Hero's Bride

by Jane Peart

"I think . . . I'm sure I can arrange it. Look, we'll both get a few hours' rest, then you come back for me at . . . three o'clock?"

  At Kitty's request, there was a glimmer o f amusement and understanding in Matron's eyes. She pursed her lips as if considering. "I wouldn't want you to make a habit of this, Cameron. But you are one of my best VADs, and you haven't had a day off in a long time. So, permission granted."

  Richard was back promptly at three. He had rented a room at the village inn, and told Kitty that the innkeeper's wife had suggested he bring his "amie" back for dinner. "The villagers think you American and British nurses are magnifique. I told her I heartily agree, especially where one of them is con­cerned." He grinned. "But then I'm prejudiced."

  Kitty had the grace to blush a little. "Let's walk, Richard. I hardly ever get a chance to be out in the fresh air." She fastened on her cape.

  They started down the road from the chateau, stepping carefully over the frozen ruts, patches of snow still clinging to the hard brown winter ground. But the sky was a washed blue and the air was cold and sharp.

  Kitty felt lightheaded and strangely invigorated. Sleep deprivation, she told herself with clinical objectivity. But when Richard took her hand and drew it through his arm, she felt a pleasant tingling sensation. They walked on, saying little, finding conversation unnecessary.

  When they reached the village inn, Madame Julienne welcomed them. She beamed at Richard and fluttered over Kitty as she led them through the main restaurant to a secluded alcove. There a single table had been set at a window in a pool of winter sunshine.

  After serving them a superb omelet and croissants still warm from the oven, Madame wished them "Bon appetit!" and left.

  Kitty had not realized that she was so hungry and relished the delicious food, then pushed back her plate with a sigh. "That was the best meal I've had since . . . since I don't know when."

  Richard poured her a cup of coffee from the white porcelain coffeepot. He added cream to his and stirred it slowly, gathering his thoughts, pacing his words. "You know I love you, Kitty. I've never stopped. Even when I thought there was no chance, I couldn't help myself."

  He reached for her hand, brought it up to his lips, kissed her fingertips. "Maybeit's s too soon, but time is so precious now. I have to know. Is there a chance? Could you give me some hope?"

  Kitty returned his searching gaze. "I don't know, Richard. I honestly don't know. I wouldn't want to say yes and give you second-best, a rebound love."

  Richard smiled. "I'll take whatever I can get, Kitty."

  "But you're too good for that. Love should be so much more."

  'That's what I'm trying to tell you. We don't have time for dwelling in the past, trying to make sense out of what happens. You and I . . . all of us in our generation . . . are caught up in this tangled web of history. We may not have a future. The world may blow itself up any day. Can't you see?" His grip tightened on her hand. "You do care for me, don't you, Kitty? At Birchfields you said you did. I don't think that's changed."

  "I do care for you, Richard—" She paused. "It just seems to have happened so fast . . . I'm not sure—" "Kitty, nothing in life is guaranteed. The only thing I'msure of is that I love you. Let's be happy together for whatever time we have. Please say yes."

  Richard's eyes were so full of tenderness that Kitty felt a stirring within her. She so wanted to return the devotion she saw there. But was that enough? Was it the kind of love he deserved? Or was it only gratitude for filling the aching void she had felt in the aftermath of heartbreak?

  What Richard wanted was an enduring commitment. Marriage. Such a major decision in life had its consequences, Kitty knew, making a wartime wedding even more hazardous. She had to be honest with him and with herself. To tell Richard she loved him meant that she must pull away from the hold of the past . . . let Kip go.

  She thought of the years stretching back to Virginia, to those she had dreamed of sharing with Kip at Eden Cottage. Then she thought of the years ahead, reaching into an unknown future . . . with Richard?

  Looking again into his eyes, Kitty felt a warmth, a tenderness beginning to build within her. Why not accept this fine, honorable man's love, his desire to cherish and protect her? Suddenly it seemed so right. She smiled, and watched the anxiety in his eyes give way to hope.

  "Kitty?"

  "Yes, Richard, yes, if you're willing to take a chance—" As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Kitty felt her heart leap. Maybe this marriage was a risk, particularly now in the middle of a war, but this kind o f happiness was worth it. Hadn't someone said that love demands all, that one must not count the cost?

  When they left the restaurant, they walked slowly past the village and up the hill toward the hospital—still talking, saying all the things that people newly aware of each other say.

  In sight of the chateau, Richard stopped and pointed to the arched cloister leading to the small Gothic building beside it. "What is that?"

  "That's the chapel."

  He regarded Kitty for a moment, his eyes thoughtful. "Let's see if it's open."

  Surprised, Kitty hesitated. "Oh, I don't know if we should. I believe it's Madame Rougeret's private family chapel."

  "It's God's house, isn't it?" Richard countered.

  "Yes, I suppose—"

  "Come on then." He took her hand.

  The heavy, carved door squeaked as they pushed it open. Stepping inside, they blinked as their eyes became accustomed to the dim interior. There were no pews here, only chairs with racks on the back for prayerbooks. The room smelled of beeswax candles, of ancient stones and incense. Slowly, still holding hands, they moved quietly forward.

  At the curved steps leading up to the altar there were a few wooden kneelers. Over the altar, a large brass crucifix gleamed in the shafts of light filtering down through the arched windows.

  "Kitty, let's ask a blessing on our love, that it becomes what Scripture tells us it should be . . . whatever the future holds for us. I believe we've been given a special gift, and I just want to give thanks."

  Richard was so serious, so sincere, that Kitty felt humbled, touched. Wordlessly she nodded, and they knelt down on the stone steps together and bowed their heads, praying silently.

  At first Kitty's mind was a blank. Lately her prayers had been inarticulate cries for help—help for getting over Kip, for the men whose shattered bodies she was responsible for nursing back to health.

  As she knelt beside Richard, her heart began to swell with gratitude. Richard had said they had been given a gift. Love was always a gift. And what does one do when one receives a gift? One says "Thank you." Kitty smiled at the simplicity o f the revelation. Almost at once, words of thanksgiving rushed into her mind. They seemed childish, yet somehow she believed that God understood and was pleased. With one last plea for Richard's protection as he returned to the front, she got to her feet.

  Hand in hand, they walked out of the chapel and back into the sunlight.

  "Oh, Kitty, don't you think it's significant we started out this new year together?" Richard asked, taking her into his arms when it was time for him to leave. "Starting a brand-new life together, remembering all the rest of our lives that it began on New Year's Day 1918?"

  Not until after Richard in a haze of happiness had given her one last lingering kiss and climbed back into the colonel's car, did Kitty have second thoughts. Not until much later did she wonder if her decision had been made in a moment of reckless euphoria.

  No, wartime had nothing to do with it, Kitty argued with herself. She loved Richard and he loved her, deeply. If she had met him another time, another place, she would still have been attracted to him. Even last Christimas with Kip still in the picture, she had found Richard charms everything she admired in a man. After the war, they would have a wonderful, fulfilling life together—

  Dora was enthusiastically happy for her when Kitty shared the news. "What a looker your fellow is! You're a lucky girl, I'd say, Kitty."

  Th
at's what Kitty kept telling herself, too, when letters from Richard began to come regularly. Letters filled with loving concern, plans for their future, declarations of the joy her promise had given him. One day a small package arrived, containing an initialed gold signet ring Kitty had noticed on his little finger.

  With it was a note:

  Darling Kitty, This ring was my mother's. I want to set my seal on you so that none of those dashing doctors or patients who think you're the reincarnation of Florence Nightingale get any ideas! Wear it until the time we can pick out a proper engagement ring together at Tiffany's in New York or maybe in Paris, if you'll agree to marry me on my next leave!

  Kitty could not wear the ring on her finger because her hands were too often in disinfectant or rubber gloves. Instead, she put it on a chain that she wore around her neck under her uniform, beside the little cross that Blythe had given her before she'd gone overseas. Feeling it there made her feel loved, cherished, protected, and helped banish any lingering doubts that she and Richard may have acted too hastily. Remembering their time in the chapel together comforted her. Surely the Lord had brought him into her life, hadn't He?

  chapter

  19

  IN MAY, the Allies—France, Britain, and now the United States—were united under one joint commander, the French General Foch, and there was growing optimism that the entrance of the American forces would turn the tide of the war.

  There seemed no weakening of resolve within the German army, however, and hoping to crush the Allies before the full benefit of the American alliance could be felt, they mounted a huge campaign. By the end o f the month they had reached the banks of the Marne River. Here they met resistance in the form of a brigade o f American marines at Belleau Woods on the road to Paris.

  Discussions of the war in the staff room were electrified. For Kitty it was a time of pride in her countrymen and dismay in the growing number of casualties. Now many Americans were among the wounded brought in by ambulance. It saddened her to see how young they were. Only a few short months ago they had been playing football on the high school team, going to proms, having sodas at the local drugstore with their sweethearts. Now they were dying.

  A second fierce battle between the Americans and Germans took place at Chateau Thierry and there, by enormous effort, American troops prevented the enemy from sweeping across the Marne into Paris. At this point, even Dr. Marchand, one of the French surgeons reputed to be an anti-American, favored Kitty with his version of a smile.

  During July, five battles raged simultaneously, with news bulletins reporting the progress of the Allies posted each day in the staff room. Then in August, the fighting intensified.

  One hot day, coming off duty, Kitty learned of an offensive led by Canadian and Australian troops deep into the enemy stronghold at Amiens. She felt her blood run cold. Was Richard involved? As an aide to the colonel in Communications, he might well be. Oh, dear God, keep him safe! she prayed, terrified.

  A few days later she received several letters at once from him. But they were undated, hastily written, and gave her no comfort. She could do nothing but follow Paul's exhortation to "pray without ceasing" as she went about her duties.

  The days dragged on. Early in September, Kitty was assigned to the ward for the hopelessly wounded. The French called it Salle de Mort, the "room of death." Patients remained here only a few days before being replaced by other terminal cases. There was littie the nursing staff could do for them except keep them as comfortable as possible.

  One of Kitty's most painful duties was to write letters home for some of these soldiers, often dictated in their dying breath. Of if there was no time, Kitty herself, hoping to spare some wife or mother die pain of an official notice, wrote to tell how nobly her loved one had fought and died for his country.

  But more and more Kitty became sickened, her illusions shattered. War was not ennobling or glorious. It was horrible, useless!

  The day she learned of Thax Collinwood's death, Kitty had just pulled the sheet over the face of a boy barely eighteen and had signaled the orderly to carry him out of the ward. Taking a brief break, she had checked her mail and found a letter from her mother.

  "Thax and his commanding officer were standing at the top of their trench, getting a breath of air, when a shell landed nearby," Blythe wrote. 'They were both killed instantly in the explosion."

  Thax—always fun-loving, gracious, a considerate friend. He had enjoyed everything about life—theater, picnics, sailing . . . That his bright presence was gone, that she would never see his smile or listen to his latest funny story seemed impossible. Thax was part of her youth, of some of the happiest times of her life. How could he be gone?

  Head down, choking back tears, she walked aimlessly, and found herself on the other side of the chapel in the garden that must have once been the showplace of the estate. Although now overgrown and neglected, its ornate Italian statuary chipped and broken where shells had fallen, the garden still had a certain forlorn beauty.

  The day was unusually quiet, with a stillness that was in odd contrast to the turmoil within Kitty. She felt a hundred years old. What peace was possible in this war-torn world? Hot tears started, rolling helplessly down her cheeks.

  Then from behind her a voice spoke. "Tu est triste, madetnoiselle?'

  Startled, Kitty wiped her eyes and turned around. Standing behind her in the shadows of the cloistered passageway was an elderly lady in black. Instinctively, she knew it must be Madame Rougeret.

  Wondering if this part of the grounds was off-limits to hospital personnel and fearing that she might be trespassing, Kitty stood guiltily. "Excusez-moi, Madame"

  "Non, mademoiselle, il n'y pas quoi" The woman shook her head and made a gesture of dismissal with one graceful hand. Then in accented but perfect English, she continued, "Do not apologize for tears. They are God's gift to ease the pain of heartbreak. If you did not sometimes weep . . . with what you see every day . . . surely it would be more than one could bear."

  Madame Rougeret took a few steps toward Kitty, studying her closely. "I believe I have seen you before, have I not? Were you not in the chapel one day some time ago with a Canadian officer?"

  Surprised, Kitty nodded, recalling the day that she and Richard had gone there to pray.

  "I thought so." Madame Rougeret smiled faintly. "I was in the back of the church that day and saw you come in. I prayed for you both."

  "That was very kind of you, Madame."

  "Well, what else can an old woman do in these terrible times? What can any of us do, really, but pray?" She sighed. "And your young man, he is all right?"

  "Yes, thank God . . . so far."

  "Oui, tres bien" Madame turned to go, then paused and gave Kitty a look of infinite pity. "Pauvre petite" She shook her head sadly and walked slowly away.

  chapter

  20

  "KITTY, WAKE UP!" Dora's urgent voice penetrated Kitty's drugged-like slumber.

  Having fallen into bed after fifteen straight hours on duty, she resisted being awakened like this, but Dora's fingers dug into her shoulders, shaking her insistently. "Come on, old girl. This is an emergency!"

  Kitty dragged herself to a sitting position. "What is it, Dora? Why are you waking me? I just got to bed—"

  Dora sat down on the edge of the cot and caught Kitty just as she was about to drop back onto the pillows. "It's Richard! I'm sorry to have to break the news this way. But he's been badly wounded. I knew you'd want to know, be with him—" Instantly Kitty was awake. "How bad is he?"

  "Pretty bad. They're evaluating him now."

  Dazed, Kitty stumbled out of bed and stood swaying with fatigue.

  Dora steadied her, then handed her her dress and apron.

  "Here, I'll help you." Then, kneeling down in front of her as Kitty tugged on her stockings, Dora shoved each foot into the high-top black shoes, and began to lace and tie them.

  When Kitty was on her feet, Dora studied her face. "You all right?"

/>   "I think so—" Richard was here, wounded. She must get to him.

  I'm right behind you, Kitty. Let's go." Dora helped her out to the corridor, down the two flights of stairs, and into the pre-op ward.

  Kitty had expected to see Dr. Marchand, but it was one of the British doctors, Captain Hayford, bending over the stretcher where Richard lay, making a preliminary examination. Bracing herself for the worst, Kitty clenched her hands and took her place beside the assisting nurse. This was the crucial point for any wounded man. Here the doctor made the decision to operate or . . . if it was hopeless . . . to allow the man to die in as much comfort as possible.

  A nurse with a clipboard stood by, ready to jot down his orders.

  When Kitty stepped up, the doctor gave her a quick glance before he dictated his diagnosis. "Hit in the lower lumbar section. Hard to say how many vertebrae may be involved . . . no movement . . . no feeling in lower extremities. Probable paralysis." He straightened and looked Kitty in the eye. "He needs surgery, but it's too delicate a procedure to do here. I f he lives through the night, we'll tag him for evacuation. Dr.Manston in London is the only one I know who can tackle this kind of operation."

  Kitty looked at Richard's expressionless face, drained of color, his handsome features pinched. She tried to see the man lying on the stretcher as she would have viewed any other wounded soldier. But it was Richard!

  "We've shot him full of morphine." The doctor turned his attention to the recording nurse. "Keep him immobilized in splints and heavily sedated. That's all we can do for now."

  Kitty cleared her throat as the doctor turned away to move on to the next man. "Permission requested to remain on special duty with Captain Traherne, sir."

  "Captain Traherne?"

  "The wounded man, sir."

  The doctor frowned. "You know him?"

  Kitty swallowed. "He's my . . . we're engaged,

  Kitty swallowed. "He's my . . . we're engaged, sir."

  The doctor's face remained impassive, but there was a flicker in the steely gray eyes. "What you're asking is highly unusual, Nurse. Not recommended at all!" he snapped but hesitated. "But it will have to be Matron's decision." With that, he moved on.