Each searched the face of the other. Tom spoke first, his face breaking into a smile; he held out both hands to grasp hers. “Molly! Is it really you, my darling girl?”
His smile, lighting his face, drew an answering one and Molly gripped his hands tightly for a moment before she whispered, “Tom! It’s really you.” She slipped into his arms like a bird coming home to roost, and he folded them round her in an embrace that crushed the breath out of her.
She looked up at him as she had before. “I can’t breathe,” she murmured, and as he relaxed his hold a fraction, she slid her arms up round his neck and held up her face to be kissed. Some men passed them on their way to the chapel tent, but glanced away from a couple clearly lost in each other. Each man could imagine his own sweetheart in his arms, and walked on to the service his heart filled with envy at the lucky bloke who seemed to have his girl right here in France.
“We must go to the chapel,” Molly said at last, straightening her hat. “We can talk afterwards.” They walked through the camp, Tom tall and straight beside her, Molly’s hand on his arm. Molly knew an exhilaration she had never known before. Gone were all her doubts about how she would feel about this man once she saw him again. She looked up at him with pride in her eyes, a pride that was reflected in his, as he looked down.
At the service they sang the familiar hymns, joined in the Lord’s prayer and listened to the padre’s sermon, but neither had thought for anything or anyone but the other. They sat on opposite sides of the tent, as they always had, Tom among the men and Molly with the officers and nurses from the camp, but each felt as close to the other as if they were hand in hand, arm in arm. At the end of the service when the congregation mingled, Robert Kingston came over and said to Molly, “Well, Miss Day, I see you have your beau back from the front.”
“Yes, padre,” Molly replied.
“Good to see you looking so well, Carter,” he said, nodding to Tom before moving on.
As people stayed chatting, Tom and Molly withdrew to a corner. At first things seemed stiff between them, their conversation stilted and awkward, there was so much to say it was hard to begin, but when Tom said, “Oh Molly, it is so good to see you. I can’t believe I’m really here,” Molly felt tears in her eyes.
“I can’t believe it either,” she whispered. “I was so afraid that something awful would stop you coming, that you be wounded or killed in those days after you wrote. I couldn’t have borne that, Tom.”
“Well I wasn’t, see, so don’t you waste tears on what hasn’t happened.”
They talked for a while, but the tent began to empty and they couldn’t stay there any longer. Robert Kingston was watching them, and so they went up to him before they left.
“Goodnight, Mr Kingston,” Molly said. “I’m going back now. I’ll see you next Sunday.”
“Goodnight, Miss Day,” replied the padre. He nodded to Tom. “Carter.” Then he asked, “Where are you staying, Carter? In the village?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Tom. “I got a room down there.”
“Well, goodnight to you.” Then he added with a wry smile, “I’ve no doubt you’ll escort Miss Day through the camp to the convent gate.”
“Yes, sir. Certainly, sir.”
They spent their last few moments together planning how to meet again next day, Tom’s only full day.
“I’ll come out as soon as I get off duty tomorrow,” Molly promised. “Sarah and I sometimes get a couple of hours off in the afternoon so that we’re in the wards when the sisters want to go to chapel later in the day. Any time after noon. I’ll meet you on the track leading to the camp.”
“Will they let you out alone?” asked Tom, surprised.
Molly shook her head. “No, but Sarah will come, I know she will, and if she doesn’t, well, I’ll slip out through the side gate anyway.”
She carried away all his arguments and objections, saying at last, “Tom, we only have tomorrow. If we don’t see each other then, it won’t be for months.” He allowed himself to be persuaded and they held each other close as they kissed with a passion neither had experienced before.
“Now I’m definitely coming,” Molly said a little shakily.
Next day things did not go as Molly had hoped. Sister Eloise announced that there was a hospital inspection in the next few days, so she would need Molly all day to prepare. Molly stared at her dumbfounded for a moment and then just nodded and said, “Yes, Sister.” She started her work in the ward kitchen, but her mind wasn’t on what she was doing, it was racing furiously, hatching and discarding schemes that would allow her to meet Tom as they had planned. She had no way of getting a message to him, to warn him of a change of plan, but she was determined to see him once more before he had to go back.
Eventually she fell back on the simplest of her ideas. She would tell Sister Eloise that she was ill and have herself sent to her room. From there she would slip downstairs and away. Sarah would be the only person who would know she was not in her room, unwell, and surely Sarah wouldn’t say anything? All morning she worked with a distracted air, causing comment from Sister Marie-Paul, and eventually Sister Eloise said, “Molly, is something wrong?”
Molly produced a brave smile and said, “No, not really Sister, I…” she hesitated as if not liking to mention such things and then said softly, “I have my monthly, and this time the pain is bad.”
Sister Eloise was surprised at this confession, but as she had no reason to doubt what Molly told her, she asked, “Can you still work?”
Molly managed another brave smile, “Of course, Sister, but I will lie down for a while at midday.”
“You will not come for your meal?” asked Sister Eloise.
“No, I couldn’t eat, Sister, I would be sick. If I lie down for a little I will be better.” Molly surprised herself with how easily the lies came.
“Go now,” said the nun, “it is almost midday and I will send Sarah to you with a little food.” She handed Molly some aspirin. “These will help,” she said. “Tomorrow you will be quite recovered, hein? Stay in your bed. I will see you tomorrow.”
After that it had been remarkably easy. Molly went up to her room and got her hat and coat. She scribbled a note for Sarah, hoping that it would indeed be Sarah who came to see how she was. That’s a risk I’ve got to take, she thought as she left it propped on Sarah’s pillow.
Dear Sarah
I have to see Tom once again. I told Sister E. that I wasn’t well with my monthly. Not due back in the ward until tomorrow. Please cover for me. I will be back before it gets dark. This is the only time we have.
Molly
The Angelus was ringing as she crept down the stairs, after which the nuns would be eating. With all the sisters in the refectory, Molly risked using the front door. It was safer, she decided than crossing the courtyard where she might be seen from one of the wards. She closed the heavy door behind her and cut round outside the convent walls. Tom sitting patiently on a fallen tree beside the track and he leapt to his feet as he saw her.
“Molly!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t expect you yet.”
“Quickly, Tom. Let’s get out of sight.” She took his hand and hurried him down the hill and into a copse of trees that would hide them from any watching eyes at the convent windows. Once safely screened, they paused and Tom gathered her into his arms. “How did you get out?” he asked when he had kissed her. “Where’s Sarah?”
“No off duty today,” Molly explained. “I pleaded sick and am supposed to be in our room, lying down.”
“But you’ll be missed.”
“Only by Sarah, with any luck,” replied Molly. Going on bravely, she added, “and if I am, I am. It’ll be too late. We shouldn’t go to the village though.”
“We can’t stay here either,” Tom said. “Blokes from the camp often walk down through here on their way to the village.”
Molly thought for a moment and then said, “We’ll go along the river. There probably won’t be anyone down there.”<
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She led the way across the fields, skirting the village and ending up on the path that she and Sarah had walked so often in their early days at the convent.
The sun had been shining all morning, but now clouds were building in the sky, and a rising breeze fluttered and whipped the strands of the leaning willows and drew darting cats’ paws on the smooth-flowing water of the river. Tom and Molly noticed none of it. They sat in the shelter of one of the trees and shared the bread and cheese Tom had bought in the village, and talked. Not of the war at first, but of themselves and the future they planned together; the home they would make, the children they would have, their life as a real family. The perfect world, after the war, when the pain was over and the killing had stopped. The thought of this time, somewhere beyond their lives in the hospital and the trenches, brought them inevitably back to the present.
“There’s a big push coming,” Tom told her. “Everyone’s talking about it, there’s definitely something in the wind. They say it’s the push that’s going to end the war. Sweep the Germans out of the trenches and right back into Germany.”
“When?” cried Molly. “When’s this big push?”
Tom shrugged. “Don’t know. No one does, but it’s coming all right. We’ve had no rest even when we’ve been relieved at the front. We’ve been marching, carrying stores, digging trenches and training, training all the time we’ve been in billets, as well as the usual chores.”
“Training? What sort of training?” asked Molly.
“Some of our company have been trained with Lewis guns,” Tom replied. “Special courses teaching them to maintain and clean them. Fix them when they jam. They’re light, those Lewises, a bloke can carry and fire one on his own if he has to. We’ve all had rifle and bayonet practice. Men are moving everywhere, new trenches are being dug, sunken roads built to move stuff up the line out of sight. And all the time the old ones have to be repaired. It’s what we do most of the time when we’re up in the front line. Jerry shells us all day, then at night we have to repair the damage. Some of the older trenches cave right in.” Tom paused for a moment, thinking of the three stinking corpses that had been unearthed from the collapsed wall of the last trench he and his mates had been repairing.
“Christ!” Tony Cook had yelled leaping backwards as what looked like a stinking bag of rubbish fell out at his feet. It was only a decomposing arm with its hand still hanging off, sticking out from the stinking bundle that had told them what they had found. As they had mended the wall of the trench they had re-interred that body and the other two that were with it.
No need to tell Molly about that, he thought, and jerked himself away from the vision of the black-fleshed arm which had slid into his mind. “The wire in front has to be re-laid as well,” he told her. “Has to be fixed up so that the Jerries can’t come through on a raiding party. We go out after dark looking for holes and mending them.”
“And the Germans just let you?” asked Molly.
Tom shook his head. “Nope. But they’re doing exactly the same,” he said, “trying to mend what our gunners have flattened. Flare goes up, everyone freezes, snipers try and pick off a few and then as it gets dark again everyone gets back to work.”
“All for this ‘big push’?” asked Molly faintly.
“Definitely coming,” said Tom. “There’s men coming in from everywhere.”
An angry flurry of rain brought them back to the present and Tom looked up at the sky, lowering grey, filled with rain. “We’re going to get drenched,” he said. “We’ll have to go back, or at least find somewhere to shelter.”
“I know just the place,” Molly cried. She was determined that she wasn’t going back to the confines of the convent yet, for as she listened to Tom’s rumour of the big push and the carnage that must accompany it, Molly had come to a decision. Pulling Tom to his feet, she led him along the path. With their heads down against the wind and the driving rain, they battled their way to the old stone barn where she and Sarah had sat in the autumn to eat their picnics. Laughing, they ducked inside and collapsed amongst the last of the hay that was still stored there. Molly took off her coat and laid it down on the hay, and then Tom pulled her into his arms and they lay together, their bodies close, intensely aware of each other. As he kissed her and Molly returned those kisses, Tom tweaked off her hat and pulled the pins from her hair. It fell round her shoulders, framing her face, and he came up on his elbow to look down at her, his Molly with the shining eyes and the gentle, loving mouth. Even as he looked, she reached for him again, pulling him down so that her mouth could claim his, and he felt her hands pushing at his jacket, sliding in under his shirt to touch his skin.
“Molly!” His voice was ragged and he twisted away. Molly sat up and very deliberately began to unbutton her blouse. He watched as her fingers undid each small white button, as she slipped her shoulders free and shrugged her arms out of the sleeves. He made no move to touch her, but he ached in every inch of his body.
“Molly!” he groaned again, but Molly laid a finger to her lips and unhooked the waistband of her skirt. Without getting to her feet, she slid it deftly down her legs and kicked it free, away over the hay. Dressed only in her chemise she reached out and began the same deft work on his tunic and then the shirt underneath. As she slid the shirt from his shoulders, her fingers ran cool and softly down his arms and then across the skin of his chest. It was, at last, too much and he pushed her back on to the hay, his body hard against hers as he stroked the bare flesh above her chemise, as he pulled the white cotton away, up over her hips, over her shoulders, over her head, leaving her breasts naked and beautiful. He raised his head to look at her, and Molly put her arms up above her head, stretching like a cat, the skin smooth and taut across her breasts and belly. Tom put his finger on her cheek and from there traced a wondering line, circling each breast, touching each eager nipple before moving slowly down her body. The touch of his exploring finger made her quiver. In that moment she heard her father’s gruff voice saying, “Lovely little bubbies you’ve got, Moll,” and she stiffened. Tom looked sharply into her face, but when she saw the anxiety in his eyes she smiled up at him and relaxed again. The memory vanished and she closed her eyes, arching her body towards him. He knelt beside her, his hands wandering lingeringly over her skin until he came to the drawers that still covered her. His fingers came to rest on their waistband and Molly murmured huskily, “Tom. Don’t stop!” Her eyes flew open and he looked into them anxiously.
“We shouldn’t be doing this, Molly,” he said. “Not till we’re married. Not till you’re really my wife.”
Molly slid her hands down his body and played with the fly of his trousers. “We may never be married, Tom,” she said softly. “We have to face reality. You go back tomorrow and I may never see you again. You say there’s a big push coming. You may be killed and we’d never have known what it was to love each other properly, completely. If we never spend another hour together at least we’ll have had this. We’ll have shared our bodies as well as our hearts.” Her fingers, stroking him, aroused him almost beyond endurance. “I want you to make love to me, Tom, so that I can hold this moment to me on the bleak and lonely nights when you’re not there. If you love me, Tom, please make love to me now.”
“I love you, Molly, too much to be doing this to you, but I can’t help myself.” He lowered his head and as they kissed the last of their restraint faded away.
Later, as they lay side by side in the hay listening to the rain still pattering on the roof, Molly curled herself against him and sighed. “I love you, Tom,” she said. “I’ll always love you.”
The wind dashed a flurry of rain in through the open doorway and Molly shivered. Tom said, “You’re cold. You must get dressed. Look at the time, Molly, you’ll be missed.”
“I don’t care,” Molly insisted, but she took her chemise when he handed it to her and put her clothes back on. Tom helped her pin her hair back up with the few hairpins they could salvage from the hay,
and then she set her hat on her head. Looking at his watch, she saw that the hours had fled and it was half past six. They stepped out into the rain and hurried back towards the convent. The heavy blanket of grey cloud made the evening dreary, and the wind was cold. They didn’t speak, just huddled together as they walked. When they reached the copse at the end of the track they kissed again.
“I’ll go in through the courtyard door,” Molly said. “It should be open. With luck nearly everyone will be at supper and I won’t be seen.”
“Will you be all right?” Tom asked. “You know I have to leave here at first light.”
“Yes, I know.” Molly was fighting to keep back tears. “I’ll never forget this afternoon,” she said.
“No more will I,” Tom said. “Look after yourself, my darling girl.”
Molly nodded and whispered, “You too.”
They walked quickly up the track to the gate in the convent wall, and with the touch of her hand on his, Molly went through without a backward glance. The courtyard was empty, the ward doors all shut against the cold wet evening. She pulled the gate closed behind her and was just starting across the yard for the door when the door to ward one opened and Sister Marie-Paul emerged carrying a bucket. She looked at Molly in surprise and said, “I thought you were ill.”
“I was, earlier,” Molly replied, “but I felt better and I thought a breath of fresh air would do me good, so I came down into the courtyard.”
“You don’t look ill,” remarked Sister Marie-Paul suspiciously. She had been annoyed when Sister Eloise had sent Molly to rest just because it was the time of the month. Didn’t they all have to contend with that? No one would have dreamed of even mentioning such a thing, let alone going to bed with it. She’d had to work an extra hour because Molly was sick.
“As I said, I feel much better now. Sister Eloise gave me some aspirin. They must have done the trick.”
Sister Marie-Paul sniffed and turned away to empty her bucket in an outside drain and Molly took the chance to scamper inside. Thank goodness Sister Marie-Paul hadn’t come out thirty seconds earlier and caught her actually coming in through the gate.
The Lost Soldier Page 27
