by Mercy Levy
3. London, England
His transfer the next day was unhappy, but uneventful. The Colonel informed him that he was to be a recipient of the Victoria Cross for his valour and for saving the lives of his crew at the battle of Dunkirk. He was loaded onto military transport and by the end of the day, arrived in London, surrounded by fog and the almost forgotten sounds of British industry. It was amazing to him how different England sounded to him after being stationed in France for so long. Inspired, he began to write on a piece of paper all the sights and sounds that accosted him upon his arrival at the port of London. By the time he reached the Red Cross Hospital, he had a couple of pages to send to Stella, and he sealed and addressed an envelope, handing it to the medic who accompanied him, who promised to put it in the outgoing mail for him.
He was put in a room with ten other soldiers who had been wounded recently, two of which had been at the battle at Dunkirk, one was infantry who had been with the men who held the road against approaching tanks for two days before help had arrived. Though his legs were still immobilized and his head injury still needed a full battery of tests, it was nice to feel less crippled than he had while stuck in triage for the weeks preceding.
Even the nurses were less frantic here, though equally capable to the ones on the front line. If anything, he found their presence calming and cheering, even as they lost men all around him, these nurses practiced quiet optimism. One in particular continued to grow in his esteem, even as he realized that he was longing for contact with Stella. Nurse Kingsfoot was efficient and no-nonsense. While she didn’t fraternize with the men, he always felt like she took extra care with his dressings, and made sure he was turned and moved more frequently than others did on their shifts.
One morning with the mail, he was delighted to see that Stella had written him again. He opened the letter eagerly and immediately smiled at the story inside. He had asked her, at the end of his previous missive, if she had any childhood memories of mischief to share with him. She was happy to oblige him, and had replied with several pages of pranks and foibles. One in particular made him laugh out loud, and when Lt. Kingsfoot came around to change his dressings and turn him from his left side to his right, he asked her if she would sit and let him read it to her.
As he read the story of the young Stella and her friend, accidentally setting afire the shed of one Mister Bigsby, a pig farmer with a nasty temper, he was so engrossed that he failed to see the expression on Nurse Kingsfoot’s face. Her eyes went wide and the colour left her face. She chewed her lip and gazed at Captain Ross with new eyes, at first, worried and saddened.
As Malcolm continued reading he began to have difficulty reading, as laughter bubbled up and tears filled his eyes. By the time he came to the description of the unfortunate farmer running down the hill toward town with the back of his pants in flames, he couldn’t breathe he was laughing so hard. Nurse Kingsfoot, known to her friends as Stella, finally laughed along. It touched her that her silly letters, the result of a moment of compassion, were making a man as honourable and valorous as Captain Ross happy while he was confined to his bed.
Indeed, Stella had a fondness for the captain since he’d arrived. She noticed that he was so patient and undemanding, that the nurses had begun to lower his priority under those who were in better shape, but more vocal. She’d taken it upon herself to stop by his bed more frequently, and had even taken time on her off-days to just check on him. Now she was watching him laugh until he cried over the letter she’d sent him. She almost told him that was the exact reaction her father had when he found out about their foray into arson, but held her tongue.
Stella wondered what would happen if she told Captain Ross who she was. They had both been so careful to avoid talking about the war in their letters, she was afraid he would dismiss her out of hand if he knew who she was. Before she could decide, Malcolm finished reading the story and wiped his eyes.
“I have to admit, I laughed even harder reading it out loud.” He confessed as he tried to stop chuckling. “I don’t think I’ve read anything that funny, or that well told, in a long time.” He added.
“It was humorous.” She giggled. “But, I think the enjoyment you got out of it made it even more fun for me.” She admitted. “You gave the story something it lacked in perspective, I think.” She smiled at him and finished up the dressing change. “It’s nearly time for you to start walking again, Captain.” She gloated. “I can’t wait to see that.”
“Neither can I.” Malcolm agreed. “I can’t believe how much I miss doing for myself. It’s long overdue. Though, I do appreciate getting to see you every day. When are they going to give you a day off, anyway?” He demanded, furrowing his brows and staring severely around the room.
“I get days off, Captain.” Stella replied. “I just come in to check on you because I can.” She added. “I can stop if you wish.”
“No, no. That’s quite all right” Malcolm backtracked. “I don’t want you to feel you have to sacrifice your time for me, but I quite appreciate seeing you every day. In this bed, it’s about all I have to look forward to.” He sighed. Patting down his covers. “Out of bed soon, huh?” he asked.
“Doctor will check you out tomorrow or the next day, and you’ll be good as out of here soon.” Stella assured him. He nodded and her smile to him was equal parts genuine fondness for him, and relief that she hadn’t outed herself to him as his mystery pen pal. Instead, she finished her rounds as quickly as she could, and wrote him another letter full of tales of Yorkshire and legends about the Dalby woods near her home, to distract and entertain him.
When Nurse Kingsfoot finally left his side, Malcolm felt a cold emptiness fill the vacancy left by her warm, lithe body. He found himself thinking of her in ways that made him hot and uncomfortable in his bed, surrounding by ailing men. The pretty nurse had given him reason to think about her in a way no woman had in a long time. Everywhere her hands had touched him felt fevered, and he was ashamed and embarrassed by the intimacy of treating his injuries. Could she even see him as a man after the care she had provided him while he was trapped in a hospital bed
He took some paper and a pen from the small table next to his bed and laid it on a hardcover book in his lap. He was able to sit up fully, and was amazed at how much stronger his writing was, where not long ago it had been a shaky scrawl. He tried to think of something to say to Stella, but all he could think of was Nurse Kingsfoot. He knew that his feelings for her might never be reciprocated, but he couldn’t see dividing his attention between two women. They both deserved better. With that thought in mind, and already a little saddened that he would not be hearing from his friend-of-words again, he drafted a final letter.
“Dearest Stella,
I cannot properly express the gratitude with which I received your most recent missive. I am still smiling from not only the stories you shared with me, but the obvious care and love you have for your friends and neighbours. I would not have recovered so quickly and completely without your support and kind words to distract me from the ravages of war around me. I must at this time confess that I have met a lady of Great Spirit and heart that has captured my affection, and I feel it would be dishonourable of me to continue courting your attention whilst mine is attended elsewhere. I am forever grateful for your humour and kindness to me.
With respect and friendship, Captain Malcolm Ross, Queen’s Air Force.
Malcolm reread his letter with growing dissatisfaction. With great unease, he finally sealed the envelope the letter was in and gave it to the morning duty nurse to mail for him. He asked for a bassinet and a cloth and a razor. With a hot bowl of soapy water, Malcolm washed his face and shaved down the beard that had begun to grow since he’d returned to London. He took care with dressing and helped the on-duty nurse slide his pants over his legs and cinched them in at the waist, astonished by how loose his clothes were now, as he tightened the belt an extra three notches. He wondered if his favourite nurse could ever find him attractive,
with the scarring on his left cheek from the shattered cockpit window, his skinny, unused legs, and the ribs he could feel punctuating his slim frame through his shirt.
He was still taking inventory of the changes in his body when Stella arrived, sunny smile in place as always. She watched him frown as he tightened his belt more about his waist and then picked up a small mirror to view himself as he combed his hair. Stella bit her lip and thought again about the letters and her decision not to tell him. She felt disingenuous and deceitful for keeping her secret, and as she watched her heroic friend so much stronger than he was when he arrived, and so determined to regain his legs and his freedom, something stirred in her that she’d been ignoring since he arrived.
That he was handsome was beyond a doubt. Even the slender scars that ran down his cheek like claw marks failed to lessen his rugged good looks, serving only to frame them and lend an air of danger to his serious gaze. She shivered, thinking about the way his gaze tightened things low in her body, and mentally shook herself before moving to his line of sight.
“Morning, Captain!” She called out cheerily as she approached. “I get to wheel you to your physical therapy today, if that’s all right with you.” She added.
“Of course, Nurse Kingsfoot.” Malcolm replied. “I’m always happy to spend time in your company.” He smiled, but it faded away when he felt the left side pull. His frown made Stella’s chest tight over his pain.
“I wish you would smile again.” She coaxed him, blushing. “You look so charming and dangerous when you smile.” She frowned, her eyebrows furrowing as she pursed her lips. He felt the corner of his own mouth twitch just looking at her pretty rosebud mouth and obliged her request. “Does that hurt?” Stella asked belatedly. Malcom shook his head.
“No, it just pulls.” He admitted. “The doctor said the sensation will go away in time.” Stella sighed in relief. He limped over to the wheelchair and obediently sat as she held the chair in place. She wheeled him to a room with mirrors and a barre set up for him to brace himself while he stretched, and hold while he practiced walking.
They chatted about the war and his recovery while he moved around and got used to having his feet under him again. Malcolm nearly tripped over his own feet a couple of times. He merely agreed when Stella attributed it to lack of use, refusing to admit the scent of her skin while she lent him a shoulder to lean on, had distracted him. His one-hour session in the room stretched into almost two, as the two worked together talking and laughing as Malcolm practiced walking until he was physically and mentally exhausted.
When he finally admitted he had to quit, Stella was chagrined and dismayed that she’d been so caught up spending time with him that she’d failed to protect him as her charge. Malcolm laughed it off and declared the afternoon the best time he’d spent in a very long while. Knowing he found her company desirable gave Stella just enough courage to write him one last letter, to tell him who she was and when she’d realized their connection. That way, if he was disappointed, she wouldn’t have to see his face.
She returned him to his bed and noted in his charts how well he was doing. He would be released from care soon, and receive an honourable discharge and Victoria’s Cross for his valour in fighting. She knew she had only a little time to make a full disclosure to him, but couldn’t bring herself to face him and speak of her feelings for him.
She wrote a brief note to him, but couldn’t write the address on the envelope. It was silly to put a stamp on a letter that could be walked to its recipient, and she refused to give in to her fear that far. She placed the note in the small bedside table, to be given to him as soon as she could find the bravery to do so, and went to sleep, dreaming of quarter horses and a house on a hill, with a handsome, scarred man working in the fields.
Her duties took her away from the wing Malcom was in for three agonizing days, and by the end of the third day, she was more than ready to get rid of the tell-tale heart she kept hidden away in the drawer, with her diary and her little romance novel. She made her way to the wing, and headed straight to Malcolm’s partitioned off room. She was surprised to find him away from his bed, but determined to see her task through, she slipped the envelope under the pillow of his cot, so that it couldn’t fall, but was visible to him if he were to climb into bed.
Frustrated that she hadn’t seen him in so long, but satisfied that she’d done her best, she went to her room and readied herself for an early bedtime with a book. When she got back to her room, her roommate handed her a letter, sent by Malcolm over a week before. Excited for the missive, and irritated that it had taken so long to traverse the half-mile from the hospital to the barracks, she tore into the envelope with abandon, and read the letter cross-legged on her military cot.
Her hands began to shake as she read the letter once, then again in disbelief. Panicked, she thought of the letter she’d delivered less than an hour before. Quickly, she slipped back into her uniform and rushed back to retrieve it. She was almost upon Malcolm, when she saw him sitting on the edge of his cot with a nurse, holding the letter in his hand and laughing with her.
The air was forced out of Stella’s chest as she watched her worst fear play out in front of her. Tears blurred her vision and she fought to keep her emotions in check long enough to make it her room. She threw herself onto her bed and sobbed into her pillow, her shoulders heaving as she curled up in a ball and buried her face in the rough cotton pillowcase to muffle the sound of her heart break.
Stella’s roommate, Lucy found Stella still shuddering, her tears spent. She gently rubbed her back until the Yorkshire nurse finally fell asleep, exhausted by the outpouring of emotions. The next morning, Stella begged Lucy to trade rounds with her, even though Lucy had a much more difficult shift to pull that turn. Lucy knew that her friend had been falling for one of her patients, all the nurses had been talking about how the young Captain glowed whenever Stella was near, and the extra care she took with him. She understood that if the romance was over, it would be embarrassing and painful to be forced to be around him, so she told Stella she’d take the rounds until the Captain was released in a few days.
Stella gratefully accepted the offer, and readied herself for the surgical work that Lucy had been assigned. She found the head surgical nurse and told her that she had begged for more surgical duty, and told her that she had a great deal of experience (But didn’t bother to mention it was mostly with pigs and cows). She was told where to report to and immediately began to ready operating rooms for the scheduled and emergency surgeries they’d be expecting that day. By the time she was done her shift, Lucy was asleep in their room.
Stella made up her mind to be out of the room before Lucy awoke, to avoid having to hear about how her embarrassment was entertaining Malcolm and his wing. She was out of the bunk before the first horn sounded in the morning, and again worked through breaks and meals, before dragging her weary body back to her shared bunk after midnight.
While Stella was hiding from him, Malcolm was searching for her. Her plight had reached the ears of the other nurses through Lucy, and out of loyalty, they refused to tell him where she was, only that she’d been reassigned elsewhere. Lucy finally had Malcolm on her rounds and stopped by to check his chart. He glared at her as though she’d personally offended him and refused to speak to her.
“Oi, Captain.” Lucy declared brusquely. “You’re a lot less friendly than I’d been told. What exactly have I done to merit such a face from you?” She teased. Malcolm looked surprised that she was speaking to him at all, or knew who he was.
“Who told you I was friendly?” he demanded. Lucy looked at the grim man and wondered what her friend had seen in him.
“The girl I replaced, actually.” She admitted, too curious about why he hadn’t fallen madly in love with her amazing friend to simply walk away as she’d planned. She was surprised to see his face light up, magically transforming him from an ogre to a prince in an instant.
“You know Stella?” He gasped. “You
know where I can find her?” He slid his legs over the side of the cot and swung himself into a standing position. “I need to find her; I need to talk to her right away.” He commanded. “Take me to her! I have to see her before the transport comes to take me to the train station.” Lucy stared at him until he repeated his command. Mouth agape, she handed him the crutches leaning against the end of his bed and led him from the wing.
Halfway across the campus to the surgical arena, Malcolm was so physically spent that he had to stop and rest. While he leaned against a wall and caught his breath, Lucy lit a cigarette and asked him why he was in such a hurry. He told her the story of the prank that had led to him and Stella exchanging letters, though they had never used their first names in the hospital, so they hadn’t known who each other was.
He went on to explain that he’d been so enamoured with her in person that he’d written the pen-pal Stella to honourably break ties with her. From the way she’d disappeared, he figured out that she had gotten his last letter, just after he’d found hers. He had only hours before he was headed back to Leeds, and needed her to know how he felt, before he was gone forever. He was sure she’d never accept another letter from him after the last.
Lucy silently smoked her cigarette to the butt while he spoke. With a nod, she motioned him onward, and they finally limped over to the hospital annex being used for emergency surgeries, where they could see Stella waving off a supper break. Her commanding officer refused her attempt to skip another meal, declaring that she was becoming a hazard, and would likely get someone killed if she didn’t stop for a moment.
“Why Stella, I didn’t let you take my surgical schedule to make surgeries more dangerous!” Exclaimed Lucy as they approached. Stella looked toward her and saw Malcolm limping up to her on his crutches.
