Love for a Soldier

by Mary Jane Staples

  Murmurs began to disturb the night silence. Silence, she had found, could be both reassuring and frightening, but never prolonged. Something always came to disturb it. The murmur grew. Captain Marsh stopped and put a hand on her arm. She stopped too. The plane-repair sheds were well behind them, the road to Douai was in front of them, and the murmur turned into the sound of marching men. Sophia’s eyes grew wide. The sky, brightly garnished by the new moon, threw enough light to bring the moving columns to her sight. She and Captain Marsh dropped to their knees and watched.

  The road was not a road, but a flowing river of shadowy field-grey. Darkened by the night, helmeted and greatcoated, with packs on their backs and rifles slung, the infantry of Germany tramped in step. They represented part of the final might of the Fatherland. Horse-drawn ammunition wagons appeared at intervals. There were thousands of men, their columns stretching far back. They were marching to the west, their objective that which had been determined by General Ludendorff.

  ‘My God,’ breathed Captain Marsh, ‘in two days I’ve seen what looks like the best part of the German Army on the move.’

  Sophia’s blood was running fast. This tide of marching men was the ultimate in spectacle. With others, they were the men whom Ludendorff and his corps commanders were to use to smash the Allies apart. All that was left of Germany’s effective manpower was to be concentrated on an offensive which Ludendorff hoped would give his country the victory it so desperately needed. Sophia watched spellbound, knowing the infantry probably belonged to one more of her father’s divisions.

  ‘How magnificent,’ she whispered in German.

  ‘Excuse me?’ said the mesmerized Captain Marsh.

  ‘We can’t use that road,’ she said, ‘we can’t even cross it.’

  ‘I can see that.’ He knew something far more important than a switch of troops from one sector to another was taking place. ‘Your generals have been moving a million men, all to the west, all to the same area.’

  Sophia, bitterly determined to give nothing away, said caustically, ‘Isn’t that what all generals do? Ordinary people play chess and move a few pawns. Generals play war games and move millions of men.’

  ‘I don’t think your generals are playing any kind of game at this particular moment. There’s a big offensive coming, isn’t there?’

  Sophia set aside all weaknesses and said firmly, ‘I know only one thing: that it’s time we finished the war; that it’s time England and France were beaten. And it’s time for you to go and for me to be true to my country.’

  ‘Do you think I can argue with that?’ he said, and shook his head and smiled at her. ‘Join your soldiers, Sophia, while I find another way to get to Douai. In wishing you all the luck in the world, I mean it, and you know that, don’t you? Two days have been a lifetime of—No, never mind. Goodbye.’

  He rose to his feet and walked away, moving fast, going back the way they had come. Sophia, still on her knees, did not look up. Her head dropped and the anguish returned.

  He went on, his mouth tight. He knew she was right. He had to go his separate way, and she had to return to being a loyal citizen of her country. He should have been firmer about that before, he should not have gone on delaying their parting. At no time could that have been anything but inevitable – and permanent.

  He lengthened his stride. He must get back to that dirt road. It could put him on another cross-country route to Douai. Much longer, but easily accomplishable during the night. It took him a little while to reach the long wooded belt, and he chose to keep straight on, selecting the ground that lay between the wood and the fir-lined fence of the Luftwaffe repair unit, now silent and in darkness. Had he chosen the previous ground, on the other side of the wood, he might eventually have walked into the welcoming arms of Major Kirsten and Sergeant Lugar.

  He did not expect what happened next, what had happened before, the sound of Sophia running to catch him up. He had no idea of what motivated her. He was aware of his own feelings, but not aware of hers, or how self-tormenting they were.

  She arrived at his side, her breathing noisy. He pulled up and turned to face her. She would not look at him.

  He felt he could only save himself by being brutally frank, but it was beyond him to do anything except try to understand her.

  ‘This isn’t very sensible,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve—’ Sophia drew a painful breath. ‘I’ve changed my mind. We can wait until the road is clear.’

  ‘You worry me,’ he said. ‘You worry me desperately.’

  ‘Do you suppose I am not a worry to myself?’

  He could not help a wry smile.

  ‘I thought,’ he said, ‘that you were only a worry to your mother.’

  She did not respond to that.

  ‘We can wait until the road is clear, can’t we?’

  ‘It’s a little difficult to understand you, Sophia.’

  They stood there, lacking communication because of the barrier of the war, because they were on opposite sides. At this moment, Major Kirsten, Elissa and Sergeant Lugar, having finished an inspection of the deserted staff car several minutes ago, were advancing over the ground that led to the other side of the wood. They were retracing the route taken earlier by themselves and the soldiers.

  Sophia said, looking into the darkness of the wood, ‘Are you going back to the car? I will drive it if your finger is still bad.’

  ‘I’ve forgotten my finger. And I’m not going back to the car.’ Captain Marsh was gently firm. ‘We’ve brought it as far as we dare. I’m going to walk a short distance along that dirt road, and then cut across country. Sophia, go back to your father. You must in the end, you know. There are ammunition wagons on the main road, and the driver of any one of them would gladly give a lift to the daughter of a general. He’ll drop you off at Douai.’

  ‘That is not true! Do you think that thousands of men on the march are all going to stop to allow me to climb up into one of their carts?’ Sophia lost control. ‘Oh, you are crazy with your running about, this way and that way, and with your mad dreams of escape! But you are good at running and looking after yourself—’

  ‘Sophia, not so loud,’ he whispered. The repair establishment might be silent and asleep, but there was bound to be a sentry or two on night duty at the entrance. ‘We must separate, you know we must.’

  ‘Oh, yes, you are good at everything except keeping your promises,’ said Sophia. She knew she was being entirely impossible, but her nerves and emotions were stretched to their limits.

  ‘This can’t go on. I have to leave you. Sophia, go back to your father.’ And Captain Marsh made another effort to go his own way. He turned and resumed his retreat, striding out at a speed that spoke of finality. Sophia, driven by anguish, again went after him. She knew herself out of her mind because of the certainty they would never see each other again, and there had to be something more to the parting than this unbearable nothingness. She ran blindly and wildly to catch up with him. She stubbed her toe against a stiff, grassy hump that was as hard and unyielding as the stump of a tree. She stifled a cry at the dart of pain that shot through her right ankle. She pitched and fell. Captain Marsh turned back at once. She was lying on her side, her right knee drawn up, her gloved hand reaching to feel her ankle. ‘Sophia?’ Concerned, he went down on one knee beside her.

  ‘I caught my foot,’ she whispered.

  He listened for a moment. The pounding rhythm of the marching Germans could not be heard from here, but there were other people who might not be far away. Where was that van and Sophia’s friend, Major Kirsten? But what did it matter? Only Sophia was important.

  ‘Painful?’ he said.

  ‘I turned my ankle – yes, it hurts.’

  ‘Then it has to be over now,’ he said gently.

  ‘No, it’s not so bad – perhaps just a bruise. Oh, I am sorry I am being so difficult and stupid. If you please?’ She reached up, he took hold of her hands and helped her to her feet. She gave a little hi
ss of pain as she put her weight on her right foot.

  ‘It’s not just a bruise, is it?’ he said. ‘You fell very heavily. If you’ve broken it – Sophia, stay here and I’ll go and get help. There’ll be a sentry at this place –’

  ‘No!’ she whispered. ‘You can’t – not after so much. It will make no difference to the war if you escape – we both know that – please, I shan’t mind if you manage to get away, and you’ve tried so hard.’

  ‘Let’s think about you, shall we?’ he said. There was no more running to be done. He could not leave her now. She had become very dear to him, and had worn her love for her country as brightly as a polished badge. He lifted her. She put her arms around his neck and turned her face into his shoulder. Her pale golden hair softly touched his cheek. He began to carry her along the rough, grassy avenue that separated the fir-lined perimeter of the workshops from the belt of trees.

  ‘Please,’ she said, ‘I don’t want –’

  ‘I must take you to the sentry, Sophia. There may be a resident medical officer who can see what damage you’ve done.’

  ‘No.’ She was whisperingly distraught. ‘No, don’t do that. Please don’t do anything that will mean giving yourself up. It will make me so unhappy.’

  ‘Sophia, a broken ankle –’

  ‘It isn’t broken, I’m sure it isn’t. A sprain, perhaps, that’s all. We could look at it. Don’t take me into this place.’

  He hesitated, then carried her into the fir trees, thick and concealing. He placed her on the ground, beneath the low, covering branch of a tree. He took off the greatcoat, laid it next to her, then lifted her on to it, giving her extra protection from the cold grass. She was silent; so was he. Fifty metres away, on the other side of the wooded belt, Major Kirsten, Elissa and Sergeant Lugar were quietly passing by on their searching walk to the main road.

  Captain Marsh knelt beside Sophia. It was not so dark that they could not clearly see each other. Fifteen metres away, the high wire-mesh fence looked like black netting stretched tightly between posts.

  ‘Let’s take a look at your ankle now, shall we?’ said Captain Marsh.

  Sophia nodded, and lay quietly as he unlaced her right boot and drew it off gently. The removal of the boot hurt her ankle, but she said nothing. She felt his hand lightly touching the joint and moving carefully over her stocking to her heel and then her instep. It was only the ankle that was painfully susceptible to his touch.

  ‘I think I twisted it,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sure you did,’ he said, ‘but your boot may have saved you from something worse. Tell me if this hurts.’ His hand lightly moved her foot. A little spasm of pain attacked her ankle, but it was not unbearable.

  ‘A little,’ she said. ‘It’s not so bad – it feels hot.’

  ‘And it’s a little swollen. But you’d know it, I think, if you’d broken it; you’d have felt real pain. Are you sure you didn’t?’

  ‘When you turned my foot? No, it wasn’t the pain of a fracture, it was just a tender pain.’

  ‘A tender pain?’ He smiled. ‘That’s new to me, a tender pain. We’ll settle for a wrenched ankle, then. I’ll put a cold compress on it – if you’ll release your stocking.’

  He turned away to avoid embarrassing her, and Sophia drew up her coat and skirts, unclipped her grey silk stocking and rolled it down. She lay back again, watching him. He had his handkerchief out and was pressing it flatly to the cold, moist grass. He pulled long blades free from a thick tuft, gathering a large handful. He turned back to Sophia. She was still lying quietly. Her legs were partly uncovered. One glimmered in its silk stocking showing above her boot, and the other was palely naked. He placed the pad of frosty, damp grass on her swollen ankle, and its coldness brought immediate bliss to the joint. She emitted a sigh. He folded the handkerchief into a wide strip and bound it around her ankle to hold the grass compress in place.

  ‘Thank you,’ whispered Sophia.

  ‘Sprained ankles are only supposed to happen to the heroines of Victorian novels, you know. It enables the villains to catch up with them and – let me see, what happens next?’

  ‘Don’t you know? The hero arrives just as the villain is about to carry the heroine away to his villa in Nice, and a desperate duel is fought. The hero is always victorious, which is rather unfair, I think, because some of the villains are far more exciting than the heroes, and I like the sound of a villa in Nice.’

  Captain Marsh laughed softly. Sophia regarded him mistily.

  ‘I’m afraid I’ve been the villain in this case,’ he said.

  ‘But you don’t have a villa in Nice?’ she said with a faint smile.

  ‘I’ve nothing like that to offer any heroine. Has that compress made your ankle feel a little better?’

  ‘Not a little, no. Much better, thank you.’ She was emotional because of his concern, his attention and the compress he had so gently applied.

  ‘Good,’ he said. He drew the rolled stocking up from her foot and eased it over the bound handkerchief. ‘If you fix your stocking again it will keep the bandage in place, do you see?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sophia. She drew the stocking upwards and clipped it. She sank back again. He, acutely conscious that she had not covered her legs, covered them for her by adjusting her rucked dress and petticoat and folding the skirts of her coat into place.

  ‘You need to keep warm,’ he said.

  ‘It doesn’t matter that you don’t have a villa in Nice,’ said Sophia huskily.

  ‘Sophia?’

  ‘I love you,’ said Sophia.

  In shock, he stared down at her.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ he breathed.

  ‘You need not feel too embarrassed, for my mother would tell you I’m a creature of passing fancies. She would also tell you I’ll probably be in love with someone else tomorrow.’

  ‘Would she be right?’ he asked, not knowing what else to say.

  ‘Sometimes she is right about me,’ said Sophia, thinking of Fritz and how her mother had implied she could not be seriously in love with a young man who was merely likeable.

  ‘We can forget, then, what you just said?’ With the moment hovering on the edge of unreality, he wondered if she had indeed actually said it.

  ‘Only if you can believe my mother knows me better than I know myself.’ Sophia was almost calm. It was out now, that which had given her so much torment from the moment when he had kissed her and she had responded in an excess of ardour both crazy and passionate. It was not the best thing that had ever happened to her, this shameless, shattering want for a man who was at war with her country, but there had been nothing she could do to smother it. It had taken hold of her so possessively that if he had asked her to, she would have run with him to the ends of the earth.

  ‘Sophia, it’s been an unendurable time for you, I’ve turned your life upside down. I’ve been mindlessly stupid and unforgivable –’

  ‘You have already said that. It isn’t relevant any more. I love you –’

  ‘That can’t be true. The situation has always been such that in a way we could both say we’ve never really met.’

  ‘I could not say that. Could you?’

  ‘No. But wise people might.’

  ‘You said a little while ago that for you two days had been a lifetime of – you didn’t finish. Could you tell me now?’

  He shook his head, but said, ‘A lifetime of discovering how sweet and beautiful you are.’

  ‘That is something to remember.’ Sophia was quiet and sad. ‘If you really think that of me, I shan’t be completely unhappy. And tomorrow, perhaps, I’ll be in love with a different man. I’ve been told, you see, that my enthusiasms are very transient.’

  ‘That’s what you’ve been told?’ He felt intensely moved, and had forgotten the hunters, who were well on their way to the Douai road now. He wondered, guiltily, just how much responsibility he must accept for Sophia’s strange sadness. ‘Sophia, we all experience a hundred different enthusiasms
when we’re young, and few of them last with any of us. But that doesn’t mean we’re incapable of permanent loyalties and affections. Only promiscuous people are strangers to faithfulness.’

  ‘But don’t you see, I am German and you are English,’ said Sophia, ‘and I’m unfaithful to Germany in loving you.’

  ‘That’s very difficult, yes, but it’s nothing to do with unfaithfulness.’ He could not declare his own feelings, he could not kiss her or caress her, or love her. He could not do anything that would make an impossible situation far worse.

  Sophia fumbled at her coat then. She drew out the secreted hatpin and showed it to him.

  ‘That was to stab you with, if you touched me again,’ she said, and she threw it away.

  Her gesture made him produce his revolver and drop it into the grass.

  ‘And that was to help my escape,’ he said, ‘but I’m trapped now.’ He was trapped by the intensity of his feelings for her, but he was also torn by the necessity of finding someone in Douai who would know how to pass on to the Allies the information concerning gigantic German troop movements.

  ‘You aren’t trapped,’ said Sophia, ‘you can go when the road is clear.’

  ‘I can’t leave you, and won’t,’ he said, close to letting emotion displace wisdom.

  ‘But you have to soon, one way or another,’ she said. She seemed to be quietly wandering. ‘I’ve been told many times I don’t really know what I want. I think my mother was mostly right about that. What she would say about what I want now I can guess. I want to hear that the war is over; that our countries are at peace. I want to hear you tell me you love me – oh, that is very impossible, isn’t it? I want to help you repair motor cars. I’m really not too bad with a motor car, am I?’

  ‘The best, Sophia.’

  ‘But you aren’t in love with me? No, how could you be?’