A Kestrel Rising

by S. A. Laybourn

  “Shall I get a nurse?”

  He shook his head. “No, it’s all right. Perhaps I should try to sleep again.”

  “I think that’s a good idea.” She rose and helped him get comfortable with his pillow.

  “Will you be here when I wake?” he asked, a plaintive note to his voice.

  “If they let me, yes. I’ll stay.” She watched as he drifted back into sleep, seeking refuge from the pain. When she was sure that he was asleep, she went in search of fresh air. Second Lieutenant Jackson was sitting at her desk, her face illuminated by a sweep of light from the lamp.

  “Is Captain Robson all right?” she asked.

  “He’s sleeping again. I think he’s a bit uncomfortable.”

  “That’s to be expected.” She shuffled through the files on the desk until she found the one she was looking for and opened it. “If you’ve the stomach for it, I’ll tell you exactly what the surgeon had to do.”

  Ilona nodded. “I’m up to it.”

  “The Captain had three wounds, caused by flak entering the cockpit,” the nurse read. “There is one on the left hip and two on his left leg, one on the thigh and one just below his knee.” She glanced up at Ilona. “I shan’t bore you with the technical language, but the surgeon removed the fragments from all three wounds and then he had to cut away the dead and damaged tissue until he reached the healthy, undamaged tissue. He stitched up the damaged nerves and now the Captain has three open wounds that have been packed with gauze so that they can drain. He’s been given penicillin, which should prevent any infection, and, while he’s here, we will change the dressings and the wounds will begin to mend. He lost a fair bit of blood, so he’s been given plasma to replace what he’s lost. Considering all that, he’s in good shape, so he should be all right, and he could be back on duty in a few weeks. In the meantime, if the pain gets too bad, we can give him something for that, but sleep is the best thing. He’s had quite a day, Miss Lowe.”

  “Yes, he has.”

  “And, I imagine, so have you.”

  “Not as bad as his.”

  “Your being here will have been a tremendous boost for him. I should think most of our patients would feel a lot better if they could see their loved ones.” She smiled. “You must be tired yourself.”

  “I am. I was just going to go and get a bit of fresh air. I really hate to get in the way.”

  “It’s all right, Miss Lowe. You’re lucky, because it’s been quiet today. If you want somewhere to rest your head, we can find a cot for you in the nurses’ quarters.”

  “I really wouldn’t want to cause any bother.”

  “It’s no bother at all. We’re down a couple of nurses now, so there’s room to spare. Anyway, it’s not every day that we have someone from the WAAF drop by for a visit. It’s kind of neat to meet someone new.” She closed the file and put it back. “Get yourself some fresh air, Miss Lowe, and we’ll sort out a cot for you.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Ilona offered a smile and went out into the cool night air. She walked slowly away from the hut, seeking somewhere empty, dark and quiet. She wandered around until she found herself on the perimeter, staring at the park of the old house, which had long since gone. The sweep of grass was dim beneath the starlight and somewhere in the woods beyond the park, she heard the reeling call of a nightjar, which reminded her of home. The old familiar cry was all she needed to hear and the tears that she had held back finally escaped in hoarse, whispering sobs. She knelt in the cool, soft grass and wept with exhaustion and relief until she was spent and tired and a chill crept into her bones. She climbed to her feet and headed back to the hut. Second Lieutenant Jackson was waiting with the news that she had a cot ready and that, if Captain Robson woke in the night needing her, someone would send for her.

  She slept without interruption, oblivious to the comings and goings of the nurses. Someone woke her at first light, informing her that Francis was awake and wondering where she was. She splashed cold water on her face, straightened her hair as best that she could and returned to the ward. She found Francis sitting up in his bed. He looked considerably brighter than he had a scant few hours before and, as she sat down, he took her hand and kissed it.

  “You’re still here,” he said.

  “I said I’d stay.”

  “Won’t you get in trouble?”

  “The sergeant said I could take as long as I needed. He doesn’t want me fretting about you and running my lorry off the road.”

  “That’s very kind of him.”

  “Everyone’s been kind.”

  He held her hand, caressing the back of it with his thumb. “I’m just glad that you’re here, that you were here when I came ‘round.”

  “I wouldn’t have known a moment’s peace if I hadn’t.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a nurse who had a tray, and she announced that it was time to change the dressing on the captain’s wounds. Ilona rose to excuse herself and the nurse smiled and said, “You’re perfectly welcome to stay, Miss Lowe, if you’re not squeamish.”

  Ilona wasn’t sure whether she was or not, but she was determined to see how bad the damage was. “Thank you, I will.”

  “Good, you’d better wear this.” She handed her a surgical mask. “This could hurt a bit, Captain.”

  “It already bloody does.” He took Ilona’s hand and squeezed it as the nurse removed the dressing from the wound on his calf. It wasn’t as bad as Ilona had expected, a gash of angry red, about three inches long and an inch wide. The edges had been neatly trimmed and the nurse declared herself happy with the state of it. She redressed it and turned her attention to the pad of dressing on Francis’ thigh. He hissed as she eased it away, revealing a long tear. Ilona swallowed.

  “Ironic, isn’t it?” he said to her. “Dad has his old war wound in the same place. I guess I’m more like him than I thought.”

  She watched the nurse put fresh fine mesh gauze onto the wound and deftly wrap a bandage around it. “It looks quite good, Captain. I think you’ll find that things have improved since the last war. If this had happened back then, you would be looking at losing your leg.”

  “He was lucky he didn’t,” Francis told her, between gritted teeth.

  The final wound was on his hip and, judging from the size of the dressing, Ilona guessed that it was the largest. She bit her lip as the dressing fell from it. She guessed it to be as big as her hand and it looked deep. The nurse examined it carefully, while Ilona concentrated on Francis, watching his face as he screwed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw. She wanted to weep for him but told herself, better that he had these than be dead. She remembered the times she had run her hand along that warm sweep of skin and sighed, quietly. In spite of its size, the nurse seemed happy with its condition. “We’ll have you out of here in no time, Captain,” she declared, as she finished replacing the dressing. “The surgeon did a great job.”

  “If you say so.” He looked at Ilona, eyes wide and dark with pain. “What do you think, Ilke?”

  “I’m not an expert, but they look nice and clean.” She gave him a reassuring smile as the nurse put everything right and said that there would be cups of tea shortly and a sandwich or two.

  “The cure-all for everything.” Francis sighed as she departed. “A cup of tea.”

  Ilona felt sorry for the nurses.

  “You’re going to leave soon, aren’t you?”

  She nodded. “I’d better, darling. As much as I would love to stay here with you, I can’t. I don’t want to push my luck when it comes to taking leave.”

  Another sigh. “I know. It was more than I could have hoped for that you were here when I came ‘round. I miss you so much.”

  “Me too,” she replied, softly. “But I’m just glad that you’re alive and safe.”

  He patted the space on the bed beside him. “Will you sit with me a minute before you go?”

  She complied and he took her hand and kissed her palm, his lips warm against
her skin. He closed his eyes and held her hand against his cheek for a long time. When he spoke again, his voice scarcely above a whisper. “Oh, Ilke, you mean so much to me.”

  “I know.”

  “Wait for me.”

  “You know I will.” She reluctantly pulled her hand away, letting her fingers trail along the line of his jaw. She kissed his forehead, closing her eyes to hide her tears. “There will never be anyone else for me, my love.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Darling,

  I’m sorry that I won’t be able to take leave this Christmas. It’s killing me to know that I won’t be able to see you, even for a day or two. I think we’re getting close to the end now. The enemy is losing their spirit, and these planes of ours are just too much for them. To be brutally frank, there’s no sport in it any more. It’s too much like shooting fish in a barrel. All we are doing now is finishing the job and mopping up. I think it will only be a matter of months and then we will be done with this war, I can’t believe how long it has been, over five years now. I just want it to be over. We had two V-2s land near here the other night, the noise of the explosion was tremendous, and I thought the end of the world had come. Luckily for us, they fell short, although it was an early wake up call. There wasn’t much point in going back to bed after that.

  My leg has finally stopped hurting, there are some impressive scars there, but at least I can walk properly and flying isn’t too difficult. I hope I never end up being stuck in hospital that long again. I hate it. I hate not being able to get up and move properly and I hate sitting around with nothing to do. If you hadn’t been such a faithful correspondent, I would have gone mad. I’m glad you were able to visit again. I can’t tell you how good it felt to see you walking down the ward with that smile on your face, like all my Christmases come at once. Here we are back to Christmas, again. I’ll be flying, and you’ll be at home enjoying your dinner and your wine and chasing the twins around the house. God, Ilke, I’ll miss you, especially when I think of last Christmas Eve and you and me and the firelight and how very nice making up with you was. Even now, I close my eyes and… Enough of that, it’s too damn cold for cold showers. So, sweetheart, I will be thinking of you every minute of every day this Christmas. If you find yourself on Mom’s bench, spare a thought for me, because wherever I am, whatever I’m doing, I’ll be thinking of you.

  Until later, my darling,

  Francis

  Ilona folded the letter and put it back in her pocket as the train began to slow and crawl into the station. She stood, retrieved her travel-worn case from the luggage rack and made her way to the door. Her parents waited on the platform, shivering in the cold and smiling as she waved at them from the open window. She hopped off the train and was swept up into warm hugs and it made the homecoming worthwhile after all.

  “How’s everything at home?” she asked as her father drove along the station road.

  “The same as ever, dear. Not only are the twins all over the place, but now they won’t stop talking. They both take after their father, in that respect, I’m afraid. I hope you weren’t expecting a quiet Christmas.”

  “No, Mama. I knew that would be too much to hope for.”

  “It’s a shame Francis couldn’t be home.”

  “I know, but he’s busy and I guess, because they’ve lost a few experienced pilots, one way or the other, they need him around.” She gazed out of the window at the frost lingering under the winter-dark hedgerows and sighed.

  “It’s all right, Ilke. I’m sure this will all be over soon. You’re not going to spend all Christmas missing him, are you?”

  “I’ll try not to, Mama, but it will seem strange without him being here.”

  “It will. He’s a lovely young man.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  Nothing much had changed at home, apart from the twins. They had lost their baby plumpness. They hid behind their mother. They took shy peeps from behind her skirt and regarded Ilona with huge eyes until she had changed out of her uniform. Then James ventured onto her lap and offered her one of his little planes. She accepted it with a smile, kissed his tousled black hair and admired his gift. She noticed that it was a Spitfire and realized that Francis was not going to let her forget him, regardless of where she was.

  “Tell Aunty Ilke what it is, James.”

  “’pitfire,” he announced, proudly.

  “And who used to fly a Spitfire?” his mother prompted.

  “Nuncle Francis.” He grinned and nodded, regarding his aunt with interest.

  “Can you tell Aunty Ilke what Uncle Francis flies now?”

  “Mustan’.” This was his cue to jump off Ilona’s lap and run around the room, arms extended, making airplane noises while his sister watched him with disdain, preferring her doll, which she wasn’t offering to anyone.

  Ilona laughed and applauded. “Very good, James. Your Uncle Francis would be proud of you.”

  “How are things between the two of you?” Aislinn asked as Nancy went off in search of a dog to torment and James returned to his aunt’s lap.

  “Very good, but I miss him terribly.”

  “Do you think you’ll get married after the war?”

  “Ash, he hasn’t even told me that he loves me.”

  “But he does, doesn’t he? That seemed obvious last Christmas.”

  “He does, but he would never admit it any more than I would.”

  Aislinn shook her head. “You two really are the most stubborn pair. I really hope that you both decide to drop this pretense.”

  “I’ve come close to confessing more than once.” She sighed. “Can we change the subject? I really don’t want to spend Christmas brooding over him and missing him. You don’t want me moping about the house sighing and pining, do you?”

  It seemed to Ilona that Francis was determined to make his presence felt. When the Reardons arrived Christmas morning, Mrs. Reardon presented Ilona with a small package carefully wrapped in brown paper.

  “Francis sent this,” she told her. “He asked me to give it to you.”

  She looked at the familiar scrawl on the top of the parcel and sat down. “I didn’t get him anything. I feel awful.”

  “Don’t, dear. He said it was a last minute thing.”

  She removed the brown paper and found it was swathed in old newspapers, which she peeled away until the gift was revealed. It was a small watercolor of a thatched white cottage, with two tiny dormer windows peeking out of the thatch. A cluster of poplar trees, swathed in the brilliant green of spring, rose out of the meadow behind the cottage. On the back of the painting, she found an envelope with her name written on it.

  My darling,

  I happened to find this in a little shop in Thaxted. If it isn’t Poplar Cottage, it’s enough of a likeness to bring back a multitude of happy memories. I hope you like it and I hope you share those same memories.

  I miss you.

  Francis

  Ilona smiled and put the note in her pocket. Everyone admired the painting but she refused to explain why he would have sent her such a picture, saying only that they had seen a place very similar on their day out in Cambridge.

  * * * *

  “That was a lovely present,” her mother remarked as they sat, alone, in the breakfast room the following morning. She looked at Ilona sharply. “A cottage? Is there something you haven’t told me, darling?”

  Ilona stirred her tea. “It was just like a cottage we saw when we had our day out in Cambridge.”

  “It must have been quite a memorable day out.”

  “It was very nice.”

  “Ilke, you are being careful, aren’t you?”

  “What do you mean, Mama?”

  “I mean that it’s clear to me that you and Francis are very close, and don’t pretend that you don’t know what I’m talking about. I was young and in love once, and I remember all too clearly what it was like when certain opportunities presented themselves. Things are different now. Your sister is a sh
ining example of what happens when precautions aren’t taken.”

  “But she and Charlie are happy, Mama.”

  “It’s very fortunate that they are. What about you and Francis? Are you happy? Do you love him?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Does he love you?”

  “We haven’t spoken of it. I know that he does, but I also know he would rather wait until the war is over.”

  “I can understand that.” She smiled. “What about this cottage?”

  Ilona felt her cheeks flame. “We had a very nice time in a cottage just like that.”

  “Obviously, if Francis felt compelled to send you a painting of it, it must have been quite a nice time.”

  “It was…very memorable.”

  Her mother laughed. “Oh, darling, there’s no need to look so uncomfortable. If he makes you happy then that’s all that matters. You’ve had enough heartache for one so young and your father and I think the world of Francis. I really hope that it works out for you both, even if it means losing you to another country.”

  “I hadn’t even thought of that. I haven’t thought beyond of the war because I dare not hope. I just know that he’s been worth it, Mama, I haven’t regretted a single moment.”

  * * * *

  My dearest Francis,

  Well, Christmas is over and I am back at Mildenhall again. It was nice to go home and take long walks and sit on your mother’s bench and look at the sky, but, of course, it wasn’t the same without you there. I can honestly say that there wasn’t a moment that passed when I wasn’t thinking of you and missing you. How is it that you have become such a big part of my life? How is it that I can’t go through a single day without missing you so much? The painting is beautiful and I have it with me. I can’t bear to part with it any more than I can bear to leave your picture out of sight. I even took it home with me at Christmas and put it on my bedside table, so that you were the last thing I saw before I slept and the first thing I saw in the morning. Francis, darling, what have you done to me?