by Mercy Levy
“Where am I?” He croaked past the desert that was his vocal cords. “Where are my men? Did the G.C. make it?” He tried to sit up with his hands over his eyes and she stopped him again and pushed him carefully back to the triage cot.
“Captain, when you think you can stand the light, you may remove your hands.” She began. “To answer your questions, you are still in Calais, though you will be transferred to London in a few days.” She sighed and patted him on the shoulder, which seemed, the longer he was awake, to be the only part of his body that wasn’t screaming at him in agony. “Your men have already been treated and are back to regular duty. You, however, had the bad form to let a tree in through your side of the cockpit window, and were actually rather badly broken up. Had a good portion of your face nearly scrape off too.” She declared in a brusque tone. “You’re lucky you still have both eyes, let alone that you’re still rather nice to look at.”
Malcolm glanced up at the older woman and she winked at him and patted his shoulder again. She opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment, the colonel and the chief medical officer appeared from behind the curtain on rounds.
“Captain Ross!” The Colonel exclaimed with a stern look. “You’re finally up. Been sleeping on the Queen’s time, eh?” He frowned, but it quickly turned into a look of sincere concern. “I’m glad to see you doing better, Ross.” He added gravely. “You had us worried there for a minute. I’ll let your men know that their leader and lifesaver has revived.” He saluted Ross, who painfully tried to return it. The Doctor made a tsk-ing sound of disapproval and placed his hands back on the clean white sheet that covered his body.
“Captain Ross, I’m Dr. Sheffield.” He introduced himself. “I’m sure you are feeling the need to be up and around, but you need to understand that you’ve been drifting in and out of consciousness for two weeks now. The full extent of the injury to your head is still uncertain, so I need you to stay as still as possible while we get a better idea of how you’re really doing.” Malcolm started to nod, but stopped himself and settled for a quiet “Yes, sir.”
“Good work, Captain, by the way.” The doctor added as he was checking Malcolm’s vitals and the range of motion of extremities.
“Thanks,” Malcom replied. “Though I don’t really know what I did.” He closed his eyes, already weary and ready for the return of oblivion. When he opened his eyes, the Doctor had left, and the nurse had returned to his side.
“Rest up a bit more, Captain.” She told him. “You’ll be in London in a few days, your transfer came in days ago, we were just waiting on you to wake up.” She nodded at him and left, opening the curtain that had separated him from the rest of the wounded and dying men retrieved from the battlefield. He shut his eyes, wishing that he was still blind not only to his own circumstances, but the pain and despair around him. Sleep came quickly, thankfully, as the morphine kicked in again, and granted him temporary escape.
Morning brought visitors, welcome and unwelcome, as first, his crew found him amongst the wounded castoffs of war. They filled him in on the part of the crash landing he’d missed when he lost consciousness. Knox was still on light duty while his shoulder finished healing, and Crimmens had been promoted in Malcolm’s absence. The men had all survived unscathed, more or less, and Malcolm felt tears of gratitude sting his eyes as he looked up at them from his hospital bed. Knox had also brought him a couple of wartime paperbacks to read, that the men had traded for a couple of drinks with an American soldier, and a letter in a slim white envelope, from London.
Before the men left, the Doctor also made a stop at his bed, to give him his travel papers and a final examination before he was to be loaded onto a boat bound for England, to be treated at the Red Cross Harvard Field Hospital set up there. The men made their goodbyes, and Malcolm gave them a weak, but determined salute before they left his side.
When he was finally alone, he opened the letter Knox had given him. It was from his non-matrimonial friend, the lady called Stella. He read it slowly and methodically, and let her words take him away from the triage field hospital of Calais to the fields and forests of Yorkshire. City born and raised, he delighted in the tales she shared of life on her parents’ farm, and her adventures with her two best friends, her gelding, Pumpernickel, and a young woman of low nobility the lady Pemberley. He lay in his bed envisioning tall, flowing green grasses and hilly farmland until sleep found him and he dreamed of an unknown young woman waiting for him on a green hill, her back to a lush, fairy-tale forest.
3. London, England
His transfer the next day was unhappy, but uneventful. The Colonel informed him that he was to be a recipient of the Victoria Cross for his valour and for saving the lives of his crew at the battle of Dunkirk. He was loaded onto military transport and by the end of the day, arrived in London, surrounded by fog and the almost forgotten sounds of British industry. It was amazing to him how different England sounded to him after being stationed in France for so long. Inspired, he began to write on a piece of paper all the sights and sounds that accosted him upon his arrival at the port of London. By the time he reached the Red Cross Hospital, he had a couple of pages to send to Stella, and he sealed and addressed an envelope, handing it to the medic who accompanied him, who promised to put it in the outgoing mail for him.
He was put in a room with ten other soldiers who had been wounded recently, two of which had been at the battle at Dunkirk, one was infantry who had been with the men who held the road against approaching tanks for two days before help had arrived. Though his legs were still immobilized and his head injury still needed a full battery of tests, it was nice to feel less crippled than he had while stuck in triage for the weeks preceding.
Even the nurses were less frantic here, though equally capable to the ones on the front line. If anything, he found their presence calming and cheering, even as they lost men all around him, these nurses practiced quiet optimism. One in particular continued to grow in his esteem, even as he realized that he was longing for contact with Stella. Nurse Kingsfoot was efficient and no-nonsense. While she didn’t fraternize with the men, he always felt like she took extra care with his dressings, and made sure he was turned and moved more frequently than others did on their shifts.
One morning with the mail, he was delighted to see that Stella had written him again. He opened the letter eagerly and immediately smiled at the story inside. He had asked her, at the end of his previous missive, if she had any childhood memories of mischief to share with him. She was happy to oblige him, and had replied with several pages of pranks and foibles. One in particular made him laugh out loud, and when Lt. Kingsfoot came around to change his dressings and turn him from his left side to his right, he asked her if she would sit and let him read it to her.
As he read the story of the young Stella and her friend, accidentally setting afire the shed of one Mister Bigsby, a pig farmer with a nasty temper, he was so engrossed that he failed to see the expression on Nurse Kingsfoot’s face. Her eyes went wide and the colour left her face. She chewed her lip and gazed at Captain Ross with new eyes, at first, worried and saddened.
As Malcolm continued reading he began to have difficulty reading, as laughter bubbled up and tears filled his eyes. By the time he came to the description of the unfortunate farmer running down the hill toward town with the back of his pants in flames, he couldn’t breathe he was laughing so hard. Nurse Kingsfoot, known to her friends as Stella, finally laughed along. It touched her that her silly letters, the result of a moment of compassion, were making a man as honourable and valorous as Captain Ross happy while he was confined to his bed.
Indeed, Stella had a fondness for the captain since he’d arrived. She noticed that he was so patient and undemanding, that the nurses had begun to lower his priority under those who were in better shape, but more vocal. She’d taken it upon herself to stop by his bed more frequently, and had even taken time on her off-days to just check on him. Now she was watching him laugh until he cried o
ver the letter she’d sent him. She almost told him that was the exact reaction her father had when he found out about their foray into arson, but held her tongue.
Stella wondered what would happen if she told Captain Ross who she was. They had both been so careful to avoid talking about the war in their letters, she was afraid he would dismiss her out of hand if he knew who she was. Before she could decide, Malcolm finished reading the story and wiped his eyes.
“I have to admit, I laughed even harder reading it out loud.” He confessed as he tried to stop chuckling. “I don’t think I’ve read anything that funny, or that well told, in a long time.” He added.
“It was humorous.” She giggled. “But, I think the enjoyment you got out of it made it even more fun for me.” She admitted. “You gave the story something it lacked in perspective, I think.” She smiled at him and finished up the dressing change. “It’s nearly time for you to start walking again, Captain.” She gloated. “I can’t wait to see that.”
“Neither can I.” Malcolm agreed. “I can’t believe how much I miss doing for myself. It’s long overdue. Though, I do appreciate getting to see you every day. When are they going to give you a day off, anyway?” He demanded, furrowing his brows and staring severely around the room.
“I get days off, Captain.” Stella replied. “I just come in to check on you because I can.” She added. “I can stop if you wish.”
“No, no. That’s quite all right” Malcolm backtracked. “I don’t want you to feel you have to sacrifice your time for me, but I quite appreciate seeing you every day. In this bed, it’s about all I have to look forward to.” He sighed. Patting down his covers. “Out of bed soon, huh?” he asked.
“Doctor will check you out tomorrow or the next day, and you’ll be good as out of here soon.” Stella assured him. He nodded and her smile to him was equal parts genuine fondness for him, and relief that she hadn’t outed herself to him as his mystery pen pal. Instead, she finished her rounds as quickly as she could, and wrote him another letter full of tales of Yorkshire and legends about the Dalby woods near her home, to distract and entertain him.
When Nurse Kingsfoot finally left his side, Malcolm felt a cold emptiness fill the vacancy left by her warm, lithe body. He found himself thinking of her in ways that made him hot and uncomfortable in his bed, surrounding by ailing men. The pretty nurse had given him reason to think about her in a way no woman had in a long time. Everywhere her hands had touched him felt fevered, and he was ashamed and embarrassed by the intimacy of treating his injuries. Could she even see him as a man after the care she had provided him while he was trapped in a hospital bed
He took some paper and a pen from the small table next to his bed and laid it on a hardcover book in his lap. He was able to sit up fully, and was amazed at how much stronger his writing was, where not long ago it had been a shaky scrawl. He tried to think of something to say to Stella, but all he could think of was Nurse Kingsfoot. He knew that his feelings for her might never be reciprocated, but he couldn’t see dividing his attention between two women. They both deserved better. With that thought in mind, and already a little saddened that he would not be hearing from his friend-of-words again, he drafted a final letter.
“Dearest Stella,
I cannot properly express the gratitude with which I received your most recent missive. I am still smiling from not only the stories you shared with me, but the obvious care and love you have for your friends and neighbours. I would not have recovered so quickly and completely without your support and kind words to distract me from the ravages of war around me. I must at this time confess that I have met a lady of great spirit and heart that has captured my affection, and I feel it would be dishonourable of me to continue courting your attention whilst mine is attended elsewhere. I am forever grateful for your humour and kindness to me.
With respect and friendship, Captain Malcolm Ross, Queen’s Air Force.
Malcolm reread his letter with growing dissatisfaction. With great unease, he finally sealed the envelope the letter was in and gave it to the morning duty nurse to mail for him. He asked for a bassinet and a cloth and a razor. With a hot bowl of soapy water, Malcolm washed his face and shaved down the beard that had begun to grow since he’d returned to London. He took care with dressing and helped the on-duty nurse slide his pants over his legs and cinched them in at the waist, astonished by how loose his clothes were now, as he tightened the belt an extra three notches. He wondered if his favourite nurse could ever find him attractive, with the scarring on his left cheek from the shattered cockpit window, his skinny, unused legs, and the ribs he could feel punctuating his slim frame through his shirt.
He was still taking inventory of the changes in his body when Stella arrived, sunny smile in place as always. She watched him frown as he tightened his belt more about his waist and then picked up a small mirror to view himself as he combed his hair. Stella bit her lip and thought again about the letters and her decision not to tell him. She felt disingenuous and deceitful for keeping her secret, and as she watched her heroic friend so much stronger than he was when he arrived, and so determined to regain his legs and his freedom, something stirred in her that she’d been ignoring since he arrived.
That he was handsome was beyond a doubt. Even the slender scars that ran down his cheek like claw marks failed to lessen his rugged good looks, serving only to frame them and lend an air of danger to his serious gaze. She shivered, thinking about the way his gaze tightened things low in her body, and mentally shook herself before moving to his line of sight.
“Morning, Captain!” She called out cheerily as she approached. “I get to wheel you to your physical therapy today, if that’s all right with you.” She added.
“Of course, Nurse Kingsfoot.” Malcolm replied. “I’m always happy to spend time in your company.” He smiled, but it faded away when he felt the left side pull. His frown made Stella’s chest tight over his pain.
“I wish you would smile again.” She coaxed him, blushing. “You look so charming and dangerous when you smile.” She frowned, her eyebrows furrowing as she pursed her lips. He felt the corner of his own mouth twitch just looking at her pretty rosebud mouth and obliged her request. “Does that hurt?” Stella asked belatedly. Malcom shook his head.
“No, it just pulls.” He admitted. “The doctor said the sensation will go away in time.” Stella sighed in relief. He limped over to the wheelchair and obediently sat as she held the chair in place. She wheeled him to a room with mirrors and a barre set up for him to brace himself while he stretched, and hold while he practiced walking.
They chatted about the war and his recovery while he moved around and got used to having his feet under him again. Malcolm nearly tripped over his own feet a couple of times. He merely agreed when Stella attributed it to lack of use, refusing to admit the scent of her skin while she lent him a shoulder to lean on, had distracted him. His one-hour session in the room stretched into almost two, as the two worked together talking and laughing as Malcolm practiced walking until he was physically and mentally exhausted.
When he finally admitted he had to quit, Stella was chagrined and dismayed that she’d been so caught up spending time with him that she’d failed to protect him as her charge. Malcolm laughed it off and declared the afternoon the best time he’d spent in a very long while. Knowing he found her company desirable gave Stella just enough courage to write him one last letter, to tell him who she was and when she’d realized their connection. That way, if he was disappointed, she wouldn’t have to see his face.
She returned him to his bed and noted in his charts how well he was doing. He would be released from care soon, and receive an honourable discharge and Victoria’s Cross for his valour in fighting. She knew she had only a little time to make a full disclosure to him, but couldn’t bring herself to face him and speak of her feelings for him.
She wrote a brief note to him, but couldn’t write the address on the envelope. It was silly to put a stamp on a let
ter that could be walked to its recipient, and she refused to give in to her fear that far. She placed the note in the small bedside table, to be given to him as soon as she could find the bravery to do so, and went to sleep, dreaming of quarter horses and a house on a hill, with a handsome, scarred man working in the fields.
Her duties took her away from the wing Malcom was in for three agonizing days, and by the end of the third day, she was more than ready to get rid of the tell-tale heart she kept hidden away in the drawer, with her diary and her little romance novel. She made her way to the wing, and headed straight to Malcolm’s partitioned off room. She was surprised to find him away from his bed, but determined to see her task through, she slipped the envelope under the pillow of his cot, so that it couldn’t fall, but was visible to him if he were to climb into bed.
Frustrated that she hadn’t seen him in so long, but satisfied that she’d done her best, she went to her room and readied herself for an early bedtime with a book. When she got back to her room, her roommate handed her a letter, sent by Malcolm over a week before. Excited for the missive, and irritated that it had taken so long to traverse the half-mile from the hospital to the barracks, she tore into the envelope with abandon, and read the letter cross-legged on her military cot.
Her hands began to shake as she read the letter once, then again in disbelief. Panicked, she thought of the letter she’d delivered less than an hour before. Quickly, she slipped back into her uniform and rushed back to retrieve it. She was almost upon Malcolm, when she saw him sitting on the edge of his cot with a nurse, holding the letter in his hand and laughing with her.
