introduced himself. “And this is Colonel Brandt. Sorry to intrude, but we wondered if you could spare us a moment of your time? We are looking into the disappearance of Father Lound in 1917 on behalf of his family.”
Dr Jacobs relaxed a little as he realised no one was sick or dying. He smiled.
“Come in,” he said. “I think I understand why you are here.”
He led them into the chalet, which appeared to be a sort of shrine to an active, outdoor life. Tommy had never seen so many pairs of skis in his life, they were hanging on the walls, propped up in corners – one pair was even being used as a coat rack. At the end of the slender entrance hall were several sleds, tilted against a wall and laying one atop the other like playing cards. Further in there were pairs of skates hanging from hooks and black and white photographs of a man Tommy guessed was Dr Jacobs in action. He appeared to have won a lot of prizes for winter sports.
The sitting room where they had first spotted the surgeon was also decorated with a great number of photographs. More than Tommy had ever seen in one place at a time. Photography was still something of a novelty, and mainly left to professionals. Tommy was absolutely certain there were not this many photographs in the whole of his house at Brighton, let alone on one wall. They were fighting for room with a large bookcase that dominated the back wall and seemed to be filled with a mix of titles on medicine and outdoor pursuits. Just to finish off the eclectic nature of the arrangement there were more than a dozen glass display cases containing a variety of animal and bird skeletons. These were presumably from Dr Jacobs’ days as an anatomist. Two of the cases contained human bones; one was a carefully laid out skeletal hand, showing every bone, down to the smallest, in the correct place. The other was a human skull which stared at them with empty eye sockets.
Tommy was not sure how anyone could relax in a room with that particular item present.
“Would you like coffee? I shall make some,” Dr Jacobs ushered his guests to chairs and then went away to the kitchen at the back of the house.
Colonel Brandt didn’t sit down, his natural curiosity took him straight to the human skull. He examined it carefully for a while, before taking a seat.
“Anyone you know?” Tommy asked him.
“I just wondered, what with those bones in the woods being unidentified…” Brandt did not finish his hypothesis that Dr Jacobs had somehow acquired the skull of the murder victim found near the shrine of St Helena. “But it is not. There is no sign of a bullet wound.”
Dr Jacobs returned with the coffee on a tray. He set it down, smiling at his guests.
“You are English?” He asked. “I heard you talking together.”
“We are,” Tommy nodded. “From Brighton, actually.”
“I don’t know the place,” Dr Jacobs shrugged. “I have never been to England. I must one day.”
He poured coffee and offered them cream and sugar, before taking up his now cold pipe and relighting it.
“I smoke too much,” he said with a grin. “Now, I think you are here about the bones in the woods, yes?”
“Yes,” Tommy smiled back. “Chief Inspector Peeters has been helping us. He said you were the surgeon who examined the bones. We’ve read the case file on them, but some of the medical details confused us.”
Dr Jacobs’ grin broadened.
“Medical jargon,” he said. “I can explain whatever you want. You want to know if the body could be that of Father Lound?”
The man was certainly astute.
“Yes,” Tommy continued. “There was never a formal identification of the body.”
“No, that was not possible,” Dr Jacobs became thoughtful. “Bones can tell you an awful lot, but not necessarily a man’s name. For instance, see that skull I keep on the sideboard? What does that tell you about the person it came from, hmm?
“It tells me that the person was in their forties or early fifties when they died. The teeth were worn badly at the back and suggest a rough diet involving a lot of hard food that needed heavy chewing. There are also several missing teeth and one that had a long-term abscess beneath it. There is wear to the teeth on the left that suggests a pipe smoker.”
Dr Jacobs flicked his nail at his own pipe, making a sharp noise.
“I shall have the same groove. I can look at the lines on the top of the skull, the fissure lines, and assess age by how well they have fused. I can tell all these physical things. I can say the man suffered with his teeth and was from a poor background who had a rough diet, but can I tell you a name? What his profession was? Whether he liked fish or beef? Whether he was married? No, none of this. He remains an anonymous specimen. In fact, I cannot really say if he was a man or a woman. I think the skull has masculine features, and the circumstances of how it was found suggests a man, but I could be wrong.”
“Where did it come from?” Colonel Brandt’s fascination was obvious.
“Some boys found it in a field, about five miles from here. The fighting got that close to us, you know?” Dr Jacobs looked unsettled for a moment, uneasy memories returning. “The fields often turn up relics from the war. The ploughs pull up unexploded shells, which are pretty scary to find. Very occasionally we find bones. They must be from men who died and sank in the mud before their comrades could retrieve their corpses.”
Tommy had grown silent. The talk was bringing back a painful memory of a time he had lain on a battlefield, badly wounded, the mud seeming to be eating him slowly. He had not sure been if he would die from exposure, thirst, drowning in the mud, or an unlucky shell blast. The hours had been torture, his nerves had been wrung out and there was no going back. He had been found, by some miracle, but the damage was done.
The skull on Dr Jacob’s cabinet had taken on a whole new meaning. Here was a man who had lain in the mud, maybe he had been lucky and died instantly, maybe he had not. Maybe he had bled to death in the mud, or frozen to death, or met his end in a dozen unpleasant ways. Only for his skull to be found years later and placed on display.
Dr Jacobs had been watching Tommy. He seemed to know the thoughts going through his mind.
“The boys saw something in the soil of the field and found our friend over there,” he said, his tone serious. “Beneath the skull was a battered German helmet. I was summoned and the area was examined for further bones, but to no avail. No one was sure what to do next. There were protests about burying the fellow in the local graveyard. There is a great bitterness towards Germans here, I imagine i
t is the same in many places in Belgium. A few people wanted to smash the skull to pieces. In the end, I said I would take the head and use it as a medical specimen. It meant it was saved from destruction. One day I like to think I will work out who he was and restore him to his family. Until then, he sits here, safe.
“I hope you can understand that? Better than sitting in a field or being destroyed.”
Tommy felt as though the world had taken a step back, as if he was wrapped up inside himself and everything else was not real. The room was not real. Dr Jacobs was not real. And the skull… Everything was like a dream.
His hands had tensed in his lap, knotted into tight fists. He was trying to control the rage and hurt that boiled within him. It was not rage at Dr Jacobs, or at the presence of the German skull, it was an unfathomable sensation. A rage he could not fix on any one thing, but which seemed to dwell within and try to explode every now and then. He was struggling to take a deep breath and restore his own sense of calm.
This was the reason he had feared coming to Belgium. He was terrified of his inner emotions; they were too raw, too violent. They seemed to want to control him and take him over. Rationality lost its grip and he became something else, some creature driven by instincts and a self-destructive will. He hated this side of himself and had suppressed it hard, only for it to now spring forth and knock down all the barriers he had built up.
“My friend, are you all right?” Dr Jacobs asked him gently.
Tommy could not answer, he was gritting his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. As if from another room he heard Colonel Brandt speaking.
“Tommy served in the war. He was badly injured. Being back here…”
“I understand,” Dr Jacobs’ said, and his tone did sound sympathetic. “Let us not sit here anymore, let me take you for a walk. I think we should get some fresh air and meet a nice lady who might be able to help your friend.”
Tommy couldn’t move. He felt fixed rigid. Dr Jacobs rose and placed a hand firmly on Tommy’s shoulder.
“Tommy Fitzgerald, sitting here will not chase away the demons that haunt you. Come with me, please.”
Tommy wasn’t sure his legs would work. They felt numb. He had been shot in his legs, that was how he ended up lying in French mud. For years after the war he thought he was permanently crippled, until a good doctor convinced him his injury was a mental one, not a physical one. He had learned to walk again, breaking down a blockade he had built in his own mind. Now, suddenly, that block had resurfaced and he didn’t know how to remove it.
“I…” he wasn’t sure how to explain, he seemed frozen, his muscles refusing to respond. He didn’t want to say he couldn’t move, but he was not sure how else to articulate his thoughts.
“Tommy…” Colonel Brandt had started to speak when there was the sound of a door being brashly opened and a young voice echoed through the house.
“Grandpapa!” A young girl burst into the room. She was about ten and had pigtails tied with red ribbons and a floral dress. “Grandpapa, I have fresh bread and cake. Mama said to bring it!”
The girl had rushed forward saying all this, only to suddenly realise her grandfather had guests.
“Oops!” She declared loudly, and then darted back to the kitchen chuckling to herself.
Dr Jacobs shook his head and sighed indulgently.
“Oh, the enthusiasm of youth! My friend, I apologise for the interruption.”
Tommy, however, was thinking how fortuitous the child’s arrival had been. Her sudden sharp voice, so alive and bold had cut straight through his own anxieties and mental block. Her arrival had brought the world sharply back into focus, just as if a photographer had turned the lens of his camera and magically made an image come into view. Tommy’s demons receded. He twitched his leg. He could still feel them. He let out a long breath, his chest still tight and his teeth sore from the clenching of his jaws.
“Don’t apologise,” he said, getting his mouth to work again. “She reminded me that I am still alive.”
He rose stiffly from the chair, relieved that his legs still knew how to bear his weight. That had been a frightening moment.
“I think we should still go for a walk,” Dr Jacobs was smiling again. “I always walk in the afternoon, it is good for the blood.”
He ushered his guests into the kitchen, where his granddaughter was putting away the things she had brought. She turned to Tommy and lowered her eyes.
“Sorry monsieur.”
“Come for a walk, Olivia,” Dr Jacobs said. “We are going to the woods. These men are from England. Our friend here was a soldier in the war and deserves our great thanks.”
Olivia’s eyes widened.
“A real soldier?” She asked Tommy.
He found he was smiling as he nodded. Olivia gave him a very long look, as if she was not sure he was entirely real.
“You look awfully young to be a soldier.”
“Olivia, really!” Dr Jacobs laughed.
“He does look young grandpapa! He is not as old as mother or father. I always thought soldiers were old people!”
Tommy started to laugh, he couldn’t help it. The child was so brazen. Behind him Colonel Brandt snorted.
“Well, my dear, what about me? I was a soldier too.”
Olivia looked at him, her eyes full of mischief.
“I think you tease me, monsieur.”
“Aren’t I old enough?” Brandt smirked.
“Oh, but you are too old!” Olivia laughed. “You must be the same age as grandpapa!”
“And I, apparently, am ancient,” Dr Jacobs rolled his eyes. “Come on Olivia, show us the way.”
Olivia bounced out the door, followed by her grandfather and the two Englishmen.
“A few more years and the boys of this town are going to be in trouble,” Tommy said to the doctor as they left the house.
Dr Jacobs groaned
“Yes, that is what I fear.”
Chapter Eighteen
They walked into the woods that bordered the town. Dr Jacobs explained that once they had been more extensive, but the heavy shelling during the war had reduced them dramatically. Tommy recalled the stunted forests he had come across in those days. Trees stripped of every leaf and branch, many fallen or burned to ruin. The landscape was recovering, but it would take a long time. It was good, however, to hear the birds singing. To know that they were returning and carrying on with life as normal. Tommy remembered the momentary peace hearing a bird singing during a break in the shelling could bring. It was as if the madness had stopped just for an instant.
The path they took through the woods had been well-tended by someone. Olivia skipped ahead, occasionally pausing to watch a bird or squirrel in the trees. She seemed to be full of energy.
“I feared for her during the war,” Dr Jacobs confided. “She was so young. I thought the horrors of it all might leave their mark. Maybe they did, maybe it is why she is so resolved to live every moment to the utmost.”
“Youth is surprisingly resilient,” Colonel Brandt observed.
“I hope you are right,” Dr Jacobs said. “Our friend here has that on his side.”
Tommy had been watching a sparrow high up in the trees and jerked his head back when he heard this comment.
“It is not far to the shrine,” Dr Jacobs smiled at him. “I recommend everyone to come here just once. There is something indefinable about the place. There is a peace to it that was preserved even during the war. Call me an old fool, but I believe a certain spiritual magic lingers here.
“Our friend, back at my house, I brought him here. I placed his skull before St Helena and asked that his soul might have peace. I promised I would look after his bones. I believe that was the right thing to do.”
“Most of the doctors I know could care less about religion,” Tommy said. “They consider it wrong for a man of science to even consider such things.”
“Oh, but this is not about religion,” Dr Jacobs grinned. “I told you, this is magic
.”
Up ahead the trees were falling back, and a clearing was emerging. Olivia was collecting up wildflowers. When she had a suitable bunch, she took them over to a stone structure that looked rather like an ancient Roman temple in miniature, raised up on a plinth. Inside was a wooden statue, painted in lifelike detail, though being out in the elements had worn some of the paint away. Olivia, with respectful care, placed the flowers at the feet the statue. Then she hopped over to Tommy and took his hand.
“This way, monsieur. I want you to meet a friend, her name is Helena and she will make you better.”
She led Tommy to the aging statue. The figure was of a young woman wearing biblical clothes and with her head tilted down perhaps in meditation or benediction. Her hands were clasped before her in prayer. Tommy felt uneasy.
“I’m not Catholic.”
“That doesn’t matter. St Helena hears all hearts,” Dr Jacobs appeared at his shoulder.
Olivia pressed a flower into his hand.
“You should kneel,” she instructed solemnly.
Tommy hesitated, but the serious look on the child’s face somehow made him feel like he should obey. He crouched down, somewhat stiffly as his legs were never going to be fully healed from his injuries. Everyone had gone very quiet.
“Now what?” Tommy asked.
“Just ask St Helena for her blessing,” Dr Jacobs said softly. “It doesn’t have to be a formal prayer, just speak with your heart. We will give you a moment.”
Olivia was ushered away by her grandfather and Tommy heard Colonel Brandt leaving too. He was alone before the statue his thoughts running wild.
Tommy had retained his spirituality throughout the war. He was not sure why, when so many others had lost God, he had found him. But that was how it had been. That wasn’t to say he was particularly religious. He did not attend church on Sundays or regularly say his prayers, but he did believe there was a higher power at work in the world. It was a complicated feeling, one he found hard to put into words.
