The Lost Soldier

by Costeloe Diney

  “Back out of the trench, you mean?” gasped Molly.

  “Well we couldn’t leave him lying there, could we?”

  “So what did you do?”

  “We crawled out of the sap and hurled two grenades each in the direction of the machine guns, then we ran to where Mr Holt was lying. Harry grabbed one arm and me the other, and together we began to drag him back to the sap. The gunner opened up again and we all crashed flat, but I fell into a twist of wire. A bullet ripped through my arm—” he indicated his injured arm in its sling “—and I couldn’t untangle myself. When the gunner stopped, Harry pulled Lieutenant Holt into the sap and then came back for me. I was well and truly caught in the wire, but lucky for me he was the man carting the wire clippers. It wasn’t easy in the dark and I was no help to him with my right arm useless. They must have heard us, because as he pulled me free, that bloody gunner opened up again. Harry caught it in his leg… well you saw. We both lay flat, but when it was quiet again I found Harry was out cold. I managed to drag him the last few yards to the sap, but as we both fell in I must have hit my head because the next thing I knew was that it was daylight, and we was trapped there until it was dark again and we could get back to the lines.”

  “Couldn’t you crawl back along the sap?” asked Molly who was both fascinated and horrified by the story.

  “Not deep enough for cover in daylight,” Tom replied. “It was only a few feet deep with a deeper hollow at the end. That’s where we had to wait all day, in that hollow with our heads down. Lieutenant Holt died during the night, so that when I came round in the early morning I found myself with one dead body and a badly wounded man.”

  “And you were wounded yourself,” Molly pointed out.

  “Oh, my arm wasn’t so bad,” Tom said. “Not compared with Harry’s leg. I did my best to get a field dressing on to that, but dragging him across the ground hadn’t done him no good. He was conscious, and in great pain, but there was nothing I could do for that. We had water but nothing else. When you go on a raid you take as little as possible, so you can move more easily. Anyhow, we waited all day. It was cold, and we huddled together trying to keep warm. When it got dark we decided to risk it. We had to stand up. Harry couldn’t crawl and I couldn’t carry him. Either the gunners weren’t keeping a proper watch, or they decided to let us get back. Which ever, we made it without being shot at, even though I was yelling ahead, ‘Coming in! Cook and Carter coming in.’ ”

  Tom smiled a bleak smile and continued, “The rest you know, really. We was sent back down the line to a dressing station, and then back to casualty clearing and ended up here.”

  Somewhere during the telling of his tale, Tom had taken Molly’s hand, and he looked down at it now, as if surprised to find it in his. She squeezed his hand gently as if to reassure him she didn’t mind.

  He said, “So you see, Harry, well Harry saved my life out there. I’d never have got out of the wire without him. I’d have been stuck there until it was daylight and the Jerry gunners could use me for target practice.”

  “Sounds to me as if you saved his too,” Molly said quietly. “He couldn’t have got back to the lines without you. He probably wouldn’t have got as far as here without you.”

  “But he wouldn’t have been wounded at all if he hadn’t come back for me. Don’t you see?”

  “Tom, you can’t beat yourself with this,” Molly said. “This dreadful war is not your fault. You both went back for Lieutenant Holt. Harry would never have left you any more than you left him.”

  Tom gave her a weak smile. “You’re very kind, Molly… you don’t mind me calling you Molly, do you?”

  Molly returned his smile. “No,” she said shyly. “I like it. And anyway I’ve been calling you Tom.”

  They sat on the stone seat for a while longer, not speaking, completely comfortable in their silence. At last Molly stood up, shook out her skirt and said, “I must go. I’m supposed to be on duty. Sister Eloise will be furious.” She looked down at Tom. “I expect they’ll bury him today,” she said gently. “They usually do. I’ll come across to the cemetery.”

  Tom stood up and reached for her hand again, raising her fingers to his lips. It was a far more intimate gesture than any other between them, even though they had stood with her arms around him while he wept. For a brief moment their eyes met and held, and Molly felt the colour flood her cheeks. She pulled her hand away in confusion.

  Tom stepped back, his face reddening as well. “I’m sorry,” he stammered, “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “No, no it’s all right,” Molly said. “It’s just… I… no one’s… I must go!” Suddenly she returned to being his nurse, “And so must you,” she said firmly. “You shouldn’t be out here in the cold. Sister Eloise would have a fit if she knew. Your temperature will be soaring!” With that she took his arm and led him back through the gate and across the courtyard to the ward and Sister Eloise.

  Sister Eloise was not there when they slipped in and by the time the nun came back, Molly was going quietly about her tasks and Tom was fast asleep on his bed. She called Molly over and said that Reverend Mother wanted to see her before she went to her lunch.

  Sister Eloise said briskly, “I shan’t need you any more today, Molly. It’s been a difficult day for you. When you have seen Mother, you need not return until tomorrow morning. You will attend the funeral, no?”

  Uncertain that she had understood correctly, Molly checked with Sister Marie-Paul who was standing beside her, but she agreed that Sister Eloise had given her the rest of the day off, and she had leave to go over to the convalescent camp to the cemetery for Harry’s funeral.

  Reverend Mother was, as always, sitting behind her desk when she called to Molly to come in. She did not ask Molly to sit down, and from the look on her face, Molly could tell she was in some sort of trouble.

  “Ah, Molly,” was her only greeting, before she continued in her accented English. “Look out of the window, Molly and tell me what you see.”

  Molly went obediently to the window and looked down into the winter garden below. For a moment she was at a loss, then she recognised the stone seat carved in the wall and the little circular flower bed, and it came to her in a rush that Mother had been able to see her and Tom in the garden that morning. Colour crept up into her cheeks as she gazed down into the garden, not turning again to meet Reverend Mother’s gaze. But the nun had seen the blush and said sharply, “Well may you blush, Miss Day. You were in my garden this morning.” Silence. “With a patient.” More silence. “That is not comme il faut.”

  Molly still said nothing and Reverend Mother said, “Have you nothing to say, Miss Day?”

  Molly turned round from the window and lifting her chin said, “He was upset, Mother. His best friend had just died and I was trying to comfort him.”

  “So I understand from Sister Eloise. He was your friend too, hein? The man who died.”

  “My cousin. We live, lived, in the same village. We were brought up together as children.”

  “It is understandable that you were upset, but you must not become involved with the patients. How long were you in my garden, Molly?”

  While she was relieved that she was again Molly and not Miss Day, Molly wondered if this question was asked to trap her. How long had Reverend Mother been watching her? Had she seen her with her arms around Tom? Has she seen them sitting together on the bench talking? Had she seen Tom kiss her hand? What had she seen and how damning was it? She drew in a breath as she decided to take a risk.

  “Only a moment or two, Mother, while he composed himself.”

  Reverend Mother seemed to accept this for she nodded. Then she said, “It is not appropriate that you should be nursing this man now. He will be moved to the restoration ward this afternoon.”

  “But surely he is not ready to go there yet, Mother,” cried Molly. “His arm is not healed yet and he still runs temperatures at night. The doctor hasn’t said…”

  “Nevertheless,
” Mother interrupted her, “he will move there this afternoon. Sister Eloise says that he would have moved in the next few days anyway for his restoration before going over to the camp.”

  Molly was horrified. The restoration ward was in the main body of the convent, where the men went to regain their strength before moving on to the convalescent camp outside the walls, but they were seldom sent there if they were still feverish. That only happened if there was a sudden influx of men as there had been on Molly and Sarah’s first night at St Croix.

  “We must protect your reputation, Molly,” explained Reverend Mother. “Your reputation and not raise his expectations.”

  “Expectations!” cried Molly, her eyes blazing with sudden anger. “What expectation can he possibly have except to go back to those vile trenches and die? I gave him no expectations, I simply tried to comfort him for the death of his friend… our friend, Harry. Isn’t that Christian charity, Mother? Isn’t that what we are supposed to do as Christians?”

  “Molly! That is no way to speak. You forget yourself, child. You are upset, I will forgive you for your outburst, but please do not let it occur again. You may go to your cousin’s funeral, God rest his soul, and no doubt this young man will be there, but after that you will not see him, you understand? You will not visit him in the restoration ward. You will attend to your duties. I would not wish to have to send you home after all.”

  Molly held her tongue and said nothing, standing mutinously in front of the little nun.

  “You understand, Molly? I will not have you involving yourself with your patients in any way but in nursing them.” She looked hard at Molly and repeated, “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Mother,” Molly replied in a subdued voice. But inside she was not subdued. She had made no promises, not tied herself to what was “comme il faut”, she had simply said that she had understood Reverend Mother’s commands. As Reverend Mother had been speaking, something had clicked in her brain, and she was suddenly clear about something that she had hardly considered before. Tom Carter. He was important to her, not as Harry’s friend, not as her patient, but as Tom Carter the man, with his tired eyes and the rare smile which could illuminate his whole face. She was suddenly struck with great clarity by the knowledge that she was not prepared to stop seeing him. She found herself thanking God that Reverend Mother had only looked into her garden in time to see them leaving it, to see her with her hand on Tom’s arm, but not to see the quiet peace they shared in each other’s company, nor the way she had sheltered him in her arms, and most of all not the way Tom had kissed her fingers or the look they exchanged.

  Afraid her face might betray her new discovery, Molly lowered her eyes, keeping them on the floor in apparently meek acceptance of the dictates of the nun, and seemingly satisfied with this, Reverend Mother told her to go and eat something before she went across to the funeral.

  “I have told Padre Robert that you will be coming, so he will have someone meet you at the gate at half past three. You will take up your duties again in ward one in the morning.” Thus she was dismissed.

  Tom stood beside the grave as it was filled in, the damp earth falling dully in heavy clods on the wood of the coffin. The pall bearers returned to the camp, and Padre Kingston said he would be in the chapel if they wanted to speak to him before going back to the hospital.

  “Don’t be too long in making your farewells, Carter,” he said seriously. “Being out in this damp weather will not do you any good, aren’t I right, Miss Day?”

  Molly agreed that he was, and the parson smiled at them before striding off to deal with the next demand upon his time.

  “I’ve been moved to a different ward,” Tom said to Molly as soon as they were alone. “Somewhere inside the main building.”

  “I know,” Molly said. “Reverend Mother told me. It’s so’s I don’t nurse you any more.” She smiled up at him bleakly. “She saw us in her garden this morning and thinks I have become involved with my patient.”

  Tom reached for her hand, encased in woollen gloves against the cold November air, his eyes seeking her face. “And have you?”

  “Well,” Molly looked away across the rows of wooden crosses as she replied, “we are, were, both friends of Harry’s.”

  “But that’s not what she meant, is it?”

  “It was the reason I gave her for being there alone with you in the garden.”

  “I’d like us to be friends, just for ourselves,” Tom said awkwardly. “You know, not just because of Harry.” His eyes searched her face and this time she did not look away. He went on, “I’ve never met a girl like you, Molly. You’re gentle… understanding,” he considered the next word, and added, “caring.”

  “All nurses are caring,” Molly said almost defensively.

  “But not like you.”

  “Tom, I’m not allowed to see you; not allowed to come and visit you in the restoration ward,” Molly told him flatly. “If I do Reverend Mother says she will send me home.”

  “Then you mustn’t come,” Tom responded promptly. “Molly, don’t worry about me, I’ll be going back to the lines soon. No point in upsetting things. It don’t matter if we can’t be real friends.”

  Silence slipped between them as they stood in the chill of the late afternoon.

  “We can meet over here,” Molly said abruptly. “We can meet when you are in the convalescent camp, because I can come over to the chapel for services. I’m allowed to do that. Once I’m through the gate in the wall, they’ll just think I’m at the service.”

  “They’ll soon work that one out,” Tom said ruefully. “They’re going to be watching you. It ain’t worth it.”

  A cold spatter of rain blew into their faces and together they turned back towards the convent. As they reached the wall, Molly said, “The padre has an evening service on Sunday. Ask if you can go. Several do from restoration.”

  Molly sat through the meal that evening in the refectory, listening to the reading. She had been surprised to discover recently that as the words flowed over her she understood the gist of what she was hearing, but this evening she gave no thought to anything but the events of the day. She was glad there was no talking at meals, she wanted peace to consider the effect of what had happened. Immediately after the meal, she went up to their room. Sarah found her there half an hour later when she came up from chapel. She sat down on the edge of her bed and said, “I hear poor Harry Cook died today. Poor Molly, I’m so sorry.”

  Molly who was also stretched out on her bed answered quietly. “Yes, this morning. They buried him this afternoon.”

  “Of course you went.”

  “Yes, Sister Eloise sent me off at lunch time and told me not to come back until tomorrow morning.”

  “Lucky you,” Sarah said enviously. “I wish Sister Bernadette would give me extra time off.”

  “It was for my cousin’s funeral,” Molly said flatly.

  Sarah was immediately contrite. “Oh Molly, I’m sorry. Of course it was. I don’t know what I’m saying. It must have been dreadful for you. You’ve known Harry all your life.”

  “He taught me to swim,” Molly said, and she sounded so sad Sarah wasn’t sure what to say next, so she fell back on to what was now becoming her thought much of the time.

  “I’ll pray for his soul.”

  “Better to pray for those he’s left behind,” Molly replied. “His ma and dad and the rest of his family, all those who’ll miss him. Tom Carter.”

  “Tom Carter?”

  “His mate that brought him in. He was at the funeral too.” Her voice changed and she spoke with sudden energy. “Do you know they’ve moved Tom Carter out of ward one and up to restoration?”

  “Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” Sarah sounded surprised.

  “The reason they’ve done it isn’t because he’s ready to go there, he’s not. Dr Gergaud hasn’t signed him off. No, the reason is because he and I were becoming friends, having Harry in common, like, and I was ‘becoming involved�
�� with a patient. ‘Raising his expectations!’ that’s what Reverend Mother said.” Molly was bitter. “We shared our grief for a moment, that’s all.”

  Sarah thought back to her run in with Sister Bernadette over her kissing Private Macdonald on the cheek. “It is one of their main worries with us I suppose,” she said judiciously. “It’s different for the nuns, they’re protected by their cloth. I mean none of the men could even consider one of them might be ‘emotionally involved’ with him.” She gave a little laugh. “It would be very difficult to kiss anyone wearing one of their flyaway hats.”

  This comment succeeded in drawing an unwilling laugh from Molly, and Sarah quickly changed the subject.

  “I had a letter from Freddie this morning,” she said. “Guess what? He’s going on some course near here and is coming to see me. Only for an afternoon, but that’s something, isn’t it? I haven’t told Sister Bernadette yet, or asked Mother if he may come, but she’s sure to let him, isn’t she? I mean he’s not a gentleman caller, is he? He’s my brother. And Aunt Anne will want to see him too.”

  “Of course they’ll let him come.” Molly never referred to Reverend Mother as ‘Mother’ unless she absolutely had to. The idea of calling anyone other than Mam “Mother” seemed strange, especially if the person concerned were a nun. “Of course they’ll let him come, they can make that day your free afternoon.”

  “You’re right,” agreed Sarah happily. “I’ll go and see Mother tomorrow. It’ll be wonderful to see him, I haven’t seen him for months.”

  They got into bed. Sarah, physically exhausted from her day and happy with thoughts of Freddie’s visit, fell instantly into a dreamless sleep, but Molly, emotionally exhausted from hers, lay in the darkness and thought about Tom, reliving their time in the garden and the cold dank cemetery until at last she too, drifted off into an uneasy sleep from which she was to awake unrefreshed and strangely disconsolate.