Wait For the Dawn

by Jess Foley

  ‘I mean, you’re not thinking you’re in love with the girl?’

  ‘Oh, Father – it’s too soon for me to think of anything like that.’

  ‘And what might that mean?’

  Guy gave a little sigh of frustration. ‘As I said, I’ve only recently met her and – and all this happening now. I feel I don’t know where I am.’

  ‘Well – you just try to keep your feet on the ground, my lad, that’s the least you can try to do. I mean, it can all seem very pleasant – you meet some young girl who’s pretty and flattering – and it’s easy to get carried away, but you’ve got to be realistic about it all. You haven’t gone making foolish promises to the young woman, have you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, that’s something. Because I tell you now, if the worst happens to me you’re going to have to face a lot more responsibility every day. When the business here is disposed of, you’ll still have the Courier to look after, and however well my manager is able to care for it, it’ll still be yours, the basic responsibility will still be yours. And even if I come through it all right, I simply shan’t be as able as I was. That has to be faced.’ He reached out and pressed Guy’s hand. ‘Son, we want you to make a good match. You’re not going to disappoint me over this, are you?’

  ‘I never want to disappoint you, Father.’

  ‘There’s a good fellow. Bear in mind, son, that no matter how you might think you feel about the young woman right now, you’ll get over it. Believe me, you will.’

  He patted Guy’s hand, and then coughed two or three times. Guy gave him the glass of water again and he drank. Afterwards he lay back against the pillows, exhausted. ‘I must rest,’ he said. ‘We’ll talk again later.’

  Just before noon Dr MacElroy returned, bringing with him the consultant surgeon Signor Martinelli, and while Guy and his mother waited in the vestibule on the ground floor the two physicians visited Mr Anderson in his hospital room. Later they came down and called Guy and his mother into a small ante-room nearby.

  The Italian surgeon was a tall man in his fifties with steel grey hair and a lean, clean-shaven face. As the introductions were made he shook hands with Guy and Mrs Anderson with a grave expression.

  With occasional references in Italian to the surgeon, Dr MacElroy told Mrs Anderson and Guy that he and the consultant had just finished examining Mr Anderson. The situation was very serious indeed, he said, and remedial measures would have to be carried out as soon as possible.

  ‘Signor Martinelli agrees that we must operate without delay,’ the doctor went on. ‘I shall assist him. The hospital is fully equipped, so the surgery can be carried out on the premises.’

  ‘Is there nothing else to do but to operate?’ Mrs Anderson said.

  ‘No.’ The doctor shook his head deliberately. ‘It’s the only thing to do. The gangrene is progressing at a very swift pace, so we need to operate at once. and the leg has to come off above the knee.’ He half turned to the surgeon. ‘Signor Martinelli will go straight now and fetch his instruments, and in the meantime I’ll make sure that the operating room is prepared, and that the nurses are ready.’ He took out his watch, flicked it open and said, ‘With luck we’ll be able to start by two-thirty, and we shall have good light.’ He closed his watch and put it back in his pocket. ‘Now – we must get busy.’

  For the next hour Guy and his mother remained with Mr Anderson in his room, but there was little conversation, for the old man seemed exhausted by the pain and by the assault to his system. So the mother and son sat for the most part speaking only desultorily, while doing what they could to make the patient comfortable.

  Then, just on a quarter to two there came a tap at the door and Sister Teresa was there, asking them to leave so that the patient could be prepared for his surgery. Mrs Anderson, forcing back the tears, kissed and embraced her husband, and Guy squeezed his hand. They would see him later, they said. Downstairs, they met Dr MacElroy who told them that they should come back in the morning at ten-thirty when visiting hours began, by which time everything would be done, and the patient would have had a good night’s sleep.

  After passing a restless night at the apartment, Guy and his mother returned to the hospital. Sister Teresa got up from her desk as they entered the vestibule and came towards them. While Guy tried to read her face, she said to his mother, ‘Dr MacElroy, he wishes to see you, signora. He has been waiting for you. Please, come this way.’

  She led them to the small ante-room they had sat in before, and on entering they found the doctor standing by the window. He turned at their approach and clasped his hands before him. Guy could see at once from the man’s expression that the situation was not good.

  ‘Please,’ the doctor said to them, ‘do sit down.’

  Mrs Anderson sat on one of the hard wooden chairs, and said at once, ‘Doctor, how is my husband?’

  The doctor waited until Guy was also seated, then said, ‘Madam, I’m very sorry to tell you that the situation turned out to be more serious than either one of us thought.’

  Mrs Anderson reached up a hand, pressing it to her mouth. ‘What are you saying?’

  Dr MacElroy shook his head. ‘I’m afraid the infection had travelled much further than we had anticipated. We had to amputate very high up on the thigh.’ He sighed. ‘And even then, we don’t know yet whether we caught it all. We’ll know in a very short time. I shall be back this afternoon to see how he is.’

  Over the hours that followed, Guy and his mother sat with Mr Anderson whenever they could. As before, there was little in the way of conversation, and all they could hope to do for him was to ease his discomfort in whichever way might be possible, so they gave him water, soothed his hot brow with damp cloths and fetched the nurse when the pain grew too much to bear. He ate nothing.

  He did not complain, but lay as before, half propped against the pillows, and the smell of rotting flesh returned and lay close under their nostrils. The nursing sister opened the window wider, but it did no good, the ghastly scent only got worse.

  They knew now from the doctor – and the surgeon concurred – that there was no longer any hope. The poison had invaded his whole body. The flesh was dying on his bones.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘So,’ said Lydia, reading from the book, ‘when Hansel looked about him there were no breadcrumbs to be seen. Somehow, they had all gone.’ She turned and looked down at Hennie who sat snuggled up against her on the sofa. Hennie’s eyes were wide, and as Lydia’s glance met her own the child put her hands to her mouth in a faint expression of horror, her pink lips forming a perfect little O. Distantly, from the scullery, came the sounds of chinking china as Evie washed the dinner dishes. It was Sunday, and Lydia, back in Capinfell for the weekend, had called round at the cottage to see her friend.

  ‘So what d’you think has happened?’ Lydia asked the child. ‘I wonder what can have happened to Hansel’s trail?’

  ‘I know, Hennie said with a nod.

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes, the birds have eaten all the breadcrumbs and now Hansel and Gretel haven’t got a trail to follow.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Yes, and now they’re lost and they can’t find their way home.’

  ‘Ah.’ Lydia shook her head. ‘Poor Hansel, poor Gretel.’

  ‘But in the end they will, after they kill the old witch. Please – go on.’

  Lydia smiled. ‘Very well.’

  Lydia continued to read from the storybook, and had just reached the point when the two children had come upon the gingerbread house when Evie came in from the scullery.

  ‘All right,’ Evie said, ‘that’s done. Come on, let’s go out for our walk.’

  ‘But Mammy,’ Hennie protested, ‘we’re just getting to the good part.’ She added anxiously, ‘They’re just about to go into the little house.’

  ‘Are they, now? Well, I’m sure it’ll keep for a while longer, dear. I’ll finish reading it for you later on, when Aunt Lydia has
gone off in the coach, but she hasn’t got long here today, and we can’t spend it all on your storybook, can we?’

  She got the child’s straw hat and set it on her fair curls, and put her own bonnet on and tied the strings. ‘All right,’ she said, ‘we can go now.’

  Leaving the cottage, they set out for the edge of the village and then walked out into the countryside, taking a footpath that led between fields. Beside the hedgerow the cornflowers were a bright, vivid blue, while to the right and left of them the fields of golden corn stretched out. Hennie ran skipping ahead, Evie’s watchful eye upon her. They came to a five-barred gate after a while. Lydia was for opening it and passing through, but Evie said, ‘Oh, let’s stop here, shall we? It’s such a warm day, and it’d be nice to rest.’

  They found a little patch of sun-dry grass near the hedgerow, a spot now partly shaded by a hawthorn tree, and sat down.

  ‘Did you see your Ryllis last weekend as you planned to?’ Evie asked. She took off her bonnet and ran her fingers through her chestnut hair.

  ‘Yes. She came into Redbury in the afternoon and we spent some hours together.’

  ‘Was she well?’

  ‘Yes, she’s quite well, though still not happy in her situation.’

  ‘How is she getting on with her young man? I’ve forgotten his name.’

  ‘Thomas. She didn’t say a lot, though I got the impression that she is not so happy with him as she might be.’ Lydia shook her head. ‘I do hope he’s not going to let her down. I’d never forgive him if he made a fool of her.’

  ‘Well, they haven’t long met,’ Evie said, ‘so give it time.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right. Things will work out in the end.’ She sighed, paused for a moment, then added, ‘That’s what I keep telling myself.’

  ‘Oh? Yes?’ Evie looked at her quizzically. After a moment she said, pacing her words carefully, ‘Have you heard yet from your Mr Anderson?’

  Lydia hesitated, then said, ‘No, I haven’t.’

  ‘Nothing?’

  ‘Not a word.’

  ‘How long is it now since he went?’

  ‘It’s three weeks to the day since I saw him last. Since that Sunday. He told me he would be going off the next day. I assume he did.’

  ‘Well – he’ll write.’

  ‘It’s been three weeks, Evie.’

  Hennie, sitting a few yards away, had taken off her hat and was filling it with blades of grass that she was carefully tearing up. ‘No, Hennie, dear,’ Evie called out to her, ‘put your hat back on your head or you’ll burn in the sun.’ Hennie took no notice, and continued as before, and after watching her for a while, Evie got up and went to her. Lydia watched as Evie tipped the grass out of the hat’s crown and then set the hat back upon the child’s head.

  ‘There,’ Evie murmured, ‘we’ll see how long that lasts.’ She came back to Lydia’s side and sat down again. Without looking directly at her she said after a moment, ‘In your letter you wrote that you had something to tell me. . .’ She let the question hang in the air.

  Lydia briefly closed her eyes and sighed. ‘To tell you the truth, Evie,’ she said, ‘I’m very worried.’

  Evie looked concerned. Frowning, she said, ‘What about? You’re not fretting about your father, are you? He’s stronger than you think, I’m sure. He –’

  ‘No,’ Lydia broke in. ‘I’m not worried about Father.’

  Evie looked at her for a moment, then gave a nod. ‘It’s your gentleman friend, is it?’

  Lydia nodded.

  ‘Of course it is,’ Evie said, ‘but he’ll be all right, and as for not hearing from him – well, you’ve no idea what he’s having to do, have you? I mean, with his father being hurt – and it could be very badly – who’s to say what his situation is. If he’s as nice as you say he is, then I’m sure you’ll hear from him before too long.’

  Lydia said after a moment, ‘It – it’s not that. That’s not quite it.’

  ‘What is it, then?’

  ‘As I told you – it – it’s been three weeks.’

  ‘Yes, so you said. Three weeks since you saw him, since he went away.’

  Out in the cornfield two crows fluttered up and settled again. Lydia eyed them, unseeing. Hennie had once again taken off her hat, but this time Evie paid no heed. She looked at Lydia, frowning. ‘What’s the matter?’ she said.

  Lydia bent her head and put both hands up to her cheeks. ‘Oh, God, Evie,’ she breathed, ‘I’m so worried.’

  Evie continued to gaze at her for some seconds. Then she said, ‘I see now. I think I do.’ She paused. ‘Are you telling me that something – happened – between you and your Mr Anderson?’

  Lydia said nothing, and after a second Evie gave the barest nod.

  A little silence fell between them, and in the quiet Lydia was vaguely aware of the cheeping of birds in the hedgerow. Hennie came over to them and deposited in her mother’s lap a few blossoms of cornflower. ‘These are for you, Mammy,’ the child said, and Evie replied, ‘Thank you, dear,’ in a faint, uninvolved voice, and absently touched the child’s fair hair. She watched then as Hennie wandered away again and once more sat down in the grass at the edge of the golden grain. Evie turned back to Lydia.

  ‘Would I be guessing right if I reckoned that – that you’re late. . .?’

  Lydia hesitated, then nodded. She could not meet Evie’s eyes.

  ‘When were you due?’

  ‘A week ago.’

  Evie sat looking at her, clearly shocked. ‘Well – maybe you’re just a bit late.’

  ‘No, I’m never late. I’m that regular you could set the clock.’ Lydia paused. ‘I’ve been feeling so sick too. Yesterday morning and this morning, and yesterday when I was on the train I felt that ill. Oh, Evie, I thought I’d be sick there and then.’

  Evie leaned across and briefly pressed Lydia’s hands as they lay clasped in her lap. ‘Lyddy – you poor thing.’

  ‘I don’t know what to do, Evie.’ Now Lydia turned and looked into her friend’s eyes. ‘I just don’t know. When I was heaving and retching this morning before church Father was very concerned. He thought it was something I’d eaten. I said it must be. I couldn’t tell him what I was thinking.’

  ‘Of course not. What are you going to do?’

  ‘I told you, I don’t know.’ Lydia gave a bitter little smile. ‘I really did pray in church this morning.’

  ‘Oh, Lyddy. . .’

  Lydia sat in silence, embarrassed at the situation she had revealed. ‘Tell me something,’ she managed to say after a few moments, ‘were – were your breasts tender when you fell for Hennie?’

  ‘What? Tender? Oh, I’ll say they were.’ Evie nodded. ‘I see – that’s happening to you, is it?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘Oh, yes, that’s another sign. Definitely. I know my mam was the same – she told me.’ After a few moments Evie added glumly, ‘Well, I don’t reckon there can be much question about it, Lyddy. I’m sorry to say it, but I think it’s something you’ve got to face up to.’

  Lydia groaned and covered her face with her hands. Her voice, muffled, with a desperate ring to it, came through her fingers: ‘Oh, God, I wish I knew what to do.’

  ‘What about your Mr Guy Anderson?’ Evie said after a moment. ‘He ought to be told, don’t you think?’

  Lydia gave a shake of her head, a gesture of helplessness, lowered her hands and held them clenched before her. ‘I don’t even know where he is,’ she said. ‘Whether he’s still in Italy, or back in England.’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to find out, won’t you? I mean – he has to be told. Men have got a responsibility in these things as well.’

  ‘I know that, I know, but – oh, it’s easier said than done.’

  ‘Well – where do you think he is? D’you think it’s likely he’s still abroad?’

  ‘I don’t know, but – oh, no, I can’t think that. I’m sure he’ll have come back by now. It’s been three weeks.’ />
  ‘Well, you can get in touch with him, Lyddy, surely you can. For a start you know that he works for his father’s newspaper. You could write to him there. They’ll forward your letter.’

  ‘Yes, I could do that, but I’ve got the address of his home, so that wouldn’t be necessary.’

  ‘Well, whichever way, you must write to him – wherever he is, even if he’s still abroad. I mean, you don’t know that he’s not in Italy even now. He might not be back in Redbury. But at least if you write you’ll be able to get in touch with him. Give him the chance to do the right thing.’

  ‘But – what if he’s back and – and just – doesn’t want to see me?’

  Evie frowned. ‘You’ve no reason to think that, have you?’

  ‘No, but –’ Lydia gave a deep sigh and shook her head. ‘Oh, sometimes I don’t know what to think.’

  ‘Well, anyway,’ Evie said, ‘whatever he feels about you you’ll – you’ll find out in time, but you can’t afford to put it off. You must do it at once.’

  ‘I know. I know. I have been putting it off. Just hoping against hope, I suppose, that things weren’t – the way they are – that all my fears have been – for nothing.’

  Hennie’s voice came then, calling to her mother, ‘Mammy, look, these are so pretty.’ She had picked three or four more cornflowers and was trying to stuff them into the pocket of her pinafore.

  ‘Yes, Hennie,’ Evie said. ‘Very pretty, but don’t pick any more, there’s a good girl.’

  ‘I’m picking them for you,’ Hennie said, coming to her mother’s side.

  ‘Thank you, dear, but that’ll be enough.’

  Lydia said suddenly into the peaceful little exchange, almost crying out, ‘Evie, it can’t be true!’ And at the sound Hennie looked round at her with a faint expression of alarm on her face. Evie quickly put an arm around the child. ‘It’s all right, Hennie,’ she said to her. ‘It’s all right.’

  Lydia watched as Hennie squirmed out of her mother’s embrace and moved away again across the grass, then said in a voice that was little more than a whisper, ‘It can’t be true, Evie – that I’m to – to have a baby. What was I thinking of? What could I have been thinking of?’