Those Who Fought for Us

by D. Allen Henry

  Chapter 11

  Recovery

  Edinburgh – October, 1918

  Alastair glared at the peculiar object strapped beneath his knee. After four years of abominable treatment, this was the ultimate insult. Given what he had endured for his country, to be hobbled for the remainder of his life with such a contraption seemed to be quite unfair. Still, when he considered reality, many had suffered far worse.

  “How does it feel to you, sir?” the attending nurse inquired.

  Still unable to adjust to being called ‘sir’, he spat out gruffly, “Och, like soome misbegotten scalawag’s peg leg.” But then he softened, adding, “What de ye hear from the front lines, lass?”

  Apparently relieved that he had lost his bad humor so suddenly, she responded sunnily, “Seems it’s just about over, sir. We should be hearing that there’s an end to it very soon.”

  “Cannae bide,” he replied, somehow managing even to present her with one of his brilliant smiles that were guaranteed to melt the heart of any lass.

  She blushed appropriately, exclaiming, “We’ll have you back in shape in no time, lieutenant.”

  “Reit! But serious noo, hoo long are ye thinkin’ it’ll take fur me tae adjust tae thes here contraption?”

  “The doctor says no more than a couple of months.”

  “Ah, that’ll be perfect, jist in time fur the holidays,” he joshed.

  “And where will you be spending them, if I might ask?”

  Eyeing her disinterestedly, he opined, “Like as nae, Ah’ll be married to me sweetheart by Christmas. Ah ‘spect we’ll be home tae Aberdeen fur the holiday.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” she responded with apparent envy.

  Seeing her obvious disappointment, he responded politely, “Och aye, and Ah’ll be hopin’ yers is quite festive as weel. Meantime, we’ll jist make fur certain thes here pirate’s leg does the job, eh?”

  Wharton Manor – Late November, 1918

  Robert stared from the window as the vehicle glided slowly up the driveway, his beloved Wharton Manor finally coming into view. “Can it have been three years?” he murmured to himself. The military vehicle now drawing to a slow and measured halt in front of the Manor, an officer emerged from within. He gingerly tugged the rear door open, a gaunt Robert subsequently emerging from within.

  Lord Sutherland, who had been waiting impatiently for some time, immediately appeared from within the manor, Smithers trailing behind. “Robert! Robert, dear Robert! Welcome home, son!” he called out and, wrapping his son in a taut embrace, he added surreptitiously, “It’s over, Robert. Everything will come to rights now. Just let me help you into the manor. We shall take good care of you from here on.” Turning to the accompanying officer, he held out his hand, saying, “Please come in, Captain Felder.”

  “Thank you, sir, but I believe this is best handled between family,” the soldier responded. “I shall be getting on back to London.”

  “Certainly, certainly,” Lord Sutherland responded politely. “Thanks ever so much for all you’ve done, Captain. Farewell, and travel safely,” and with that, Lord Sutherland turned and assisted Robert into the manor.

  Lady Sutherland waited within and, subjecting Robert to yet another crushing embrace, she exclaimed, “My son, home from The Great War!” and at this pronouncement, she brushed away a tear. “Come, Robert, let us hasten to the sitting room. All will be well, I’m quite certain.”

  Accepting their excessive fawning for what it was, Robert allowed them to usher him to the room, the very room that he had dreamed of all those months, months that had somehow stretched inconceivably into years. He realized as they entered the room that although it had indeed been three years almost to the day since he had sat in this very room, it had in reality encompassed a lifetime.

  Collapsing in the nearest chair, he murmured, “Just as I remember it,” as if it were somehow a surprise to him.

  Perceiving his son’s hidden meaning from his own past experience, Lord Sutherland offered sagely, “The entire world may seem to have changed, but some things, a very few things, have indeed been perfectly preserved. We shall resolve to build upon them, my son. And in time, I expect it will all come to right.”

  “Yes, father, it is indeed a comfort to sit here in this room, the very room that I dreamed of. Sitting here like this, I feel that I am finally on the road to recovery. Perhaps in time it shall be so.”

  “There will be time, time for everything, Robert. But at this moment, how may we be of service to you?” Lady Sutherland queried.

  “Service? What do you mean, mother?”

  “My son, you cannot begin to know how proud we are of you. You have risen to the rank of major, serving with great distinction - a decorated war hero! And we have won the war, and most importantly of all, you have survived - something that cannot be said for so many, too many in fact to count.”

  “Thank you, mother. As for service, at the moment, my sole aim is to rest. Perhaps in a few days, I shall take up a bit of reading. But for now, I believe that I shall do nothing more than learn to live again.”

  “Excellent! Excellent notion,” Lord Sutherland replied, “May I help you to your room?”

  “Thank you, sir, but I believe that I should make every attempt to function in the normal way.”

  “Excellent, Robert, perhaps you can dine with us this evening?”

  “I shall look forward to it, sir,” and with that, Robert hobbled from the room.

  Edinburgh – Late December, 1918

  Alastair and Elizabeth met at the Boar’s Head’s Behin’ for the sake of old times. Elizabeth embraced him, observing ominously, “You’re not looking well, Alastair. What’s the matter?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Alastair responded, “Ah’m jist tired. Tired ay war, tired ay everythin’, Ah suppose. And my missin’ leg still hurts somethin’ fierce, even though Ah’ve nae laid eyes upon it fur months!”

  “Alastair, you may have lost a leg, but you’ve gained my eternal respect and admiration. If you will but let me, I shall aide you in your effort to move beyond your loss.”

  “Weel noo, that be quite stoatin, if’n ye ask me, lovely Elizabeth. Ah’ve a mind ay one or two ways fur ye tae provide me with yer well-intentioned aid,” he responded jovially.

  At this rather ribald rejoinder, Elizabeth simultaneously blushed and giggled, responding, “Say no more, you naughty boy. I have the gist of where you’re going, and – shall we say – all in good time?”

  Then, abruptly changing the subject, she now became serious, “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  “And I, too, lovely Elizabeth.”

  “Right, you first.”

  “Weel, Ah was wonderin’, there seems tae be a bit of confusion in my mind.”

  “About what?”

  “Reit, Tis havin’ tae do with Margaret’s death.”

  “Oh,” Elizabeth responded, suddenly wary of the direction the conversation was headed.

  “As Ah recall, ye told me that Margaret was killed in August of 1916, but Robert was told by some doctor she was killed in September. Why do ye suppose there be a discrepancy, Elizabeth?”

  “Hmmm, not sure, Alastair. I was up the line at another field hospital when she died.”

  “But ye told me aboot it, soo how can that be?”

  “I don’t know. Tis all so long ago, I can’t remember. Let me think about it.”

  “Reit,” Alastair responded somewhat woozily, “Whit was oon yer mind, lass?”

  “You don’t look up to it today, Alastair. I fear you may be coming down with something.”

  “Ah’m fine, Elizabeth. Whit is it?”

  “It’s nothing. It can wait. We have all the time in the world now. The war’s over.”

  They talked of old times, but of course, it wasn’t possible to go back. Too much had transpired. Indeed, it was difficult to even imagine the naïve young fools they had been, now going on f
ive years past.

  The Following Day

  Elizabeth sat within the university library contemplating, wondering how to proceed. The university was not quite as bustling as it had been before the war, but it nonetheless seemed to be slowly coming back to life. There were plenty of students about and, as most were possessed of debilitating injuries, it was readily apparent they were veterans. Still, it was a far cry from the fall of 1914, when the university had practically shut down.

  As she sat there attempting to study, she couldn’t help but think back to that time before the war, when life had been so full of possibilities. She had been so certain that Robert Sutherland would be in her future, if only she could have stayed ahead of Margaret for his attentions. At first, it had appeared that it would be so, but she had made far too many mistakes. She had been young and foolish, and as she now understood, she had failed to be honest and ethical - funny how war could change one’s sense of morality. Had war not intervened, her ploy might have succeeded, but her ever-expanding web of intrigue had, under the circumstances, failed miserably.

  She wanted so badly to make things right, but she had no idea where to begin. If she went forward to confess her mistakes, she still feared her own demise. She had been over and over it for months on end, but she simply could not muster the initiative to put a plan together. But somehow, she promised herself, she would begin to put matters straight, especially now that the war was over. And perhaps now Robert would come back to Edinburg. He would put things right, dear Robert.

  As she sat pondering, her classmate Jennifer, also a former nurse, rushed up to her and exclaimed, “Elizabeth, did you hear?”

  “Hear what?”

  “Tis Alastair, he has the Spanish influenza. They’ve taken him to the hospital!”

  “That can’t be!” she responded. “I just saw him yesterday!”

  Jennifer replied, “Oh, my…how did he look to you?”

  “Come to think of it, he did seem to be feeling rather poorly. Oh, my goodness, Jennifer. What have you heard about this flu epidemic? How bad is it?”

  “I’ve been working at the hospital part-time, Elizabeth. They’re saying tis quite bad. Several people have died from it already right here in Edinburgh. They sent me home to insure my safety. Tis apparently quite contagious.”

  “Oh, my…” Elizabeth murmured.

  “Elizabeth, how close did you get to Alastair?”

  “What? Why?”

  “You may have been infected! That’s why.”

  “Oh, I am quite certain I’m alright, Jennifer. I feel fine.”

  “Yes, well, you wouldn’t notice anything right away. But if you feel sick within the next two or three days, you should seek medical attention. Better yet, let me know. You know where to find me.”

  “Yes, thanks, I shall, Jennifer. I hope Alastair is alright.”

  The Following Day

  Alastair coughed uncontrollably and, recovering for a moment, he gazed about himself. Seeing the figure coming towards him, he exclaimed, “Elizabeth! Gang away! Ye mustn’t come near tae me. Ah’m contagious! It could be deadly!”

  Elizabeth came forward and, taking his hand, he said affectionately, “Now hush, dear Alastair. You forget - I’m a nurse. I’ve been a nurse for the past four years and more. I’m here, and I’m not leaving until you’re well. It will all turn out right, now that I’m here. You shall see. Now, just you rest, because I shall be here to tend to you until you recover completely.”

  Two Weeks Later

  Alastair gazed towards the building, his mind carrying him back over the two previous weeks. He felt quite fortunate to be alive. So many people dead and dying within these walls. How many was it by now? Five hundred? Perhaps even a thousand in Edinburgh alone.

  He thought to himself, “Tae survive a world war, and then tae die ay the flu. It jist dinnae make sense. Whit sort ay God would inflict such pestilence oon humankind? Could thes be our punishment for our sins ay war?” It was all too much to bear. And now, his beloved Elizabeth, stricken as well, most likely by himself! It was all simply too much to bear.

  He pressed the door open and, approaching the reception desk, he inquired, “Can ye tell me where I might find Miss Elizabeth Turnberry. She is a patient.”

  “Sir, you can’t come into the hospital. Everyone has the Spanish flu. Tis quite contagious, and perhaps deadly.”

  “Aye, Ah’m aware. Ah just got oot of thes very hospital the day afore yesterday. Ye kin, Ah had it, and Ah’ve fully recovered. Soo Ah’m noow immune. Ah’d like tae see Miss Turnberry. She’s a relative.”

  “Let me check, sir. What did you say your name was?”

  “Alastair – Alastair Stewart. Doctor Senden will recall me.”

  “I shall be right back, sir.”

  He waited a few moments, and seeing her coming down the hallway, he rushed forward and asked, “Might Ah be seein’ her? Is it alreit?”

  “Yes, sir, the doctor says tis alright. She’s on the fourth floor, in Ward 4C. You can go up.”

  “Thenk ye,” he responded, and so saying, he made his way toward the stairs.

  Having conquered the stairway despite his unwieldy prosthetic, he subsequently located the ward. Stepping within, he made his way through the maze of coughing and hacking patients, all in various states of duress.

  On spying her near the far end of the room, he called, “Elizabeth!”

  On hearing him, she opened her eyes and held out her hand to him. Grasping his hand tightly, she coughed uncontrollably, subsequently croaking, “Alastair. You’re here! Come! Come quickly.”

  Drawing close, he clutched her hand fiercely, offering, “Ah’m sae soory, Elizabeth! Thes be all my fault. Ah’m quite certain ye moost have caught it frae me.”

  “Hush, Alastair! Tis not your fault. It doesn’t matter who I got it from. I would have caught it anyway sooner or later.”

  “Hoo are ye fairin’, Elizabeth? Are ye gettin’ better?”

  “I’m afraid not, Alastair. Whenever I ask the doctor, he glances away. I’m afraid I must be dying.”

  “Surely nae, Elizabeth!”

  “I remember saying the same thing to you, when you thought you were dying, on the Western Front. Somehow, you came back, Alastair. I’m so glad you survived the war.”

  “Thenk ye, dear Elizabeth. And ye shall survive, too. Ah’m certain ay it.”

  “Sorry, Alastair, but lightening doesn’t strike twice,” she observed forlornly.

  At this, he gazed despondently at her and posited, “Nae, Elizabeth. Ah woon’t let ye die. How can Ah goo oon withoot ye?”

  “Yes, well, I’m afraid you will have to,” she whispered, and patting his hand with hers, she confessed, “Besides, I’m not the angel I appear to you to be.”

  “Och aye?”

  “I’m afraid I’ve done some very bad things, Alastair.”

  Arching one doubtful eyebrow, he blurted blankly, “Whit? Whit in the warld do ye mean, Elizabeth?”

  Catching his gaze with her own, she allowed, “Listen, I’ve needed to get this off my chest for a very long time. I lied to you, Alastair.”

  “When?”

  “It all started that night in St. Andrews.”

  Frowning in confusion, he blathered, “Whit? When did ye lie that night?”

  Shaking her head in denial, she posited, “No, I didn’t lie then. But that night, I fell for Robert,” and at his forlorn glance, she apologized, “I know, I know, you’re in love with me. I’m so sorry, I never meant to hurt you, but I was young and stupid. I just wanted Robert then. And unfortunately, we do not have the luxury of choosing who we fall in love with in this life.”

  “Tell me aboot it!” he exclaimed self-consciously, then prodding, “Goo oon.”

  “The lies started later, after that night on Arthur’s Seat.”

  “Whit aboot Arthur’s Seat, Elizabeth.”

  “I lied, Alastai
r. It was me that night. I was the one in the kilt. I showed my knickers to the boys.”

  “Whit! But ye told me it was Margaret!”

  “Right. I lied, Alastair. I’m so sorry,” and by now she was sobbing visibly.

  “But why?” he exclaimed, “Why would ye doo sech a thing?”

  “I knew it would get back to Robert, and I wanted him to think it was Margaret. I thought it would make him hate her.” At this point, she halted for a few moments, exhausted from the effort. Then she coughed, spitting up a bit of blood.

  Horrified by the scene unfolding before him, Alastair could think only to say, “Why are ye tellin’ me all ay this, Elizabeth?”

  Elizabeth stared morosely at him and, glancing downward in remorse, she whispered, “I know tis far too late, Alastair, but I’m trying to make things right. Just bear with me, will you?”

  “Aye, o’ course. Goo oon.”

  “So I also lied about Margaret. She wasn’t killed by a stray artillery shell, Alastair.”

  “Whit! She’s alive?” he cried.

  Shaking her head vigorously, she denied, “No, that’s not what I meant! What I meant was – I killed her.”

  “Whit? That cannae be!”

  “Ah, but it is, Alastair, it certainly is, because I did in fact kill her.”

  “But hoo, hoo did ye kill her?”

  “Do you remember when you were in the hospital, you realized your stash had been misplaced?”

  “Reit.”

  “I stole your wireless telegraph, Alastair.”

  “Whit! Boot why? Why ever oon earth fur, Elizabeth?”

  “Remember, the doctor said you were dying, and I figured I could make use of it. Sure enough, a few days later, an injured soldier was brought into the field hospital. He was in bad shape, but he was really smart. I showed him the contraption, and he got it working. Before he died, I asked him if it could be used to trigger a bomb. He said he thought so, and he showed me how. So I rigged it up, just like he told me, and I connected some explosives to it. I got myself transferred, and before I left I placed the bomb under Margaret’s bunk. As soon as I left the hospital, I set off the bomb,” she explained morosely.

  Observing the damning silence now engulfing the pair, she confessed contritely, “I killed her, Alastair.”

  Suddenly realizing that she was not the angel he had thought her to be, Alastair exclaimed in horror, “Ah dinnae believe it!” and, pausing a moment further to reflect, he blurted, “Wait! Ah thought Ah’d gotten her arrested. Ah told them Ah’d seen her fraternizin’ with the troops. But Ah was coverin’ fer ye.”

  “You had nothing to do with it. It was all my doing, Alastair.”

  “But why?” he pleaded desolately, “Why did ye do it, Elizabeth?”

  “Because I wanted Robert for myself, that’s why! I couldn’t stand it when I found out she slept with Robert.”

  “Whit! Ye’re certain the pair ay ‘em slept taegether?”

  “Yes! Well, actually, I wasn’t certain of it, but I could tell she was lying when she said it was just some wounded soldier did it. She wasn’t that sort at all.”

  “Thes is too awful! Ye’re tellin’ me that ye slayed Margaret jist so’s ye could have Robert fur yerself?”

  “Yes, Alastair, that’s what I’m telling you.”

  “But why did ye tell me she was dead afore ye did it?”

  “I don’t know. At the time I thought you were dying. I wasn’t paying much attention to what I said because I thought you’d be dead within a couple of days. But it didn’t turn out that way.”

  “Jist hoo many soldiers did ye expose yerself tae, Elizabeth?”

  “Oh, several.”

  “But why?”

  “That was before I stole your wireless. I was laying a trap for Margaret. I was going to make them think it was her so she’d get arrested. But then I hit on the bomb, and it seemed a better solution.”

  “Better! Fur who?”

  “Oh, God, Alastair! Don’t look at me that way! I was so jealous of her. Robert was mine. From the first time I saw him, I just knew he was mine. And she tried to steal him away from me. I just couldn’t let her get away with it.”

  “Soo! Faerst, you planned tae git her arrested, but later ye settled on killin’ her instead!”

  She coughed for several seconds, then continued, saying hopefully, “Look, I was terrified. There was a war on, people were dying everywhere around me, and I was just trying to survive. Besides, I was afraid that if I tried to get her arrested for fraternizing, it might backfire and end up getting me arrested instead. Killing her just seemed safer. I know, I was wrong. I just kept hoping it would all work out in the end.”

  “Whitever made ye think that?”

  “The baby…”

  “The bairn? What bairn?” he frowned in dismay, continuing with, “Whit in this loosy warld are ye talkin’ aboot, Elizabeth?”

  “Alastair, Margaret was pregnant. She was due to have a baby, Robert’s baby I suspect, sometime around April, 1917. I simply couldn’t let that happen.”

  “My God, Elizabeth! Then ye killed nae only Margaret, ye also killed her unborn bairn!”

  “I know, it sounds terrible, I know, Alastair. But we were all suffering. I was just hoping it would all turn out right in the end. I wanted so desperately for things to go back to the way they were before the war.”

  “But they dinnae, did they, Elizabeth?”

  “No, they didn’t,” she replied forlornly, “But I want you to know, I was working on it. I was going to set things right.”

  “Ye were?”

  “Yes, I was actually going to tell you about it two weeks ago, when we met, but you were so sick that day I decided to wait. I was going to turn myself in, Alastair.”

  “Whit! Ye were?”

  “Yes, but now tis too late. I’m dying.”

  “Ye cannae die! Ye have tae put things reit!”

  “Yes, well, I’ve been lying here for nearly two weeks, trying to figure out how I can do that before I die.”

  “Och aye?”

  “The thing is, when you got sick, I knew it was my chance. I figured to tend to you, and if I got sick, it would be God’s way of dealing with me. But if not, then maybe if I could save you, it would somehow mean that God was giving me another chance, a chance to set things right.”

  “Weel, assumin’ yer reit, it seems ye have yur answer, Elizabeth.”

  “Yes, I can see that, but I still want to set things right if at all possible.”

  “Och, hoo, lass? Seems tae me tis far too late.”

  “I’ve been very sick, Alastair, but I was well enough at times to write it all down. Look in that bag there, the one under the bed.”

  He glanced down, noticed the bag and, rummaging around within, he found a stack of papers, inquiring, “Ye mean thes?”

  “Yes, that’s it. No need to read it now,” and having said this, she grasped his hand and urged, “You must promise me, Alastair. Promise me! Promise me that you shall use it to make things right on my behalf.”

  “Whit! Whit coods Ah do, Elizabeth?”

  “When you’ve read it, I’m sure you will know what to do with it. Promise me!”

  “Why?”

  “Because you love me, Alastair,” she observed woefully, “And, now that it is too late, I love you, too. You see, I’ve seen the error of my ways, and now tis too late, I realize I’ve loved you all along. So please, do this for me, for us. But most of all, do it for Robert.”

  He gazed at her a few moments and, abruptly electing his intended course of action, he confessed, “Och aye, God help us booth, Ah do love ye, Elizabeth. Ah always have, and Ah always shall.” He then paused further, eventually adding with finality, “Reit then, I promise ye.”

  “Thank you, Alastair. Thank you, my love,” she responded sadly and, reaching for his hand, she recalled, “Oh, there’s one other thing.”

>   “Aye?”

  “There’s a sporran in the bag. Get it, if you would.”

  He rummaged within the bag yet again and, finding the sporran, he inquired blankly, “Whit’s thes?”

  “It’s Robert’s sporran, from that night, on Arthur’s Seat.”

  “Whit? Ye mean ye’ve kept it these five years?”

  “Yes. At the time, I just wanted a keepsake of Robert’s. But later on, I was too embarrassed to give it back. After I read what was inside it, I was afraid he’d hate me when he found out I’d taken it.”

  “Soo ye want me tae give it back tae Robert, is that it?”

  “Yes, well, you will need to decide exactly how to deal with it, Alastair. I shall count on you to decide exactly how it should be done.”

  “Whit? Why?”

  “There’s a poem inside the sporran. When you’ve read it, you shall understand why.”

  “Fair ‘nough. Anythin’ else?”

  “No, I think that covers everything,” she whispered in apparent exhaustion.

  There was a moment of silence, during which each gazed longingly at one another. At length, he murmured, ”Ye’ve done some quite bad thin’s, Elizabeth, and though ye may never be forgiven fur whit ye’ve done, Ah kin that thes will at least make it reit in the end.”

  “Yes, I hope so. Now please, come into bed with me and hold me, dear Alastair, love of my life.”

  “Och aye, dear Elizabeth, just as ye are fur me.”

  Three hours later, Elizabeth Turnberry departed this world peacefully within her sleep.

  The South Atlantic – Two Weeks Later

  Margaret gripped the ship’s railing securely, riding the waves furiously as if they were an unbroken horse. Had it really been five years since she’d travelled northward on this same route? Hard to believe, but so much had transpired in the intervening span of time, indeed, it seemed a lifetime had passed. Though she had been aboard quite a few ships since, nothing compared to the thrill of the open sea, where the roiling waters threatened with every passing wave.

  She was somehow alive – a feeling she hadn’t felt in more than two years. “Perhaps,” she thought to herself, “I shall indeed survive it all.”

  Having slinked out of London a scant day after her release from prison, she had made her way as unobtrusively as possible to Portsmouth. Having immediately taken passage on a steamer bound for Rio de Janeiro, she had been too disgusted with England to even consider awaiting the next ship to Australia.

  She was a convict, she reminded herself, and although paroled, she had no doubt that she felt much the same as her great-grandfather Kyle MacCreedy had felt on being transported nearly a century earlier. She forced herself to face facts – she could never return to England, nor could she ever live down the shame of her conviction for fraternization.

  Her hopes and dreams, her chance at success, all had gone by the wayside, all victims of a world at war. Still, she was at least alive, and like her great-grandfather, she would make a new life for herself in Australia, the place of her birth.

  She’d never told her parents about her incarceration, and hopefully, they would never know. Half a world away from her demons, it might be possible to keep it all under wraps. And to her, it was all-important that she do so, because she knew that she would have to start a new life. In time, she might even find a decent man, but for now, she needed to be strong.

  Melbourne - A Month Later

  Margaret waved from the ship’s railing, unable to contain her joy at seeing her parents on the dock below. “Mother!” she called above the din of arriving passengers, “Father!” Moments later, she waded into their waiting arms.

  “Dear me, you’ve grown up, Margaret!” her mother said.

  Relief suddenly overcoming her, she blurted, “Yes! Let’s go home, mother, father. Let’s go home!” After five years, the long nightmare had finally come to an end.