What the Heart Keeps

by Rosalind Laker

  She retraced her steps at a much slower pace amid others leaving the platform, feeling thoroughly inadequate at being unable to assist in some way the efforts of Alan and those with him in the struggle in which they would soon be engaged. As she was about to go from the platform, she noticed a band of busy women, some of them wearing Red Cross arm-bands, emptying tea-urns and stacking thick china cups on long trestle tables to be washed up in bowls of steaming water. They had supplied refreshments and cigarettes free of charge to the troops that had departed with the train. Swiftly she approached a dignified-looking woman in Red Cross uniform who appeared to be in charge.

  “Do you want any more helpers? I’m eager to be of some use in the war effort.”

  “What welcome words!” The woman smiled at her. “We need all the help we can get for every kind of duty. Are you a member of the Voluntary Aid Detachment of the Red Cross?”

  “No, I’m not. But I’d like to join.”

  “Splendid! I’ll give you an enrollment form now.”

  Lisa read it through in the taxi during her return to the cinema. She found she could not be a fully fledged V.A.D., as those of the Red Cross Voluntary Aid Detachment were known, until she had attended first aid lectures and passed qualifying examinations. Upon arriving at The Fernley she went straight to Mr. Hardy to arrange that he be left entirely in charge for a couple of hours every evening while she attended a course. of lectures in a church hall not far away.

  As soon as her training was completed successfully, she went to a special outfitter in Golden Square to buy her Red Cross uniform. She felt honoured to wear it and had her photograph taken in it at head and shoulder level to send to Alan. He wrote back that he had never seen a more beautiful nurse, and he was keeping the photograph in its leather folder in his left-hand pocket over his heart.

  All his letters were love-letters. At times the tenderness of the phrases he used moved her intensely, particularly as she knew that these poignant outpourings were often written in the dank misery of a dug-out in the mud-filled trenches while shells whistled overhead and bombs burst open the earth. After the extraordinary and unofficial truce at Christmas when soldiers on both sides had come out of their trenches to meet in No Man’s Land and exchange festive greetings, the war continued with unabated ferocity.

  She saw the aftermath of those battles, some of which were won and some lost, when she was on reception duty at Waterloo Station where trains brought in the wounded from the hospital ships that docked at Southampton. On the first occasion, she stood numbed by the sight of the train disgorging countless stretcher cases and soldiers with bandaged heads and eyes and arms in slings. Some were missing a limb and were helped along by medical orderlies or hobbled gamely alone on their crutches. While she was standing as if transfixed, one of the soldiers on crutches slipped and fell heavily. She rushed to him while the busy orderlies, seeing she was in V.A.D. uniform with the Red Cross on her apron front, left him to her care for the time being. He was lying on his back, his crutches scattered, and was looking up at the grimy glass roof high above him.

  “Are you all right?” she cried anxiously, dropping to her knees to lean over him. The tears of compassion were spilling from her eyes. He was about forty years old and there was a pinned-up trouser-leg over the stump of his thigh. At the sound of her voice his gaze shifted to her face, his own ashen from the pain that had seared through his whole body from the fall, and he managed a lopsided grin.

  “Clumsy, ain’t I? Don’t cry, nurse. I could do with a smile from your pretty face. There ain’t been much smiling lately where I’ve come from.”

  It taught her a lesson. She never again gave way to her emotions. The wounded wanted encouragement and not pity. They received it from her with every train she met. She also arranged that men in hospital blue be admitted free to the Fernley movie shows.

  Sometimes recruiting sergeants came to the cinema and addressed the audience from the stage, while in the foyer a table was set up for men to enlist on the spot. There was always a queue of those wanting to sign their names, stirred equally by the patriotic newsreels and the sergeants’ accounts of enemy atrocities against Belgian women and children.

  It was after one of these recruiting visits that Lisa found Mr. Hardy sitting in the deserted foyer with his elbows propped on his knees and his head in his hands. “What is the matter?” she exclaimed anxiously. “Are you ill?”

  “No, Mrs. Fernley.” He dropped his hands and straightened up at once, his reassuring smile not matching the disquiet in his eyes. “It’s been a long day. A spot of tiredness, that’s all.”

  “Would you like some time off?” She sat down beside him. She had come to know him quite well during the months they had worked together. Contrary to her original uncertainty about him, he had never once tried to usurp her position, but had given her loyal and energetic support which had enabled her to carry out her V.A.D. duties and spend extra time with Harry when he needed her, such as when the boy had succumbed to measles and been quite ill for a while.

  “You are most considerate, but I really don’t need a holiday,” he replied. “In fact, I’m bored when I’m not working. A break would do me no good at all.”

  She thought loneliness was half his trouble. He lived in lodgings and what relatives he had were somewhere in the North of Scotland. It was becoming more difficult every day for a man in civilian life to find a girl-friend, for many women no longer liked to be seen with a male partner not in uniform.

  “Well, think about it, anyway,” she advised. “It can always be arranged.”

  Not only had Alan’s hopes of an early leave come to nothing, but the first months of the year went by with no sign of his coming home. Sometimes she wondered if he was engaged in special work that made it difficult to release him, but naturally there was no hint in his letters that this might be the case. From information gathered from officers she met and from what she read in the newspapers, the Royal Engineers were spread thinly throughout the British Expeditionary Forces, but in concentrated and highly efficient groups that bridged rivers and carried out other such tasks. The Royal Engineers figured strongly in the casualty lists and there was no telling what courageous risks they had taken to bring their names into those tragic columns.

  Minnie, following events closely from the newspapers in the States, wrote with concern about the Zeppelin raids on the English east coast, fearful of Lisa’s and Harry’s safety if they should reach London. But those huge airborne monsters were subject to the whims of the wind and weather and nobody took the threat very seriously. Then on the last night of May, a Zeppelin, escaping anti-aircraft fire, dropped bombs on London, resulting in casualties. The recruiting sergeant gained still more volunteers as a result.

  At the end of June, Lisa received word that Alan was coming home on leave. She was at once filled with happiness at the prospect of seeing him safe and sound while, at the same time, she experienced trepidation as to how it would be between them after this long span of separation. After everything he had been through in the fighting, he might have expectations of her after her declaration of love that would be impossible for her to meet, however willing. She truly cared for him, but what she felt was not new and in the past it had not overcome the barriers that were part of their lives. Why should things be any different now?

  With a week before his home-coming in which to make plans, she sent Harry and Maudie to friends at a seaside resort on the south coast, well out of range of any raids. Alan should have some time with Harry, but not before he and she had had a few days together on their own. Then she set other arrangements into motion very speedily and everything was ready when she drove their automobile to Victoria Station to meet him. There were other women waiting for their menfolk, and it was easy to see that they had put on their best outfits, as she had done, for the occasion. She doubted if any one of them was assailed by the nervousness that she was experiencing. It was like being a bride again.

  The train came into sight,
grey smoke puffing from the locomotive. The women surged forward along the platform in their excitement, but she stayed near the ticket-gate, her heart palpitating madly. Carriage doors were opening, passengers alighting, and reunions taking place. And there he was. The army captain with the thin, haggard face and war-wearied eyes.

  In her hours of duty as a V.A.D. she had seen many returning men with the look about them of having gazed into hell, and she had prepared herself for a change in his appearance. Nevertheless, it came as a great shock to her that he should bear the marks of ordeal to such a degree. She held out her arms, his image spangled through the tears she would not release, and he caught her to him with a deep moan of love. The clean, sweet bouquet of her made him dizzy. It was as if all his lonely dreams of her had taken on a reality beyond his immediate comprehension.

  “Now I’m going to drive you home,” she said to him as they left the station.

  He threw his belongings into the back of the automobile and took the seat beside her. The sight of London was disturbing to him. Reminders of the death and destruction he had left recently were all around him. He saw it in the posters of Kitchener’s face and pointing finger demanding voluntary service. It was there in the uniforms passing by on the pavements and crossing the streets. He heard it in the pipes of a Highland regiment on its way to a boat-train. He had hoped to unwind and forget for two whole weeks that elsewhere men had gone mad and nothing would ever be the same again. Although he shared everyone’s opinion of the Kaiser and the German generals, he felt no hatred towards the enemy in the fighting lines and he was not alone in that. There was a curious and terrible comradeship in knowing that beyond the barbed wire of No Man’s Land the Germans were sharing the same appalling conditions of trench mud and rats and lice and, until the onset of better weather, sometimes icy water up to the waist. He had known rage against them and fury fit to split his brain, such as when they used poison gas at Ypres, but hate was not there. Maybe everything would have been easier to bear if it had been.

  He became aware that Lisa was not taking the route he had expected to follow. “Which way are you going?” he asked her. He remembered her writing in a letter that the first trainload of wounded from France had had to face the further endurance of being in ambulances deliberately detoured by cheering London crowds, who had misguidedly wished to express their feelings. He, although completely unscathed, had no more wish than those poor wounded would have had that the drive should be longer than was absolutely necessary. Not that the apartment could provide him with the healing quietude he greatly needed, for its being adjacent to the cinema would mean instant involvement.

  “I told you,” she said calmly, looking ahead, “I’m taking you home. Really home. We’re on our way to Berkshire.”

  He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Have you opened Maple House then?”

  “Only for the duration of your leave and just the rooms we’ll be using. Your village caretaker organised an army of helpers at short notice to scrub and polish there.”

  He spoke on a silent laugh of pleasure and sheer relief. “Marvellous!”

  “We’ll have the place entirely to ourselves for a week. Then Maudie will arrive with Harry. He’s looking forward to seeing you so much.”

  “What have I done to deserve you, Lisa?” There was a kind of wonder in his voice as he leaned across to kiss her on the neck. His romantic tribute was observed with interest by passengers in a bus driving alongside. He saw only her.

  They broke their journey to dine at an old coaching inn, and then drove on to Maple House. It was dark when they arrived, but Lisa had arranged that lamps should be lighted at an earlier hour so that the windows gave a glow that reached out to them as they drew up outside. The dusty atmosphere had been completely banished from the house, which smelt of beeswax and freshly laundered curtains and the scent from the vases of many-hued garden flowers that had been placed everywhere. In the hallway they turned to each other.

  “Welcome home, Alan,” she said softly.

  He drew her to him in silent embrace, momentarily beyond words. Somewhere in the trees outside a nightingale was singing.

  They went upstairs together. There was white, hand-embroidered linen from another age on the wide mahogany bed and the lamps were pink silk with beaded fringes. The windows stood open to the moonlight and the stars. For his sake she let nothing intrude on that night. No thoughts of past or future came to her. It was her gift of reconciliation and renewal to the man she had married, the time-honoured tribute of a woman to the returned soldier in a spate of war, and the night was entirely his. On his part, he led her to a release of ecstasy that she had long believed she would never know again. It brought them to a state of such enormous tenderness for each other that the night surpassed even the special one that had brought them close for transient moments not long after their marriage. This time all barriers were down.

  The week passed all too quickly. They walked in the countryside, lazed in the sunshine and the shade, and prepared simple meals together. Their love-making was rich and rewarding. Afterwards there was always a sweet contentment.

  When Harry arrived, the pattern of their time together changed a great deal, but was no less pleasurable. Maudie took over the domestic arrangements leaving the three of them together. They played games of cricket and croquet, dammed the stream for a boating-pool, explored the nearby woods and went for picnics. Lisa and Harry shared the swing and the seesaw that Alan had set up, and every day the sun shone and the nights were still and balmy. Finally it was time to leave. The shutting up of the house was to be left to the village caretaker, who would come in as soon as they had gone. This enabled them to drive away leaving windows and doors open as if they were about to return shortly. It made everything a little easier for them, although the moment of departure was poignant enough.

  They drove to the London apartment. Alan, refreshed and rested physically and mentally by the country sojourn, went immediately into the cinema to greet the staff and discuss certain business matters with Mr. Hardy. Lisa had mentioned the assistant manager’s bouts of depression, for increasingly the man was low in spirits for days at a time, but in answer to Alan’s tactful questioning he announced himself well satisfied with his recent raise in salary and had no complaints about the long hours he worked. It left Alan with no more idea than Lisa as to what the man’s trouble might be.

  That evening Alan took Lisa to the theatre. They saw a lively musical show and afterwards had supper at the Savoy. Their last night together, which was as ardent and passionate as the rest had been, had its own special moments unique to times of parting. He would not let her accompany him to the station this time. To bid her farewell in the company of others would be more than he could bear.

  “Come back soon,” she implored, locked in his embrace.

  “Nothing shall keep me away for as long as before,” he promised her. They kissed and he went from her. And she was engulfed by the wave of emptiness that swept in on her as the door closed behind him.

  *

  By the middle of the following month, Lisa was wondering what could be amiss with her. At times the smoke of somebody’s cigarette, or even a pleasant aroma from a coffee-shop could make her feel quite nauseous. Another two weeks went by before a sudden bout of morning sickness confirmed what she had stopped hoping for long since. Weak and trembling from the onslaught, she gasped with sheer joy, pressing the flat of her hands to her stomach through the thin silk of her nightgown. She was pregnant at last.

  As soon as the doctor had added medical confirmation, she wrote the news to Alan. According to dates, the baby had been conceived during the first week of his leave, perhaps even on that night of supreme tenderness between them. She would always cling to the belief that it was that night. Her feelings for Alan entered a new phase. It was her hope that he would get back to be with her when the baby was born. He echoed that hope in the letter he wrote upon receiving the good news. In subsequent correspondence they settled on n
ames for a son or a daughter. She wanted the choice to be his.

  In September another Zeppelin got through to London. The casualties were not as high as those suffered in the constant raids on Grimsby and other places on the east coast, but the shock effect of a second raid on the heart of England was considerable. Lisa had no idea that it was to be instrumental in bringing about a change in the organisation of The Fernley. The only forewarning came when she returned one afternoon after fetching Harry from the day-school he was attending, always seizing any chance to be with him. Leaving him in Maudie’s care in the apartment, she went through the connecting door into the cinema to be met by the girl who sold chocolates in the intervals.

  “I told Mr. Hardy I must have fresh supplies before the matinee,” she reported indignantly, “and he went out without giving them to me.”

  “Gone out? That’s not possible. Mr. Hardy is always on the premises when I’m absent and vice-versa.”

  “Well, he’s not here. One of the usherettes saw him in his hat and coat.”

  Lisa was most annoyed. Mr. Hardy’s behaviour had reached its limits this time. She would have to speak severely to him upon his return. “I’ll get the chocolates for you,” she said. “Follow me.”

  Lisa went into Mr. Hardy’s office where the stores were kept in a side-room. She took what was needed from a cupboard and gave it to the girl, who hurried away into the auditorium. Lisa relocked the cupboard and was returning through the office when she noticed something on his desk that made her stop in her tracks. It was a white feather. Symbol of cowardice. She reached out slowly to pick it up and found that more than one lay there. Spreading them out on the blotter she saw that there were seven in all. Now she understood what had caused the sensitive man such fits of depression from time to time. The door opened and she looked up, the feathers still spread out before her. Mr. Hardy had come into the office, his pale face tautening at the evidence she had discovered.