The Two Mrs. Abbotts

by D. E. Stevenson

“I’m Miss Marks,” said Markie.

  “Is it all right?” asked Melanie anxiously. “Will Mrs. Abbott mind? Do you think I had better go away again?”

  Markie assured her that it was all right and that Mrs. Abbott would not mind in the least—she was so delighted to find that Mrs. Boles had not returned that she would have done anything for Miss Melton.

  “You were going to paint something?” Miss Melton suggested, looking at the brushes and the pot of paint Miss Marks had placed on the table.

  Miss Marks explained what she had meant to do, and she also explained about Mrs. Boles and her family, but she toned down the Boles family a good deal; for if Miss Melton were going to live in the cottage—and obviously she had made up her mind to do so—it would be more pleasant for her not to know the less civilized habits of its former occupants. And it is clean, now, thought Markie. It really is perfectly clean. I’ve washed everything.

  “You can’t think how happy I am,” Melanie was saying. “It will be so lovely to have a little house of our very own—Daddy and I together. You see we have crowds of relations and we have always stayed with them when he had leave—they were very kind, of course, but I’ve always wanted to have Daddy all to myself—for my very own.”

  Markie nodded. She understood this quite well, for she had a great admiration for Colonel Melton.

  “I’ve wanted it more than anything on earth,” added Melanie in a dreamy voice. She was leaning against the table, now, in an attitude of unconscious grace.

  She was like a flower, Markie thought—like a spring flower, young and fresh and innocent. There was something pathetic about her youthful delicacy. Markie was quite angry with herself when she found herself indulging in such foolish sentiment so she gave herself a little shake and asked, somewhat bluntly, if Miss Melton could cook.

  “Quite well, really,” nodded Melanie.

  “Everybody should be able to cook,” declared Markie, thinking of her own case.

  “Of course they should,” agreed Melanie with a smile.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Darling Sam”

  “Darling Sam,” wrote Jerry.

  “I never seem to have time to write in the daytime and really it is better to write at night because there are no interruptions and I get on quicker. I have just been listening to the midnight news and it says, ‘patrol activity in Egypt’—and that’s all it says about Egypt. I wonder if you’re on patrol and what it’s like and what you think about. It seems funny not to know. It was so lovely getting your letters. Eight of them all at once. But I haven’t got any since so I expect you’re busy or else they have been sunk on the way. I have been writing to you regularly so I hope you have got some of my letters all right. You sound very cheery in your letters darling. I’m so glad you’re having an interesting time and that you have tanks of your own now. But don’t be too rash. You need not worry about me. We are getting on splendidly. Markie and I are both well and cheery.”

  (Here Jerry paused to brush away a tear.)

  “Of course I miss you awfully but I am too busy to feel dull and if I do feel dull I go over and see Barbara. She is a cheering person as you know and I always feel better after a chat with her. You say in one of your letters, ‘Tell me more about Bobby Appleyard. You seem to be seeing a lot of the fellow.’ You aren’t jellous of him, are you Sam? That would be silly because you are the only person that matters to me at all. Of course I see him a lot. I couldn’t help seeing him unless I shut my eyes because all the officers are all over the place all the time. Their huts are in the meadow near the stream and they keep two horses in the stable. I told you about our P. G. in my last letter but I couldn’t tell you much about her because she had just arrived. We were rather doubtful about her at first but now we both like her. She is a great success. Very quiet but sees a joke and has a nice laugh. I think she and Bobby Appleyard have taken a fancy to each other…”

  (Jerry paused again and read over what she had just written. It looked very definite written down in blue-black ink…and, as a matter of fact, she had little grounds for her assertion. She wished it, of course, wished it with all her heart. If only those two would take a fancy to each other it would be nice for everybody: nice for them—they were both dears—and nice for Jerry, and, most important of all, it would relieve Sam’s mind. For Sam was slightly “jellous” of Bobby—Jerry was sure of it. Of course it’s all my fault, thought Jerry, biting the end of her pen. I shouldn’t have mentioned Bobby to Sam, I shouldn’t have driveled on about Bobby in my letters—I just did it to amuse Sam because there’s so little news—and now, whatever I say, Sam will worry. If I tell him things about Bobby he will worry, and if I don’t mention Bobby he will worry all the more. Having thought all this Jerry looked again at what she had written and decided to let it stand.)

  “I rode over to Gostown this morning. I went across the moor—our favorite ride, Sam, and I thought of you all the time—it was such a lovely day and the bracken is just beginning to turn brown here and there. Soon the moors will be all over brown—that lovely chestnut color. You know how lovely they look. Old Cæsar went well. He seems much better—more life in him. I think the tonic has done him a lot of good. Starlight is very well. She is quite skittish these days, which is wonderful when you think of her age. Do you remember when you rode Starlight in that point-to-point? I was thinking about it this morning—how excited I was when I saw you gallop in first past the post! It seems funny only to have the two horses left—and Dapple of course—but it is just as well really because Rudge has gone…”

  (Jerry hesitated again. Would Sam worry if he knew she had nobody left to help her? But I must tell him, she thought. I promised to tell him everything. I should hate it if he didn’t tell me things because he thought I would worry.)

  “…I didn’t feel it was right to ask for Rudge to be exempted. I could have of course but I just felt it was wrong when all the others had gone. Why should Rudge stay at home comfortably and shelter behind me? That’s what I thought. Do write and say you understand. There isn’t much to do and I can always get Colonel Melton’s batman to give me a hand if I want any extra help. That reminds me I must tell you Colonel Melton asked if he could rent the cottage so I said he could. His daughter has come to live there. She is very pretty and attractive and young, really a charming girl. I think she might do for Archie. I know you always laugh at me for trying to find a wife for Archie and say he doesn’t want one but I’m sure he would be happier if he was married. Melanie Melton would be the very person for him. I’m going to do what I can about it in a tactful sort of way. I must stop now, darling Sam. There is no more news and it is very late. Markie would have a fit if she knew I wasn’t in bed. Lots and lots of love, darling darling Sam from your loving—

  “JERRY.”

  There was no more news and it was very late. Jerry turned out the lamp and got into bed. “Good night, darling Sam. God keep you safe,” she whispered as she laid her head on the pillow.

  ***

  Sam was not having a good night, or at least not a peaceful one. The desert was very quiet, of course, but this quietness was sometimes deceptive. Sam and his tanks were right out beyond the front line and it was an odd eerie sort of feeling…One gazed at a rock, and, if one gazed long enough, one could almost swear that it had moved, and one’s hand went unconsciously to the revolver in one’s belt…

  It was very quiet. Not a sound broke the stillness and the stars were simply terrific; they seemed twice the size of the stars one saw at home…but of course they were the same stars, really. Sam wondered if Jerry were looking at the stars…but it was late; Jerry would be asleep. He thought of Jerry lying in bed with one hand under her cheek—she often lay like that. He could see her lying in the big bed with the empty space beside her. What would he give to be there? What would he give to be there for one short night, to lie beside her and feel the kind friendly warmth of her dear bod
y? All he had. Everything.

  Sam moved uncomfortably. There was sand beneath his shirt, sand in his boots and in his hair—even his eyes felt gritty.

  In the light of the stars he could see the little encampment he had made. The shallow trenches with the men asleep in them, the four tanks standing around, camouflaged with nets stretched out to their fullest extent and pinned to the ground. They were properly done, for he had seen to it himself. It was difficult to get the men to understand the principle of camouflage, which was not only to cover the tank, but also to disguise its shape so that it did not look like a tank from the air. It was the shadows that gave you away—the shadows on the glaring sand.

  This was the first time that Sam had been in command of a patrol and he was just a little anxious. His sentries were posted, of course, but he did not feel like sleep. It was cold, now. It felt colder than it really was after the heat of the day—you felt the cold more when you had been baking and boiling in the sun…

  Maiden approached. Maiden was Sam’s subaltern and an exceedingly good one. He was also an exceedingly fine fellow.

  “Hallo, Maiden!” said Sam.

  “I thought I heard something, sir.”

  Sam cocked his head and listened. There was a slight sound—it was a drone like a hive of bees far, far away. “A plane?” said Sam, doubtfully. “No, not a plane.”

  “I don’t think so,” agreed Maiden.

  “Better rouse them,” said Sam, standing up. “We can’t take risks.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  The short conversation had been conducted in quiet tones—almost in a whisper—for the desert had that effect upon one, it was so quiet, so vast, so empty. It made one feel like a midget, it sapped one’s confidence.

  Sam left Maiden to rouse the men and walked up a little slope so as to obtain a wider view. The desert was not flat—as one had always imagined—it was a rolling plain, a plain that the force of the prevailing wind had brushed into ridges—ridges that reminded one of the ripples left on the shore by a receding tide, but magnified a thousand fold. Standing on his ridge Sam clamped his field glasses into the sockets of his eyes and swept the horizon…at first he could see nothing, but after a few moments he did see something away to the northwest. It looked like a very small beetle coming over a rise in the ground…and it was followed by another beetle…and another. There were five of them…no, six.

  “Not ours,” said Maiden’s voice at his elbow.

  “Can’t be,” agreed Sam. “Coming the wrong way for one thing.”

  “Going south,” said Maiden.

  “Yes,” said Sam. He hesitated for a few moments considering his best move. The enemy tanks were passing from north to south and it was obvious that they might pass without seeing the little outpost in no-man’s-land. Sam might send a message asking for reinforcements but by that time the enemy tanks would have passed. He was aware that Maiden was waiting anxiously for his decision.

  “Send a message,” said Sam. “Say we’re attacking.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Maiden joyfully.

  Sam stood where he was for a few moments longer, looking at the lie of the ground and then he went down the slope at the double.

  The tanks were ready now. The men were standing by waiting for orders.

  Their eyes were eager, shining, they were fixed on Sam.

  “We’re attacking,” he said. “There are six of them. Don’t open fire till I give the signal—remember to keep together if there’s a scrap. We fight as one unit.”

  A few minutes later the great squat monsters were surging forward across the sand.

  Sam’s plan, which he had evolved as he stood upon the ridge, was to make for a point where he could head off the enemy. He had seen the whole thing as a triangle—one leg of the triangle stretched from his ridge to the spot where the enemy tanks were now, and the other two legs bisected the spot where he intended to meet his enemy and offer him battle. He would make what use he could of the slight depressions in the ground but he could not hope to surprise his foe completely.

  Sam was excited. His teeth were chattering a little in his head. He had experienced exactly the same sensation when he was about to ride in a Point-to-Point and wanted desperately to win.

  The tanks were roaring along, rattling and bouncing over the uneven ground. The noise was frightful. It seemed all the more frightful in the silence of the desert plain. Sam had opened his turret and had wedged himself firmly in the opening for he wanted to see exactly what was happening. Away to his right he saw the enemy tanks, still heading due south, and he had to make up his mind whether to risk a shot now or wait a little longer. The light had improved; the sky was faintly gray; the stars were paler. Dawn would come soon and come swiftly, for there was no long twilight here. Was it worth it? Yes, for the enemy tanks offered a better target, they were more vulnerable if you got them sideways on, and a lucky shot might put one out of action before they turned. Sam gave the signal to fire and almost immediately the guns spoke…the tank rocked with the recoil, but Sam wedged himself tighter and riveted his glasses on the enemy. He saw the shells burst all around them…fountains of sand rose in the air, hiding them from view. When the cloud of sand subsided the enemy tanks had changed course and were heading straight for the British…all except one, which had stopped.

  Sam waved to Maiden, who was wedged in the turret of the second tank, and Maiden waved back and pointed excitedly.

  “I know,” said Sam in a voice nobody could hear—not even himself—“I know, you ass, but there are five more…”

  The odds had shortened and the range was shortening, too, for now the two units were heading toward each other at full speed. Sam had lost all signs of nervous excitement and gave his commands with confidence, for he knew exactly what he was going to do. The rattle of the tanks, the roar of the guns, the whine of the enemy shells as they flew past were scarcely heard by Sam. His blood coursed swiftly in his veins…he found himself shouting.

  Almost before he knew it they had met the enemy and gone right through, keeping together in a compact mass as they had been trained to do…and now Sam rallied his force and turned sideways and raked the enemy with machine-gun fire…and then with another wave of his arm he charged the enemy again. Smoke from the guns and sand from the churning tracks combined in a thick cloud and amongst this cloud the tanks wheeled and turned and maneuvered like prehistoric monsters…and fire belched from their guns in a constant shattering roar.

  For a few minutes it was pandemonium—Sam could not see what was happening—it was difficult to know friend from foe—and then quite suddenly it was over and three of the enemy tanks were in retreat, lumbering off at full speed across the plain. Of the other two (both of which had stopped firing), one lay on its side and the second was on fire. As Sam watched he saw the crew jump out and hold up their hands. The battle was over.

  There was time now to take stock of his own casualties. Two of his crew were slightly wounded—that was all. He wondered how Maiden had fared and the other men. Maiden’s tank had a slightly battered appearance but the crew seemed unharmed; there they were, jumping out and examining the tanks. It would be sad if the tank was badly damaged, for they would have to leave it here and send for help—but he had bagged three Germans so he mustn’t grumble. It was a good show, really, thought Sam.

  He climbed out of his tank and went across the sand to meet Maiden and see what was what. It was suddenly quite light, the sun was rising, and the pall that had shrouded the battle was drifting away on the breeze.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Five Riders on the Moor

  When Jerry had invited her P. G. to come to Ganthorne she had made it clear that no entertainment need be expected, “We’re all workers,” Jerry had explained, and Miss Watt had replied that she desired no entertainment, she could amuse herself…but after a day or two Jerry discovered that it was ra
ther nice to have another young woman to talk to, rather pleasant to do things with Jane. They got on very well, for Jane was a good listener and Jerry liked talking…soon Jane knew practically all there was to know about Jerry, but Jerry still knew very little about Jane.

  One morning Jerry decided that the horses needed exercise and she invited Jane to accompany her for a ride on the moors. Jane accepted with delight and soon the two of them were walking down to the stables together. On the way they called at the cottage to leave some eggs for the Meltons, for Jerry was of the opinion that Melanie needed extra nourishment—she was far too thin. It was pleasant to call at the cottage nowadays, and to see Melanie’s happy face. It was delightful to see the cottage looking clean and comfortable. The Meltons had brought a few of their own things: a couple of basket chairs, some gaily colored cushions, and a Persian rug. These additions made an astonishing difference to the living room—it looked cozy and pretty, it looked like a home.

  “I’ve brought you some eggs,” said Jerry, handing over the little basket. “There are two for you and two for the colonel…and mind you eat yours, Melanie. I’ve written your name on them.”

  Melanie laughed, for Mrs. Abbott amused her a good deal. She said, “How did you know I gave the others to Daddy?”

  “A little bird told me,” replied Jerry gravely. “And I was very angry. If you give these to Daddy they’ll poison him.”

  This alarming prophecy left Melanie unmoved.

  “This is my lucky day,” she said, nodding. “I got a parcel from America this morning and now eggs from you.”

  “What did you get?” inquired Jerry, for she, also, had a generous friend upon the other side of the Atlantic and occasionally received exciting parcels, full of luscious food.

  “I got butter,” replied Melanie, “and sugar, a tin of spiced ham, a tin of marmalade, and a box of candy and some hairpins.”

  “Marvelous!” cried Jerry, opening her eyes very wide.