God's Children

by Mabli Roberts

  Oh, how much better it was to be sleeping beneath the stars once again!

  When people at home heard of my mission they tried to stop me with accusations of the crime of being unwomanly. When this failed, they turned the thing upon its head and accused me of the greater crime of being a woman in a man’s arena. What business, they demanded, has a fragile female, a delicate daughter, being in so terrible and cruel a place? Her slender bones will surely snap. Her thin skin will blister and ruin. Her frail womanly heart will break. They chose to forget that the very thing I sought, the object of my quest beyond the lepers themselves, was a flower. A tiny plant, blossoming somewhere hidden in the vastness of the Siberian steppes. Could a thing be more fragile, more dainty? And yet it had the greatest power: the power to heal. It had strength beyond all those learned men of science, all those knighted sons of medicine. A secret flower. I had heard it spoken of in awe in India, in wonder on the battlefield thousands of miles away, but in Russia it was mentioned only in whispers. A secret guarded by its rarity and protected by its inaccessibility. I would not stop until I had found it. Until I had seen for myself what it might do.

  After a week aboard the potato barge the weather began to change. Chill nights and still, frosty days gave way to warm, wet winds. These buffeted our makeshift camp on deck in the most tiresome manner, making our outdoor living altogether less tolerable than it had been to that point. While it was a relief to be free of the cold that had accompanied me on my journey since leaving Moscow, the rise in temperature brought with it these wearying breezes which soon grew in to gales and, eventually, spring rain. Ceaseless, heavy, beating rain. We reinforced our tents and shelters as best we could, but it was now impossible to sit outside them at all, and even within them we were constantly and consistently wet through. I was, at last, forced back down to my quarters below.

  The rise in temperature had brought about another change; the smell of the cargo had increased tenfold, so that now I felt I was breathing in more vegetable than air at times. The stink was so overwhelming it made me nauseous, and to add to my misery, I acquired a chill and a cough that sapped from me both strength and resolve. I lay for days at a time upon my hessian bed, using the last of my feverish wits to banish thoughts of scuttling roommates from my mind. I had no alternative but to lie at the mercy of any creature who cared to investigate me. To dwell upon what might wriggle or crawl upon me in the night was to give way to nightmares. I sought solace in the Gospels, copies of which I had brought with me to distribute among those I met upon the way. What comfort there is to be had in those dear, familiar words, and I thanked God for them.

  ‘You have a visitor,’ my mother announced, standing in the doorway of my bedroom. She wore a disapproving expression which I had suffered under many times before. Her brows were lowered, her lips pursed, and she held her hands clasped across her bosom as if in an attempt to make herself larger and more important. She stepped to one side, reluctantly it seemed to me, and Rose appeared. I struggled to sit up in my bed.

  ‘No!’ Rose shook her head as she hurried towards me. ‘Do not exert yourself, and especially do not put strain on your poor back. I have spoken to Dr Ferber, and he is adamant you need plenty of bed rest.’ She was off duty, so not wearing her uniform, but instead had chosen a pale yellow cotton dress, so that it was as if a little drop of sunshine had entered the gloomy room. She came to stand beside the bed, tugging off her white lace gloves. ‘See what I’ve brought for you? Freesias,’ she said, holding the blooms forward for my inspection. ‘Don’t they smell divine.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have…’

  ‘Nonsense. I know you,’ she said, plucking some wilting carnations from the vase on my bedside locker, ‘you’ll be fretting about the hospital and worrying yourself into all manner of imaginary horrors about what we nurses are doing or not doing while you’re stuck in here. A few fragrant flowers will be a soothing influence. There! Isn’t that better?’

  From the doorway came a harrumph from my mother, who then, mercifully, left us.

  ‘It was good of you to come, but really, there is nothing to be done but let time heal. And I am certain you are needed at the hospital.’

  ‘I’ve changed my shifts to nights so I can come and see you,’ she said brightly, sitting herself on the edge of my bed. ‘Can’t have you brooding up here on your own all the time, can we?’

  ‘I am not brooding.’

  ‘Well, can’t be much fun. I mean, I don’t suppose many visitors get past your mother,’ she giggled.

  ‘Rose, hush!’

  ‘I thought for a moment she was going to refuse to let me in.’

  ‘She isn’t used to people coming to the house.’

  ‘She didn’t like the look of me, that much was obvious.’

  ‘It is only that we’ve lived a quiet life since we came to Wellington…’

  ‘Well I am going to see to it that you have regular doses of cheering up. I’d tell you all the gossip but there isn’t any. To be honest, it is deadly dull without you at the hospital. Everyone is quite lost without you to tell them what to do, and they fall to bickering, which is tiresome. You have to get better just as soon as ever you can. Let’s plan another picnic! That will give you something to look forward to.’

  ‘I fear it will be some time before I am well enough to travel anywhere.’

  ‘Yes but it’s good to be able to think of it. Motivate the mind and the body will rally, that’s what you’ve always told us. So, a sunny day by the river, paddling in the water, an enormous picnic hamper full of goodies, all day with nothing to do but please ourselves.’ She put her hand lightly on top of mine. ‘How does that sound?’

  I smiled. ‘I believe I feel better already.’

  By the third week in June, we were ready to leave for the final and most challenging part of my journey. How much the weather and the landscape had changed since the commencement of our mission in the winter months. Gone was the pristine snow and bone-aching cold. Instead we faced the dual enemies of heat and biting flies. Our party numbered fifteen in total, consisting of local men, guides, two Cossacks, a local official who had a little French, and myself. The tracks and paths upon which we were to travel were too narrow and rough to accommodate carriages of any sort, so we were all to make the journey on horseback. I have since received criticism for my decision to ride astride, but in truth there was no choice to be made on the matter. Ahead lay thousands of miles of rugged terrain which would cause our small, wild-headed horses to plunge and leap. Then there were the constant alarms set up from bears or wolves, which would also provoked our mounts into panic, which sometimes involved them bolting through the dense forest. Were I to have ridden side-saddle I would have been unseated before very many miles, and my mission would have come to an inglorious end. And of course, these stout, hardy ponies had not been schooled to carry the sort of saddle preferred by ladies. The beginning of such a trek over such dangerous territory was not the time to start persuading them to tolerate one.

  As a consequence, I had to choose clothing that would allow me to sit astride my horse, allowing me sufficient freedom of movement to control it, whilst giving me protection from the rough bark of the trees I would be squeezed against, from the summer rain when it fell in great downpours, and from the armies of biting flies. To my riding trousers and jacket I added thick leather boots and a deerstalker hat which I had purchased in London, and over which I draped a net veil. In addition, I had ticketed upon my left sleeve the badge of the red cross. Glamour and elegance were left behind, and in their place I took up practicality and good sense. If my selections resulted in an outlandish and less than ladylike appearance I make no apology for it.

  Our cavalcade was a curious one. Fifteen men commanded thirty horses, carrying stores and supplies, and armed against bears. I myself wore a whip and revolver at my hip, though with the ardent hope that I would not be called upon to use either. I had heard such terrible tales of attacks by bears upon travellers that I fe
lt I would be reckless to go unarmed. However, it chilled me to the marrow to consider the circumstances in which I might be compelled to fire on a charging beast.

  His Grace the Bishop of Yakutsk held a special service for us, where we prayed for God’s blessing and protection. I was deeply touched to see this singular collection of men and one strangely-attired English woman receive this benediction of the eve of our perilous mission. I had not wanted to draw unnecessary attention to our party upon our departure, but we naturally aroused no small amount of curiosity as we gathered for the off. I felt a nervousness assail me, for though I had already covered vast distances to reach this remote point, it was now that I considered the true test, the most exacting and important part of my quest, to begin in earnest. At last, on the morning of June 22nd, 1891, all preparations completed, we started on our journey of 2,000 miles.

  I had considered myself well-equipped for the ride through the forests, but I had not, it transpired, properly understood what faced me. The taiga was no ordinary forest. It laid no claim to dappled shade or pretty glades, but was a dense tangle of towering trees, knitted together with briars, brambles and creeping vines in such a way as to best repel the advances of any who would travel through it. The ground was far from even, consisting mostly of mud rutted and potholed by the severity of the winter weather, now dried in parts, while in others it was little more than a bog. This meant that our horses must plunge and stagger their way ahead.

  And to those of you imagining horses similar to mounts one might hire back in England I say you have never met a Siberian pony. These horses were small, hardy, and nimble, which was all to the good, for I believe none other could have managed in such terrain. Their natures, however, were less helpful, being only half-tamed, and given to acting upon their wild instinct to flee from any perceived danger. This would compel them to plunge off whatever path there was into the near impenetrable undergrowth, forcing themselves – and their hapless passenger – between trees no matter how small the gap, so that my legs were mercilessly dashed against the rough trunks, and I was forced to crouch close to the terrified creature’s neck for fear of being swept from my saddle by a low bough. Time and again my mount put us both through this ordeal for fear of a sound or smell that might or might not have heralded the arrival of a bear. The upshot of this activity was twofold. First, within a few hours, my gloves hung in useless shreds from holding the reins of plaited horse hair which wore through them to my soon blistered palms. The second was that I dare not, for a moment, take even one hand off my grip of these reins, for to do so would have certainly resulted in a fall, so that I was unable to swat away the dreadful flies and mosquitoes which set up a ceaseless assault. My veil proved useless against most of them, and by the end of the first day my face and neck were horribly bitten and swollen. We were none of us immune from these relentless swarms; people, horses, and dogs alike all suffered their attentions for the entirety of our journey.

  It had been a singularly tiring day at the Wellington. In my capacity as Lady Superintendent of Nurses I was responsible for overseeing the training of all new staff coming into the hospital. As we had recently received a large donation, a new ward had been built, so that we had increased capacity for patients, and therefore had taken on four new nurses. Two were very junior, one had several useful years’ experience of a surgical ward, and the other had held the position of Sister at her previous place of employment. I had spent the day apportioning duties for all, and finding other nurses to oversee the new arrivals. I was also required to attend a difficult meeting concerning the conduct of one of the surgeons towards a young nurse. It seemed the matter might be taken to court, which would do the reputation of the hospital no good at all, which led me to speak up for the surgeon involved, for the good of the Wellington. By seven o’clock that evening I was drained of all energy and sat at my desk attempting to summon the strength to go home. There was a knock at the door and Rose stepped into my room.

  ‘Dear Kate, you look quite done in,’ she said, coming to perch on the edge of my desk. She too must have worked a long and demanding day, yet she appeared to me as fresh and as pretty as her name suggested.

  ‘I am all the better for seeing you,’ I told her, reaching out to place my hand upon her knee. The heavy fabric of her uniform felt gritty with starch, but still I could detect the curve of her dainty knee beneath my palm.

  ‘What you need,’ she said, putting her hand on mine, ‘is a little fun. You know what they say, “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy”.’

  ‘I fear I am far too weary for anything that could be described as fun.’

  ‘Nonsense.’

  ‘Truly, Rose, I should get myself home, see that Mama is well, and at least take supper with her before I fall into bed.’

  ‘Dear me, what a very dull evening that sounds!’

  ‘It is what is required of me.’

  ‘Not every evening. No, I won’t hear of it. Not this time. A little cheerful diversion can have a beneficial and restorative effect – I’m certain I read that in a nursing manual somewhere.’ She got to her feet, leading me by the hand. ‘Come along, before someone else appears to ask something of you.’

  ‘Where are we going? We can hardly go out to dine in our uniforms.’

  ‘But of course we can! Two hard-working nurses eating a well-earned supper in a respectable establishment. What could be more proper?’

  I went with her willingly, of course. I would have followed her anywhere. How our lives might have been different if only one of us had had a fortune of our own!

  We put on our coats and walked ten minutes away from the hospital, turning into a narrow side street. I had imagined a quiet restaurant where we might take a corner table and go unnoticed, but Rose had something quite other in mind. It was dark, and quite cold, yet there were plenty of people turned out to enjoy the evening. It was a lively part of the city with which I was not familiar. Rose, on the other hand, appeared perfectly at home, and took me to a charming café, which had about it the look of a Parisian bistro. I don’t believe I had ever been to a place like it before. There were lots of low gaslights and mirrors on the wall, and the furnishings were either of gleaming brass or burnished wood, so that the whole place glowed. There were warm fires in the hearths, and tables and banquette seating set close together, and already filling with happy diners. The ambience was lively and welcoming. We took a table against the far wall, with Rose upon the green leather seating, myself with my back to the room but able to view it in the mirrors opposite me. The effect was curious, as if the room and its inhabitants were repeated over and over, doubling and trebling the numbers of revellers, amplifying both sound and activity, as white-aproned waiters hurried from table to table.

  ‘What an unusual place, Rose.’

  ‘Isn’t it fun? I discovered it last summer,’ she told me, raising her hand to acknowledge the proprietor, who seemed to recognise her at once.

  ‘You are a regular diner here, it seems.’

  ‘On a nurse’s salary? I think not. But I like to treat myself when I can. I would have brought you here sooner, I was certain you would like it, only…’

  ‘Only what?’

  ‘It is not very… discreet, Kate.’

  I looked about me. Now I noticed that some of the clientele were already in their cups, despite the early hour. I saw also that people were happy to sit embracing one another, couples snuggled close as they drank, some sharing food, others lost in close conversation. All of them seemed so wonderfully at ease. And not all of the couples were comprised of a man and a woman. I felt my mouth dry. Rose was watching me closely.

  ‘Have a glass of wine, Kate. Oh do, just this once. It is very good here, and really quite reasonably priced.’

  She was not, I knew, inviting me merely to try the wine. She was waiting to see if I would flee the place, or if I would be bold enough to stay. Up until that moment, I could not have said myself how I would respond. But then, at that moment, wit
h the seductive warmth and carefree atmosphere of the place, and with my darling Rose looking at me with such hope and such love, I knew there was not a place on God’s earth that I would rather have been. I felt reckless, and it was a new experience for me.

  ‘I think, on this occasion, a small glass of wine is a perfectly lovely idea,’ I told her. I had never been a drinker of alcohol, and later became known for my support of the Temperance movement, but that night was truly a night when I was entirely in Rose’s thrall, and I am not sorry for a second of it.

  Soon the bistro was filled to capacity, abuzz with good-humoured noise. Rose was familiar with the menu, and we feasted upon battered fried squid and a French loaf, which we ate with our fingers, dipping the salty fish into flavoured oil, and mopping our plates with the crusty bread. She introduced me to the most delicious of all puddings – a bitter chocolate mousse liberally laced with Cointreau. Before we left the hospital I had sent a note home informing Mama that my duties would keep me late, that I would find something to eat, and that she was not to wait up. It was liberating to know that I was excused the duties of a daughter, if only for a few hours.

  We rounded off our little meal with strong French coffee and then it was time to leave. We buttoned up our coats against the cold of the night outside and walked the short distance to a busy street where we might hail a cab. Rose looked at me then, her face solemn.