by Maggie Hope
‘It’s probably nothing,’ Karen said aloud as she turned into the drive of the hospital. Gran could just have been tired when she wrote the letter. Or maybe it was just Karen herself, reading too much into things. She forgot her grandmother as she let herself into the hall and saw Patrick standing before the fire.
‘Good evening, Father,’ she said, suddenly aware that her nose and cheeks were red with the cold and tendrils of hair had escaped from her cap yet again and were dangling over her face. She went to the mirror and pinned them back with nervous, darting movements. Once again she felt that strange twist of emotion which he inspired in her, and it made her feel awkward and clumsy.
‘Have you been here all day, Father? I mean, you were here most of last night …’
Her voice trailed off as she saw his unsmiling face through the mirror.
‘Good evening, Sister,’ he said formally, and she thought how distant he looked and tired, too. His grey eyes were sunk in dark shadows. ‘No,’ he continued, ‘I came in about half an hour ago to see Private O’Donnel. Poor man, he likes to hear a voice from home.’
Just like Nick, thought Karen as Private Harvey came out of the ward as he always did when he heard her voice.
‘Hello, Sister. Can I help you with anything?’ he asked eagerly.
‘Thanks, Nick. I’ll be in in a little while, after I’ve taken the report. You go in now.’
‘How did you find Private O’Donnel?’ she asked Patrick after Nick had disappeared back into the ward. Perhaps Private O’Donnel was the reason for Patrick’s unsmiling face. Why should she think it had anything to do with her?
‘Fair enough, Sister, fair enough. He will be going home soon, so Doctor Clarke tells me. He is more settled now, more resigned to his blindness. He was talking quite happily tonight.’
‘Oh, good. That is good.’
Karen waited for a moment before turning her attention to Day Sister who had appeared from the wards and was opening the report book ready to give the report. Matron had had a free afternoon today, Karen remembered.
Patrick watched her as she bent her head over the book. She was so slight, like a girl, though she must be about twenty-eight, he judged. When she came in from the cold this evening she had such a glowing look to her eyes, such a bloom to her cheeks. She had made him want to forget the sadness of the day, the strains and worries. He thought of how sweet it had been to be alone with her in the cottage parlour that afternoon a few days ago. She aroused feelings in him which he knew were forbidden to him yet he could hardly stop himself from giving in to the impulse to touch her, take off that silly cap and let down her shining hair and thread his fingers through it. He wanted … Well, it didn’t matter what he wanted. He could imagine what her reaction would be if he should do such a thing. Shocked horror, he had no doubt.
He moved abruptly to the door and the women looked up from their contemplation of the day report.
‘Goodnight, Father.’
The title echoed mockingly in his ears as he strode round the house to where his pony and trap were waiting faithfully. He drove down the drive and along the lane to the village, unhappy and confused. He thought of having a word with Father Brown, but the old man was not the right person, he knew. He ought to talk to his bishop, he thought, but didn’t want to do that either. Sean, that was the man he would like to unburden himself to. But Sean was so far away, somewhere in the North, where Karen came from.
Karen, he mused, Karen-happuch, daughter of Job. And hardly knowing what he was doing, he turned the trap round and headed back to Greenfields Hospital.
There was still a little magic in the air as Karen made her rounds of the wards. Most of the men had been resident for a week or two and were truly convalescent, not just judged to be so by field hospital doctors desperate to make room for fresh casualties. Consequently, everyone seemed in a happier mood apart from the ward full of blinded men upstairs. The men on Ward 1 were chatting amiably, Karen found when she made her round, Nick following faithfully on behind.
‘Evening, Sister, come to tuck us in, have you?’ called one. The man in the next bed went further.
‘If you get tired during the night, Sister, there’s room for you in here,’ he said, holding back his blankets and leering. But it was a joke which went sour for the rest of the men turned on him angrily.
‘Less of that, you.’
‘Keep your dirty mouth shut, Private.’
The calls were coming from all sides and the offending soldier turned bright red and huddled down in his bed.
‘I meant no harm,’ he muttered. ‘No offence meant, Sister.’
He looked so crestfallen that Karen felt sorry for him; he was obviously ignorant of the strict code of morality which existed between the men and their nurses. He was just a boy pretending to be a man, she reckoned.
‘That’s enough, boys,’ she said firmly to the rest of the men. ‘Time to settle down now.’
She had a word with the senior ward nurse and continued on her rounds.
‘Well, if there are no nightmares we might have a quiet night,’ she remarked to Nurse Ellis who was on duty on the first floor.
‘We can only hope,’ she answered with a wry smile. ‘Will you check the medicine list now, Sister? If they have their sleeping pills in good time that could help our prospects for a peaceful night.’
On her return to the hall, Karen was surprised to see Patrick back in his position before the fire and her pulse jumped as it always did when she saw him. He was watching her come down the stairs, and as she glanced up and caught his unguarded expression she was startled almost to the point of halting in her tracks.
Gone was the mask of seeming indifference which he had worn so often lately and in its place there was a yearning vulnerability, naked in its longing. For an eternal second they gazed at each other with the bond of mutual attraction freely admitted and shining from their eyes. A surge of joy ran through Karen. He saw it and an answering brightness came over him.
The moment was brief, shocking in its abrupt end. He began to tremble. Dragging his coat from the hall stand, he once more strode off into the night.
Karen stood quite still, waves of crimson firing her neck and thundering in her ears. She hung on to the banister with both hands and closed her eyes.
‘You all right, Sister?’
The voice, sharp with concern, penetrated Karen’s consciousness and she opened her eyes. Nurse Jackson, recently seconded from Oldchurch Hospital, was standing in the doorway of Ward 1.
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ Karen said shakily. ‘Just a slight headache, that’s all, I’ve taken an aspirin.’ She forced herself to speak normally, smiling at the nurse who was regarding her with undisguised curiosity. Briskly, she went over to her desk and sat down. Picking up the report book she opened it and gazed at it unseeingly, fighting to gain control of her emotions, to silence the clamour of her body.
‘Why did Father Murphy come back? Did he forget something?’ asked Nurse Jackson.
‘He must have done, I think, there were no calls for him that I know of,’ said Karen.
Nurse Jackson brought the drugs list over to her for her perusal and signature and Karen went with her to the drugs cupboard to count out the tablets and measure out sleeping draughts.
Christmas night passed peacefully which was just as well, considering Karen’s abstracted thoughts. Her mind see-sawed from elation as she remembered Patrick’s expression when he saw her on the stairs to depression when she remembered his headlong rush to get away from her.
She went home to bed next morning, still unsure of herself, but by the next evening her confusion had subsided, leaving only a happy glow inspired by a hope she refused to admit existed.
Chapter Eleven
KAREN WAS HUMMING softly to herself as she walked up to Greenfields on the evening of Boxing Day. There was a muted roar from the river which ran below the lawns at the back of the house and the wind moaned high in the elm trees lining the drive. Rain sp
attered on her umbrella; it had started just as she was leaving the cottage. No wonder the river sounded so loud, she thought as she let herself into the hall. It had rained so often lately, though it had been fine for most of today.
There was a policeman standing by the desk with Matron, Constable Jones from the village. They glanced up as Karen entered and she was struck by their grave expressions.
‘Is something wrong?’ she asked as she stood on the doormat, her folded umbrella in her hand, dripping water on to the mat.
‘Indeed there is, Sister,’ Matron answered tersely. ‘There’s been a tragedy, less than an hour ago. It was Private O’Donnel. He went into the river. Intentionally, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh! But he seemed so much better last night, Matron, almost cheerful. I thought he was over the worst.’ Karen looked stricken.
The policeman cleared his throat and Matron glanced at him.
‘Oh, I’m sorry. You know Constable Jones, don’t you, Sister? This is Sister Knight, Constable.’
‘Yes, we’ve met,’ he said, nodding gravely to Karen. ‘About Private O’Donnel, Sister, you didn’t notice anything unusual about him last night, did you? Nothing which could lead you to think this might happen?’
‘No, as I told Matron he seemed to be so much brighter than usual, that’s all. But how did it happen?’
‘If Sister had noticed anything last night she would have put it in the report, Constable,’ Matron interjected, then turned back to Karen. ‘They often are more cheerful once they’ve made their minds up to it, Sister, haven’t you seen it before? How to know what’s on their minds is difficult though. Most often recovery of spirits is a sign of general improvement but it can mean a patient has made up his mind about something. And he was so much better today that the VAD took him out into the garden for a breath of fresh air. It was so nice in the sun this afternoon. She left him sitting on a bench, wrapped in a blanket when the rain threatened, while she got the wheelchairs inside.’
Matron looked grim. ‘Of course, with hindsight, she should not have left him alone but the rain came on so fast and we are so short of staff. Well, O’Donnel followed the roar of the water and threw himself into the river at the bottom of the garden. As you know, it is swollen with all the rain we’ve had recently.’
‘But did they get him out, Matron?’ Karen was horrified. That poor boy, she thought, hardly believing it.
‘Doctor Clarke and the porter got him out, he was caught in a tree branch so he wasn’t swept away. But it was too late, I’m afraid, he was dead.’
Her heart plummeted and Karen felt a despair which was physical in its intensity. Yet she knew she had to control it, cover up her feelings. There was still the routine work on the wards to do and she and her night nurses would have to get on with it while Matron and the day staff saw to all the dismal details of the death. They could not lay out Private O’Donnel as they normally would in the case of death, for suicide was a crime and the body would be taken away by the police for an official autopsy. But there were still questions to answer; every one of the day staff had to account for their movements at the time of the death as also had the ambulant men, just to rule out any suspicion of foul play.
Of course, when Karen did get on to the wards, she found that the news had run through the small hospital immediately. All the patients were aware of the death of Private O’Donnel; they always did know when something like this happened.
‘Sister! Sister!’
As Karen entered Ward 1, Nick called to her. For once he was sitting on his bed, making no move to get up to greet her. His eyes were anxious and disturbed and a tic had appeared at the corner of his mouth.
‘Hallo, Nick. Look, don’t worry, everything’s all right.’ She tried to speak with reassurance but it was difficult and she found herself with nothing more to say. Instead she patted his hand and busied herself in tidying his bed and getting him to lie down properly in it, before progressing round the ward. But every time she glanced back at him she saw he was watching her anxiously.
There was a restlessness and tension in the air; the men were slow to settle to sleep. Private O’Donnel was not mentioned but he was on all their minds, she could see that plainly, so she lingered longer than usual by each bed, trying to calm their uneasiness. Consequently it was very late by the time she took her rest hour, almost two o’clock.
She was not hungry, the thought of food making her feel ill. All she wanted to do was go off by herself somewhere and sort out her bitter thoughts and mixed up emotions. Even the smell of food from the supper room made her nauseous as she neared the annexe so, remembering the empty wards upstairs, Karen decided she would go into one of them. Just until she could pull herself together, she told herself.
Quietly, she let herself back into the main house and climbed the stairs, heading for a small, two-bedded ward. She closed the door softly behind her and walked over to the window. The curtains were open and she stood, gazing out over the lawns to the river beyond, though in the dark of the night she could see very little. But she could hear the muffled roar of the water, just as Private O’Donnel must have heard it, and she shivered slightly, trying to make sense of it all. Why did such things have to happen? Why, oh why was there so much suffering in the world? The age-old questions went round and round in her head.
The ward she was in had been part of one of the main bedrooms of the house which had been partitioned into two. The partition wall was very close to the window where she stood and she leaned against it and put her hand up to the windowframe. She rested her head on it, at last allowing the tears to fall unheeded, a safety valve for her pent-up emotions. After a moment she took out her handkerchief and dried her eyes and as she did so heard a muffled sound from the ward on the other side of the partition. Someone spoke, she could hear clearly through the thin wooden wall.
‘Dear God, is there no end to this?’
It was Father Murphy. No, she wouldn’t think of him as Father Murphy, it was Patrick, and she loved him. A yearning for him filled her mind. She needed him desperately, and why not? He was a man like any other, wasn’t he? And he was suffering himself in that room by himself, she could hear he was. She would comfort him. She put her handkerchief away in her uniform pocket and walked out into the darkness of the upstairs hall before entering the room next-door.
‘Patrick?’
She had been right, it was him. As she went into the room and closed the door behind her, he rose from where he had been sitting on a bed and took an involuntary step towards her. A warning voice inside her made her hesitate but it only lasted a second. His being a priest didn’t matter to her. He needed her, she knew he needed her. Letting her emotions take over, she moved swiftly to him and took him in her arms, holding him, putting an arm around his neck and pulling his head down to hers.
Gently, she kissed his lips and then cradled his head on her breast, murmuring her love and compassion, rocking him slightly like a hurt child. She had an overwhelming urge to assuage his grief and by so doing find comfort herself.
‘Karen,’ he whispered, but she closed his mouth with her lips and pulled him down on to the bed. It was the most natural thing in the world to her when he gave an inarticulate groan and his arms tightened around her waist. He was no longer a man in need of her comfort, he had become the urgent lover.
Patrick enfolded her in his arms and kissed her eyes, her neck, the hollow in her throat; his kisses hesitant at first but becoming more frantic every moment till she could feel his need of her mounting and her own desire rising in response. She looked into his eyes and lost herself in them, though they were half-closed and darkened, the tears still beading his lashes sparkling strangely. Suddenly his eyelids flew open and he lifted his head and gazed at her. Karen lay quiescent, letting his gaze range over her, waiting for him.
‘Sweet Jesus, help me!’ he cried. ‘I love you …’
But Karen did not hear what he was saying. Her emotions, so long denied, were boiling over, drow
ning every conscious thought. All her inhibitions were swept away as though they had never been. His touch was creating a fever in her blood which mounted and threatened to envelop them both.
Patrick’s hands were on her body, trying to free it from the constrictions of the stiffly starched uniform. With trembling hands she helped him, stripping off her clothes quickly and dropping them on the floor. One button proved obstinate and he tugged at it impatiently until it came free and flew across the room, bouncing off the washhand stand with a reverberating ‘ping’. In the end she brushed aside his inexpert hands impatiently and loosened the ribbons of her camisole herself, pulling it over her head and flinging it down.
And then they were lost, quite lost in the urgent, sexual need they had both ignored for so long, in the strong and passionate longing they had for each other. And the clamour in their blood rose like a spring tide which finally submerges a rocky shore.
His hands were on her breasts, touching the suddenly upright nipples, caressing, his touch tentative at first but becoming hard and demanding, cupping her breasts and holding them as he bent to take a dark-ringed nipple in his mouth. The ache in her rose to fever pitch and she strained towards him, desperate to ease the shafts of exquisite feeling running through her. And at last he found the damp mound between her thighs and her senses sang in exultation as he entered her and the world faded away as she climaxed for the first time in her life. Nothing was real, nothing but this, this moment, this supreme moment.
When at last they collapsed on the bed together, exhausted, Karen’s first conscious feeling was one of elated happiness, exultant and triumphant. She held him, caressing him and murmuring endearments.
‘My lovely man, my precious love,’ she whispered, kissing his eyes, his throat, his lips. And he stroked her back slowly, contentedly, the euphoria following their love-making enveloping them both until he was sleeping peacefully in her arms. This was what it was all about, she thought, this was what love really was meant to be. Briefly, she remembered Dave in absolute wonderment that she should have thought she cared for him. Why, she had been playing at love; she had been like a little girl pretending to love. Her feelings for him had been a pale imitation, a shadow of the real thing. What a fool she had been, she thought, before dismissing even the memory of Dave from her mind. Then she too dropped into a deep sleep.
