by Jana Petken
Danny was taken aback. “Captain, sir,” he muttered, “thank you for saving my life.”
Kevin looked closely at the wounds, silent and with an unfathomable expression. Danny sat still, eyes closed and in agony. It hurt to think and to talk, but regardless of the pain, his mind was working at full speed, wondering what he should say or ask. Jenny sprang to mind. He could just picture her face, learning that Kevin was alive and that he’d saved her wee brother’s life.
“Private Carmody, open your eyes,” Kevin said.
“I can’t …”
“Try. I have to see if your sight has been affected.”
Danny held his eyes open as wide as possible.
For a moment, Kevin’s eyes bore into Danny’s, and then he moved his index finger in front of them, from left to right.
“Everything has misted over. I’m seeing outlines, nothing more,” Danny said. “The pain …”
“You’ll need to be evacuated. That head of yours should have been stitched up hours ago. You’ve got chlorine and mustard burns on your face, your eyes are burnt, and you probably have head trauma. You’re off the field for a while. I’m going to recommend that you be sent home to Blighty. You’re of no use to anyone like this.”
Danny felt his stomach turn over with happiness. He was going home to Anna. Home – away from all this death. His eyes watered with disbelief. It was a miracle, a grand miracle that he had survived.
Focusing his half-closed eyes on Kevin’s face as he worked, Danny wondered again how he could begin a very difficult but important conversation. Something in Kevin’s voice had given his feelings away: hurt, bitterness, hatred? No, not hatred. Something else – pride, perhaps. Whatever it was, he was not being very friendly.
“I have to speak freely, Kevin. Let me tell you before they take me away?”
Kevin stared at Danny with a pensive expression, and then he nodded. “Make it quick. Don’t talk too much. Your lips are bleeding.”
“Things are not what you think.”
“And what do I think?”
Danny moaned with pain. “Jenny isn’t bad. She didn’t hurt you.”
Kevin grunted but carried on cleaning the wound. “I rarely think about her nowadays.”
Danny didn’t believe him and kept going. “She sent you a letter months ago, explaining.”
Kevin stopped what he was doing. “I read it. I suppose she’s married now.”
“No, the other letter … It was all a mistake. My mam wrote to you.” Danny knew he wasn’t making much sense, but he was trying to speak with as few words as possible. His lips were cracking. They were so swollen that it was difficult to open them, and he felt sick.
“Don’t talk any more, Danny. I’m going to bandage your eyes now. I’ll come to see you later today at the dressing station. We’ll talk then.”
Panicking when the bandage was being wrapped around his head and eyes, Danny involuntarily lifted his arm to stop Kevin. Afraid to be in darkness, to lose all control, to lose his sight forever, his voice became urgent. “Oh God, get me out of here!”
“You’re going to be all right. Don’t fight this,” Kevin said.
Danny sat still, gasping with the terror of being blind. Hammers thumped at his head, and he felt nauseous.
“This is something for the pain,” Kevin said.
Danny felt the prick of the needle in his arm, and his mind floated blissfully away moments later.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Kevin sat in a comfortable chair in the dugout. Peace and quiet reigned. He looked at the homely decorations, including a rather stunning painting, and a glass decanter of much-needed alcohol, to which he could treat himself. And right in front of him, a wood stove was burning brightly. He gulped down the remains of bourbon in a tin cup, recently presented to him by an American doctor. He should be sipping it. He could only have the one tot, and it had to last all night, but to hell with it – he needed to feel it burn his gullet as it poured into him. He needed to get drunk.
One more night and it would be all over. He let out an anxious sigh. He was going home the next morning, not just for a week’s leave but for the foreseeable future. Back to the Charing Cross Hospital and to civilisation. He had fought his last battle, survived against the odds and law of averages, if he counted all the near misses. He had twelve hours to get through without being blown up, shot at, or gassed to death. He found those thoughts terrifying; to be so close to the end, to his salvation, yet knowing that hours still remained and that anything could happen between now and then. He might be killed by surprise mortar fire. The dugout’s ceiling might collapse on top of him. Those imaginings seemed harder on the mind than facing just another day on the Western Front.
“God bless America,” he mumbled, drinking the last of the dregs. As predicted, the British had failed to conserve their supply of physicians and surgeons, allowing both doctors and medical students to fight on the lines. Since the previous spring, a serious shortage of medical officers had been confronting them on the battlefield and at home. Had it not been for a British mission sent to Washington to beg for medical staff, he would not be going anywhere. He had heard a rumour that Balfour, the head of the delegation, had asked for doctors before guns and soldiers. Asking for one thousand qualified physicians, he had been offered two thousand. Kevin was convinced that the arrival of the Americans in the war had saved his life. Without them, this place would have been his eventual grave, for the army would have worked him until death like the horses rotting and stinking in the ground.
His mind wandered to Danny. Seeing him that day had been shocking and discomforting. Dredging up Jenny and the humiliation that went with her had been a hard pill to swallow. He didn’t want her and her family to be in his thoughts or resurface in his life. He’d taken enough steps to forget them. Was this a bad omen? he wondered. Had their reacquaintance been fate or coincidence? Surely no coincidence could be that precise or timely.
He’d been checking on the wounded in the trench after donning his gas mask when his eyes had caught a man struggling. Looking like a drunkard with a face bright red with blood, thrashing his arms about in slow motion, and gulping for air, the wounded soldier had clearly been seconds from death. Kevin shook his head in wonder. A twist of fate – it had to be. There were hundreds of thousands of British soldiers in Flanders, yet he just happened to come across Danny Carmody, dying in front of him. It was divine intervention.
He went to his kitbag and pulled out the letters. Many times he’d thought about ripping them up, yet he still carried them around with him unopened, like battle scars. The first one of the two to arrive had been Patrick’s, followed shortly after by another with Minnie’s address on the back. He didn’t recognise the writing. Both had come shortly after his last leave, almost a year ago and only weeks after he had seen John and Jenny together. He hadn’t wanted to read them. He’d seen no need to put himself through any more embarrassment, yet in the back of his mind, he knew he would someday. I’m sorry, Kevin. Jenny didn’t mean to hurt you. You should know how she behaves by now. Are you finally going to forget about her? Those were Patrick’s opening sentences. He could picture the words.
He stared pensively at the landscape oil painting, stolen by the Germans, no doubt, from the nearby village. It was a calming scene, inviting, and unlike the burnt-out world he’d lived in for almost a year and a half, it brought a sense of hope. He was going home to Ireland for a week. He intended to walk across fields and hills more beautiful than those on the canvas. Once there, he’d put all this behind him and with it his lengthy attachment to Jenny Carmody. But in order to do that, he now had to find out what the hell Danny had been talking about earlier. He had made mention of his mother – that she’d written and that it had all been a mistake. What had been a mistake? Looking more closely at the second letter, he felt his curiosity overshadowing his determination not to open it.
Dear Kevin,
You are a reasonable man so I am appealing to yo
ur sense of fairness and good judgement. I suspect you are both angry and hurt, possibly confused, and like me, wishing that we had told each other how we felt before you left all those months ago. Please read this all the way to the end before you judge me.
Kevin stopped reading, went straight to the second page, and scrolled down to the bottom.
I beg of you. Give me the opportunity and occasion to explain in person what my heart feels.
Jenny
The pages trembled in his hands. Jenny wrote it, not her mother? Confusion spread through him. Feelings that he’d buried were resurfacing all over again. His heartbeat quickened, excitement was stirring, and he felt that elusive sensation of hope strengthening. Taking a deep breath, he read on …
When he had finished reading the entire letter, he went to his bunk. Other officers in the dugout were playing a rowdy game of poker. He couldn’t think straight. Lying down, he went over every word again. It was inconceivable, like a fairy tale he knew he shouldn’t believe because it couldn’t possibly be true. He had been blinded by love, but he had never thought himself a gullible man – or a stupid one. It now appeared that he was both.
He opened Patrick’s letter and eyed it greedily. It verified Jenny’s account – that her mother and granny had conspired together and that Jenny had never written a single letter, apart from the one he had just read. Jenny’s claim that she was in love with him was also confirmed in Patrick’s letter. Patrick had also apologised profusely for his mother’s behaviour.
For a moment, he stared unseeingly at the wooden ceiling. His deployment had officially ended. He had his discharge papers from the battalion commander and was free to move back to the base hospital. The only thing that had stopped him earlier had been sheer exhaustion and the belief that Fritz wouldn’t attack after the day both sides had just had.
Getting up, he gathered his kit and then put on his greatcoat, boots, hat, and scarf, and rushed from the dugout. What the hell was he still sitting there for?
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Kevin left the communication trench and set off to find Danny, taking advantage of a horse-drawn ambulance wagon. The casualty clearance station was situated in a derelict church about two miles behind the front lines and was well sheltered from the line of enemy fire by a thick coppice of trees. It was being used as a staging ground for the wounded. After treatment, they’d either go back to their units or be transported by train to the base hospital, and those who died would be buried deep beneath the quagmire terrain.
After talking with one of the doctors, Kevin found Danny in a bed next to the raised altar. Funny, he thought sardonically. Danny Carmody was many things, but he was no altar boy. Standing next to the bed, he looked at Danny’s mummified head. Only his nostrils and thick lips were visible. They were trembling. According to the doctor, he had a slight fever.
“Danny, don’t be startled. It’s me, Kevin.”
“What, you’re not a captain tonight, then?” Danny uttered softly.
Kevin smiled. He was fond of the lad. He always had been, despite their many run-ins. Danny was full of bluster and bravado, but he also had a mischievous character and wit that was annoyingly endearing. Kevin had known him since he was a boy of twelve years old and he himself was a young student in his first year at university. It shouldn’t be surprising, he thought, that he was deeply affected by Danny’s present condition.
“What’s the verdict? Will I live?” Danny asked.
“You will. Your doctor has informed me that you’re to be evacuated tomorrow morning to the base hospital at Remy Farm at Lijssenthoek. It’s about fifteen miles from here.”
“I know it,” Danny said. “I’ve been here long enough to know about that place and all the graves being dug there. I hate not being able to see. Where’s my rifle?”
“You don’t need it here. You’re safe.”
“Hmm, the bandages are a worry – what if I need to fight?”
“The bandages are necessary, but they won’t be on for long. You’re not blind, Danny. You were lucky. There’s nothing about you that can’t be fixed. Your blistered face will heal. Your head wound is serious, but you’ve always been hard-headed, and that’s probably why your skull didn’t crack. Look at it this way: you could have been shot in the head instead of being hit by flying debris. You’ll survive. You just won’t be as pretty as you were before.”
Danny chuckled and then groaned with the effort of spreading his lips. “I’m married, you know.”
“Are you joking?”
“No, been married for almost a year – my Anna is the love of my life.”
Kevin, visibly shocked, sat on the edge of the bed. He was married? Staring hard at Danny, he wondered what else had happened in the Carmody family since last he spoke to them.
“Jesus, Danny, when did you find the time to meet a girl and then wed her?” Kevin had a sudden urge to make a gesture of affection. Taking one of Danny’s hands in his own, he squeezed it. “Congratulations. Sure, you’re a good man, despite all your antics,” he said.
Danny tightened his grip on Kevin’s hand as though comforted by it. “Ah, Kevin, am I all right? Are you sure? I’m a bit scared of this carry-on.”
“That doesn’t sound like you. You’re going to be fine. I don’t know what they will decide at the hospital, but chances are you’ll go home, just as I told you. The doctor here agrees. The base hospital is overflowing. They don’t want people like you hanging around. You can walk. You’re not going to die, but you can’t go back to the battlefield. Take it from me. I know how it all works.”
“Please, God, let that be true.”
Kevin had gone there for two reasons. His first objective had been to find out how Danny was. That objective had been met. Now he would tackle the second one.
“Danny, don’t speak – just listen. I read Jenny and Patrick’s letters. I won’t discuss what was in them or how I feel because I’m still trying to take it all in. I’m guessing you knew about everything that went on in London?”
Danny nodded.
“I just have one question. Why didn’t Jenny write to me?”
“John Grant – the scum … Sure, I thought I knew him. He told her she was ugly, that no man would want her. She was afraid – silly, I know, but that’s women for you. She thought you’d think the same as that bastard fiancé of hers …” Danny coughed and moaned with the pain. His top and bottom lips bled through deep cracks.
“That bastard Grant – I never did like him.” Kevin cleaned the wound and then gave Danny a sip of water. “I’m nothing like him, Danny. Jenny should know that,” he said angrily.
Danny grimaced with pain. “Help me, Kevin,” he mumbled. “It’s so dark.”
Kevin stood up and looked down at Danny with tears in his eyes. “Don’t talk anymore – that’s an order,” he said light-heartedly. “I’ll see you soon in London. I’ve been relieved. I’m going home in the morning.”
Danny’s body tensed. Stretching out his arm, he searched urgently for Kevin. “Tell them – promise.”
“I will. Your granny’s house will be my first stop as soon as I get off that train.”
The doctor came, a young lieutenant, and injected Danny with morphine. Within minutes, his body seemed to relax and his tense grip on Kevin’s arm slackened.
Kevin took Danny’s hand and placed it by his side. He’d be asleep within minutes. “Have a decent rest, Danny. You’ll be back with that wife of yours in no time.”
The next morning, Kevin boarded a leave ship bound for Folkestone. Were he not worried about his reputation, he would have cried tears of joy, he thought, sitting in officers’ quarters. He calculated that within seven hours or so, he would be in Greenwich, confronting a situation that he could well do without. He wanted a long bath in hot water, a few drinks by a fire, a real bed with fluffy pillows, and peace. God Almighty, what he wouldn’t do for a bit of peace and quiet.
He freely admitted that had it not been for Danny, he might ha
ve considered thinking a while longer before visiting the Carmodys. Hell, he probably wouldn’t be going at all. But it appeared that meeting the lad in the trench had been a twist of fate. He couldn’t let Danny down, nor could he live with himself if he didn’t see Jenny, knowing that there were outstanding issues between them.
Unsure about his feelings, he struggled to find an image of how a meeting with her would go … or end. Did he still love her as he had before? It had been an unhealthy blind obsession, he thought now. Maybe she did love him, but he didn’t feel the same enthusiasm or fully trust her. He had seen her kiss John with his own eyes. Why would she do that if she was truly in love with him?
He accepted a cup of cocoa from an orderly and sipped it gratefully. He wasn’t sure about anything apart from his desire for this leave and about his happiness at not having to go back to the inferno he had just left.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
The door was slightly ajar. Kevin stood on the threshold and called out, “Hello, anyone home?” When he didn’t get an answer, he gingerly went inside, closed the door behind him, and listened for a moment. “Hello,” he called, a little louder this time. He walked into the parlour. Minnie was asleep in the chair, her head resting on her chin, her shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders, and her feet on a footstool. He shook her gently.
Staring through reddened eyes, it took her a moment to recognise him. “Kevin? Is that you home, son?” she said groggily.
“It is. Hello, Minnie. How are you?”
“Susan’s gone.”
Kevin knelt down, taking in her appearance with a worried frown. Concerned by the greyish tinge to her skin and drugged expression on her face, he held her wrist and felt for her pulse. It was steady, a little slow, perhaps, and her hands were freezing cold. Minnie, are you feeling all right?”
