“Why ever for?” Tabitha leaned her back against the building, hoping to soak up any warmth the pale, distant sun may have infused into the weathered slats.
“They think it will delay their being shipped home.”
Tabitha thought for a moment. “Well, will it, Lieutenant?”
Lieutenant Smythe shrugged. “Possibly. If the major wishes to delve into their claims and seek corroborating testimony.”
“Then I do not blame the men for their reluctance,” Tabitha murmured. “I do not blame them at all.”
~~**~~
Chapter 28
December 1918
The flow of prisoners returning from captivity in Germany and Switzerland had been steady for weeks. Then the nurses working the hospital wards noticed that beds were emptying and not refilling. The examination lines were shortening; tent wards were clearing.
“We are comin’ t’ the end of it, Nurse Hale,” MacTavish sighed. Her voice held a hint of awe.
“Yes. It has to end sometime, does it not?” Tabitha murmured.
The third week of December, Matron Merriman and the hospital commandant ordered that the two sides of the hospital be consolidated and unused cots and tents be broken down. It was the first step toward dismantling the hospital.
The head nurse called her staff, Tabitha included, together after dinner to give them news. “Ladies, our work here in Europe is nearly done. Some of us will have the opportunity to go home soon, perhaps by Christmas.”
The worn face of the head nurse smiled for the first time in many days. “We shall require a number of volunteers to accompany and see to the needs of the remaining wounded soldiers on their way back to England.”
The gathered nurses dissolved into excited babble.
“Quiet, ladies, if you please,” Matron Merriman remonstrated. “I have more and important information to give you.”
When the nurses quieted, she continued. “Many of you will be discharged from service to the Army soon. However, while we may not need you here, we do need you, at home and elsewhere. The pandemic is still raging across the world, in England and across Europe, in America and Canada, in Australia. Red Cross Headquarters has asked for nurses to meet this need. Please consider volunteering for an assignment back home.”
“In any event,” she said, smiling larger, “We anticipate dismantling this field hospital within thirty days.”
She looked over her weary but work-hardened staff. “You have comported yourselves in the most honorable and professional manner I could have asked for,” she whispered. “I know we have miles yet to go, but I could not speak to you this night without telling you how very, very proud I am of all of you. Years from now, no one will believe all we have done, the lives we have saved . . . the sacrifices we have made.”
Suddenly Tabitha felt too warm and the room felt too close. Other nurses around her must have felt the same. Throats tightened, eyes misted, and feet shuffled as they received such high praise from their superior.
“Thank you. That is all.” Matron Merriman nodded, turned, and left the tent.
“I have seen nothin’ of Europe other than these stations and hospitals,” MacTavish grumbled after Tabitha had conveyed the news to the VADs. “I should like t’ see somethin’ other than blood an’ death afore going back to m’ da’s farm. P’raps the Red Cross would take me on in a convalescin’ center for a wee bit. I should like t’ see some of th’ grand cities of the Continent, I would.”
Tabitha shrugged. “Somehow I doubt many of the ‘grand cities’ will much resemble what they were before the war.”
“Well, I will stay, if I am ’cepted,” MacTavish said stubbornly. Then she asked, “What will you do when it comes time t’ leave, Nurse Hale?”
“I had thought to help the American Red Cross manage the pandemic in the States,” Tabitha answered, “but I believe I shall return to England instead.”
“Why, whatever for?”
“I hope to rent a cottage or a house in Colchester, near St. Martin’s.”
MacTavish was surprised again. “St Martin’s Orphanage, is it?”
Tabitha nodded. “I wish to spend time with a little girl named Sally. See if we suit each other.”
“You want t’ adopt? But . . . aren’t you bein’ a single woman?”
Tabitha’s smile was wan. “Actually, I am a widow, but my husband left me with the means to raise a child on my own.”
MacTavish’s eyes widened. “I-I’m that sorry. I dinna know.”
“Look lively, ladies,” one of the new orderlies called. “Stragglers come in t’ camp. We’re a-cleanin’ them up now.”
Tabitha and MacTavish straightened their shoulders and raised their chins, their response automatic after the many crises through which they had served.
“Shall I fetch Dr. Clemente?” MacTavish offered.
“Yes. And I will set up the exam trays.”
It was after dark, but the hospital—and all its staff—were accustomed to functioning whenever the need arose. Tabitha lit lanterns in the exam tent and set about preparing the implements, bandages, salves, and medicines they might need. She also set out the medical charts Margot would fill as the soldiers were treated.
Thirty minutes later they had received five new patients and Margot reported that they only had three to go.
“Thank you, miss,” Dr. Clemente murmured. “Go ahead and start their charts.”
“Yes, doctor,” Margot answered.
Tabitha was carrying a tray of clean bandages to the table when she heard Margot ask from just beyond the tent flap, “Your surname, please?”
“Carpenter,” was the low, sluggish reply.
“First name?”
The response was slow in coming, as though the man had to think upon his answer.
“Mason. Middle initial A.”
The tray Tabitha held tipped; the rolled bandages toppled and slid onto the dirt floor.
“Nurse Hale!” MacTavish hissed. “Have a care!”
But Tabitha did not care. She dropped the empty tray on the table and stumbled toward the tent entrance.
“Mason? Mason?” She stood panting, staring up at the soldier. In the faint lantern light from within the tent, he was a ghost of the man he’d been.
But she knew him.
She clutched his arm and tugged on it. “Mason, my love. It is Tabitha. Please look at me!”
Glazed eyes rotated toward her. “Tabs?” He stared and blinked, uncertain.
“Yes! Oh, yes! But-but, Mason! They told me you were dead!”
Carpenter raised one hand to Tabitha’s cheek and touched it, as though he could not believe his senses. “I have prayed . . . for this day.”
Those around them stilled as they grasped the momentous event unfolding before them.
“I-I thought I would never see you again—not until heaven!” Tabitha sobbed.
“Oh, Tabs, my darling. I am happy to disappoint you.” And Carpenter folded her into his weak arms.
~~**~~
Postscript
“Nurse Hale, you have requested to accompany Mr. Carpenter back to England. Is that correct?” Matron Merriman looked over her spectacles at Tabitha.
“Yes, Matron. Mr. Carpenter is my husband. We live in the States, but we shall return first to England. The British Army has said it will care for him until he is stronger, and Matron Stiles has agreed to receive him at Colchester Hospital. When he is discharged, we shall stay on a bit longer.”
“Do you have family in England?”
“No, Matron. But . . . there is a little girl, an orphan. We have hopes to take her home with us.”
“Oh? Very commendable. And may I ask where your home is?”
“Denver, Colorado, Matron.”
The senior nurse nodded and glanced down at Tabitha’s request. “Mr. Carpenter was a volunteer instructor for the RFC, was he not? Up in York? And yet this report says his plane was shot down over the sea not far off the shore of Belgium?”
<
br /> Her tone was serious, perhaps severe, but her eyes were not. In fact, Tabitha thought they glistened a little.
“Two German Fokkers attacked their flight school. They went after inexperienced pilots in their trainer aeroplanes. The trainers had no guns. The young men were defenseless. Mr. Carpenter went up in an RFC fighter and shot down one of the German aeroplanes. Two more German fighters dropped down on him, so he led them out to sea—away from the base.”
Tabitha knew the account by heart; she had memorized Cliff’s words over many tear-filled nights. “He flew down the length of England, over Norwich and out over the sea. Toward the coast of Belgium.
“Other RFC pilots, his students, went up in fighters and followed him and the Germans. They managed to shoot down the enemy aeroplanes . . . but not before the Germans had shot him down.”
The Germans shot him down.
The Germans shot him down.
“He was reported killed in action,” Matron stated.
“Yes, Matron. The students saw his plane go into the water.”
Tabitha looked up, mouthing the new, unfamiliar ending. “H-he tells me that when our planes shot down the German fighters, a German ship saw them go into the water. The ship raced to rescue them—quite near the spot Mr. Carpenter went into the sea.”
Tabitha drew a cleansing breath. “They did not find their downed pilots, but they found Mr. Carpenter floating on a bit of wreckage.”
Tabitha saw that she was right about the older woman. A moist sheen glimmered on Matron Merriman’s eyes, and Tabitha’s eyes watered in response.
“How long ago was he reported KIA?”
Tabitha swallowed the lump that kept creeping into her throat. “A year and a half, Matron. He has been in a prison camp all that time.”
“You must feel that he has risen from the grave.” Matron Merriman was now staring at a framed photograph on her desk.
“Only Jesus has ever done that, Matron,” Tabitha whispered, “but yes, it feels as though Mr. Carpenter has come back from the dead. He was dead to me for so long! Even though I knew I would see him in heaven . . . later, I am grateful beyond words to the God of grace who has seen fit to return my husband to me.”
Matron Merriman studied Tabitha for a minute. She cleared her own throat. “Thank you for reminding me that Jesus did overcome the grave, Nurse Hale.”
She lifted the frame on her desk and, with one finger, touched the face in the photograph. “I, too, belong to the God of grace, as does my beloved husband. He was shot down over Germany. I will have to wait a little longer, but I will see him again.”
The matron again cleared her throat and returned the frame to its place on her desk. She studied Tabitha a moment longer and tipped her head toward the medal and ribbon hanging from the apron strap of Tabitha’s VAD uniform.
“I heard about you, you know, when you, Matron Alistair, and your VADs came over. We all heard about the fiery, red-haired American who wore the QAIMNS medal on a VAD uniform and commanded a squad of expertly trained volunteers. I will remember to tell my grandchildren about you.”
Matron opened a desk drawer and, with two fingers, lifted a wad of dirty cloth from it. “One of the VADs found this. It’s a bit worse for the wear, but I wonder . . . could it be yours?”
She held it out to Tabitha.
Tabitha frowned as she received the filthy scrap from Matron.
It was a very dirty hanky. She fumbled with a pin and unfolded it. A corner puzzle piece, warped and split from moisture, fell into her hand.
“Oh!” Awe swept over Tabitha’s heart.
I call some to be the frame for the work, to make the vision plain. Those whom I call to frame the work are vital to my plans, the voice spoke. They lead so that others may follow.
“Th-thank you, Matron. It is mine.” She forced back the tears that came so easily lately.
Amen, Lord. I will always say ‘amen’ to your call upon my life.
When Tabitha continued to stare at the object in her hand, Matron Merriman smiled to herself.
“Well, then.” She stamped Tabitha’s request and handed it back to her. “I wish you God speed. You have served my country—and our Savior—with distinction. Well done, Nurse Carpenter.”
Tabitha struggled for composure as she stood.
“Thank you, Matron.”
The End
~~**~~
Look for
All God’s Promises,
A Prairie Heritage, Book 7,
Spring 2016
and
Stealth Power,
Nanostealth, Book 2,
Fall 2016
The Books of
A Prairie Heritage
One family . . . steeped in the love and grace of God, indomitable in their faith, tried and tested in the fires of life, passing forward a legacy to change their world. The compelling saga of family, faith, and great courage.
Book 1: A Rose Blooms Twice
(A free eBook available from most online book retailers.)
Book 2: Wild Heart on the Prairie
(A free eBook available from most online book retailers.)
Book 3: Joy on This Mountain
Book 4: The Captive Within
Book 5: Stolen
Book 6: Lost Are Found
Book 7: All God’s Promises, spring 2016
Stealthy Steps,
Nanostealth, Book 1
Book 1: Stealthy Steps, also available in print and audiobook format
Book 2: Stealth Power, fall 2016
Book 3: Stealth Beyond Borders, 2017
Excerpt from Stealthy Steps:
My name is Gemma Keyes. Other than my name, I am utterly forgettable—so those who never paid much attention to me in the first place aren’t likely to notice that I’ve disappeared. Vanished. Oh, it’s much more complicated than that.
I should tell you about Dr. Samuel Bickel, world-renowned nanophysicist. We used to work together, but I’ll be candid with you: He’s supposed to be dead. Well, he’s not. (Imagine my surprise.) Instead of the proverbial “six feet under,” he’s subsisting in an abandoned devolution cavern beneath the old Manzano Weapons Storage Facility on Kirtland Air Force Base here in Albuquerque.
“I need to show you what I’m protecting here, Gemma,” he insisted.
I stared into the clear glass case. I could hear . . . humming, clicking, buzzing. A faint haze inside the box formed and moved. It reminded me of how mercury, when released on a plate, will flow and form. Only this, this . . . thing was “flowing and forming” in mid-air.
“Do you see them?” Dr. Bickel asked.
“Them?” I was confused. My mouth opened to a stunned “o” as the silver haze flowed and formed blue letters spelling out H E L L O.
Hello.
I blanched. Dr. Bickel hadn’t pressed any buttons. Hadn’t said anything. Hadn’t gestured.
He grinned. “Ah. They’ve noticed you. They know that they’ve not seen you before.”
“Well, I wish they wouldn’t notice me!” I choked on the words, my eyes fastened on the glass case.
And I need to warn you about General Cushing. The rank and name likely conjure images of a lean but muscled soldier, posture rigid, iron-gray hair cut “high and tight,” and a face cemented in weathered, unyielding lines.
Let me disabuse you of that impression. General Imogene Cushing is short, a tiny bit plump, and wears her beautiful silvered hair in an elegant braid knotted at the nape of her neck. She knows how to smile sweetly. With the very best of sharks.
You wouldn’t suspect a two-star general—an Air Force O-8—of being a traitor, would you?
About the Author
Vikki Kestell’s passion for people and their stories is evident in her readers’ affection for her characters and unusual plotlines. Two often-repeated sentiments are, “I feel like I know these people” and “I’m right there, in the book, experiencing what the characters experience.”
Vikki holds a Ph.D. in Organiz
ational Learning and Instructional Technologies. She left a career of twenty-plus years in government, academia, and corporate life to pursue writing full time. “Writing is the best job ever,” she admits, “and the most demanding.”
Also an accomplished speaker and teacher, Vikki and her husband Conrad Smith make their home in Albuquerque, New Mexico.
To keep abreast of new book releases, sign up for Vikki’s newsletter on her website, or find her on Facebook, Pinterist, and Twitter.
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