Clare went on walking, not meeting Helen’s eye. But just as Helen was beginning to think she would never speak to her again, she suddenly said, ‘I only wanted to help.’
‘I know,’ Helen said humbly.
‘You shouldn’t push me away, you know. You need me.’
Helen nodded. ‘You’ve been a good friend to me, Clare. I don’t know what I would have done without you.’
It was the right thing to say. To Helen’s relief, Clare suddenly smiled and linked arms with her.
‘You can trust me, you know,’ she said.
‘I know that.’
‘I’m your friend. I only have your best interests at heart . . . Helen?’ Clare’s voice sharpened. ‘Are you listening to me?’
But Helen had stopped dead. They were outside the POWs’ ward, and something had caught her attention.
‘What is it?’ Clare said.
Helen pointed to the glass in the double doors, too shocked to speak.
Clare craned her neck to look, and a slow, malicious smile spread across her face.
‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘She’s gone too far this time!’
Helen pushed open the double doors and marched to the ward, Clare at her heels.
She could barely comprehend the scene in front of her. The ward looked like a factory production line. Men in grey prison uniforms sat around the table in the middle of the ward, tearing strips of newspaper then passing them down the table for others to loop and glue them into long strings. The men who couldn’t get out of bed were folding sheets of newspaper into paper lanterns and fastening them on to strings. Major Von Mundel strode from bed to bed, supervising their work.
And there, in the middle of it, was Dora Riley. She was on top of a ladder, looping the newspaper chains over the light fittings, watched by Miss Sloan and Kitty Jenkins, their arms full of more paper chains. The walls were already festooned with them.
Helen stared around her. She could feel herself trembling with rage.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ she said.
Kitty Jenkins jumped to attention, dropping the paper chain, which fell into a rustling pile at her feet.
Helen fixed her gaze on Dora, still perched on top of the ladder. ‘I thought I said there were to be no decorations on this ward?’ she said.
Dora slowly descended until she and Helen were face-to-face. ‘Actually, Sister Dawson, you said we weren’t to use any of the hospital’s decorations. You didn’t say anything about making them ourselves.’
Helen stared into Dora’s freckled face. Her smile was pleasant and polite, but there was a glint of defiance in her green eyes.
‘You shouldn’t use newspaper,’ Clare butted in. ‘It’s needed for salvage.’
‘I know that,’ Dora replied. ‘We’re only using the old stuff we’ve been allowed to keep as firelighters.’ She turned to Helen. ‘It looks good, don’t you reckon?’
Helen caught the hint of challenge in her voice. She was doing it deliberately to humiliate her, she thought. She could feel all the men watching her keenly, waiting to see what she would do.
‘Take them down,’ she said.
Dora frowned. ‘Why? What’s the harm in putting up a few decorations?’
‘I said take them down! That’s an order, Nurse Riley!’
They were almost toe-to-toe. Dora was a head shorter than Helen, but she looked up at her defiantly. ‘No,’ she said.
Helen heard Clare gasp behind her. The men had stopped what they were doing and were openly staring.
She turned to Kitty Jenkins and Miss Sloan. ‘Take them down,’ she snapped.
They looked at each other. Neither of them moved.
‘You must admit Sister, they do cheer the place up,’ Miss Sloan said in appeal.
Helen stared at them all, standing shoulder-to-shoulder. She was so incensed she could barely breathe.
‘Very well, I’ll take them down myself!’ she snapped.
Before she knew what she was doing, she was ripping the chains down from the walls in a frenzy. She heard Clare call out to her but she didn’t stop to listen, her head filled with hot, red rage.
It was only when the decorations lay in a tattered pile at her feet that she stopped and looked round, breathing hard. A circle of faces – the patients, Major Von Mundel, Clare, Dora and the other nurses – all stared back at her with concern and incomprehension.
She looked down at the ruined paper chains and shame washed over her at her loss of control. Oh God, what was she thinking?
‘Helen?’
Dora whispered her name. She was staring at her, a worried look on her face. Behind her, everyone in the silent ward was watching Helen in utter dismay.
Helen drew herself up to her full height. ‘Report to Matron,’ she said. She turned to Miss Sloan and Kitty. ‘All of you.’
Kitty looked distraught. Dora squared her shoulders. ‘It’s not their fault,’ she said. ‘If anyone should take the blame, it’s me.’
Helen stared at her. Oh, believe me, I do blame you, she thought.
‘Report to Matron,’ she repeated. ‘Or are you going to defy me again?’
They trailed out of the ward. Kitty and Miss Sloan had their heads down, but Dora kept her defiant gaze fixed on Helen.
‘Look at her!’ Clare laughed bitterly. ‘Who does she think she is, Joan of Arc?’
Helen ignored her, and stormed out of the ward. As she went, she could feel a tide of silently accusing gazes sweeping over her.
After what had happened, she didn’t think she could ever bear to set foot in there again.
The men applauded Dora when she returned to the ward with Kitty and Miss Sloan half an hour later.
‘Listen to them!’ Miss Sloan smiled, her face flushed with excitement. ‘Talk about hail the conquering heroes!’
‘That’s all very well, but we’ve still been docked a day’s pay and a day’s holiday,’ Kitty said. ‘Not to mention getting a right telling-off from Matron.’
Dora sent her a sideways look. The girl was still trembling from the blistering reprimand they’d received. Poor Kitty, she didn’t deserve it. Dora wished she could have spared her.
By contrast, Miss Sloan seemed quite invigorated by it all.
‘I haven’t done anything this daring since I joined the Suffrage Movement,’ she declared. ‘It’s made me feel quite giddy.’
‘Yes, well, don’t go chaining yourselves to any bedframes, will you?’ Dora said.
At least that drew a reluctant smile from Kitty. ‘I’d like to see that,’ she murmured.
‘I must say, I can’t believe that Sister Dawson would be quite so vindictive,’ Miss Sloan went on. ‘She seemed like such a dear girl.’
‘You’re right,’ Dora agreed. The Helen she knew would never have behaved so spitefully. Something was very wrong, Dora was sure of it. She wondered if parting from David McKay had hurt her worse than she was letting on.
‘Look out, here comes trouble!’ Kitty said. Dora turned to see Major Von Mundel striding down the ward towards them.
‘Nurse Riley,’ he addressed her in a tight-lipped voice. ‘You have returned, I see. We – that is, the men – were concerned about you.’ Then, before Dora could reply, he went on, ‘The fire has gone out again. Perhaps you could do something about it?’
‘I’ll see to it myself, Major.’
‘Thank you, Nurse Riley.’ He paused, then added, ‘the men would also like to express their appreciation for your efforts on their behalf.’
He spun on his heel and walked off.
‘Is that all the thanks we get?’ Kitty muttered.
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Dora watched him striding down the ward, his head held high. ‘Coming from him that’s high praise indeed.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
After nearly four months, Kitty Jenkins could only marvel at Stefan Bauer’s tenacity. He never gave up.
It had become almost like an unspoken pact between them, to prove everyone wrong.
No one else believed that the bones in Stefan’s leg would ever mend enough for him to walk again. But Kitty had been determined to give him the chance. She had dedicated herself as much as she could to his daily treatments, and Stefan had submitted to the rubber bandages and the electric currents and the endless, painful massage without a word of complaint.
And finally, all their hard work began to pay off. After a few weeks, the X-rays showed that his shattered femur was beginning to knit together. Within a month it was strong enough for him to start walking with the calliper.
Every day Stefan would push himself, at first dragging his wasted, useless leg up and down the ward, for hours on end if Kitty would allow it, until sweat stood out on his brow and the powerful muscles in his arms quivered with exhaustion.
‘Surely that’s enough?’ Kitty would say. But Stefan would only shake his head, his teeth gritted in determination.
‘Once more,’ he would insist. ‘Just once more, Fraülein, and then I promise I will go back to bed like a good boy.’
And Kitty would always relent, because no matter how much she might complain about the extra work he caused her, she secretly admired his grit and wanted him to walk on his own as badly as he did.
Dr Abbott was grudgingly impressed when he saw the progress Stefan had made.
‘You’ve done very well, Nurse Jenkins. I must say you’ve made a terrific effort, far more than I could have expected.’
Kitty had glanced at Stefan, his broad chest heaving with exertion. There was no word of praise for his Herculean efforts.
I’m not the one hauling myself up and down the ward until my muscles scream in pain, she wanted to say. But she knew better than to speak up to a doctor.
She watched Stefan now, serving tea to the other patients. He liked to make himself useful now he was up and about. He helped with the meals, read letters to the patients, and even did a couple of odd jobs about the ward.
‘I dunno what we ever did without you!’ Dora Riley would say to him. But Stefan always gruffly shrugged off her thanks, just as he shrugged off the other prisoners’ attempts at friendship. Popular as he was, he seemed determined to remain a lone wolf.
As if he could sense her watching him, Stefan suddenly looked up and their eyes met for a moment along the length of the ward.
‘Still at it, mate?’ Mal called over from his sentry position by the double doors, breaking the moment. Kitty turned away guiltily. She was only watching her patient, making sure he didn’t exert himself too much, she told herself.
‘That’s enough for today,’ she called out.
‘Just a few more minutes.’
‘You’ve already done more than enough. If you carry on your muscles might get too tired—’
But one look at his determined expression, and she knew it was no use arguing with him.
‘A few more minutes, Fraülein. Please.’
The word caught her by surprise. Stefan Bauer maintained an air of studied indifference and rarely pleaded for anything. For a moment she caught the look of appeal in his eyes, but then his mask came down again.
‘I will finish what I am doing,’ he stated firmly. He turned away from her and started down the middle of the ward, carefully carrying a cup in one hand, the other leaning heavily on a walking stick, his powerful shoulders taut with effort beneath his grey prison pyjamas.
Kitty had watched him so many times she could almost feel every step as if she were doing it herself. So when she saw his injured leg trailing slightly, she started towards him.
But she was too late. Stefan tried to drag his leg forward, but his weight was suddenly all wrong, throwing him off balance. Kitty could only watch helplessly as he stumbled forward, the cup falling from his hand as he crashed down heavily like a felled tree in the middle of the ward.
The other men sat up straighter in bed, leaning forward, all of them concerned. As Kitty hurried to help him, she heard Mal and Len laughing over by the doors.
She sent them a sharp glare and bent down to help Stefan, but he shrugged her off.
‘I can manage,’ he insisted gruffly.
‘Just let me—’
‘I said I can manage!’ he roared. Kitty stepped back. She could feel the humiliation burning in him as he struggled to his feet.
It took him a long time, but Kitty knew better than to interfere. When he was finally standing again, she said, ‘I’ll get you a wheelchair – ’
Stefan fixed his grim gaze on the other end of the ward.
‘I’ll manage,’ he said.
Kitty looked from Stefan to the double doors, where Mal and Len lounged, still grinning.
‘All right,’ she agreed quietly.
This time she walked at his side. She didn’t touch him or look at him, but she was aware of him out of the corner of her eye. She could hear him grunting with effort with every slow, excruciating step, and she willed him on silently, urging him to succeed for the sake of his pride.
By the time he reached the doors the sweat was pouring down his face. But when he turned to her, there was no mistaking the grim satisfaction in his smile.
‘You did it!’ Without thinking, she reached for him. She didn’t even realise what she’d done until Stefan looked down at her hand resting on his arm, then back up at her.
She didn’t hear Mal approaching until he spoke up.
‘It’s nearly six o’clock,’ he said shortly. ‘We’ll be late for the film.’
‘I’ll be there in a minute,’ Kitty replied out of the corner of her mouth, keeping a wary eye out for Sister Dawson.
‘But you’re supposed to be off duty at six,’ Mal reminded her stubbornly. ‘Surely you’ve already given up more than enough of your time?’ He shot Stefan a dirty look.
‘I won’t be long.’
He frowned. ‘I’ll meet you downstairs,’ he muttered. ‘But don’t be too late. I don’t want to miss the start of the film.’
‘Your friend does not like to be kept waiting, I think,’ Stefan observed, as Mal stomped off.
‘He’ll just have to be patient,’ Kitty replied primly. ’Now, let’s get you into bed – ’
He shook his head. Let one of the other nurses do it,’ he said. ‘You must meet your friend.’
‘He can wait—’
‘Indeed, he cannot, Fraülein.’ Stefan’s mouth twisted. ‘That much is obvious, even to me.’
Mal was waiting for her at the hospital gates when Kitty came off duty a quarter of an hour later. She could tell straight away he was in a bad mood from the scowl on his face.
‘You took your time,’ were his first words as he checked his watch. ‘We’ll miss the first film if we don’t hurry.’
‘It doesn’t matter—’
‘It does to me!’ He set off, striding down the road. Kitty hurried after him. She knew he was expecting her to apologise, but she was too angry herself.
‘You know you’re not supposed to talk to me when I’m on duty,’ she said. ‘Sister would have a fit if she caught you.’
Mal glanced at her, his face like thunder. ‘Oh, so you can’t spare a word for your boyfriend but it’s all right for you to flirt with that German, is it?’ he said.
It was such an absurd thing to say, Kitty laughed with astonishment. ‘I wasn’t flirting with him!’
‘Weren’t you? That’s what it looked like to me. Pawing him and batting your eyelashes at him, just because he managed to put one foot in front of the other. I’d like to know what your precious Sister would have to say about that!’
Kitty stared at him. She wasn’t sure he was even serious until she saw his petulant frown. ‘He’s a patient, Mal. I was just trying to help him.’
‘Are you sure that’s all there is to it? You seem very friendly,’ he said bitterly.
Suddenly it dawned on her. ‘Surely you’re not jealous?’
‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to think,’ he mumbled. ‘You spend so much time with him. You’re always with him, walking up and down
that ward.’
‘It’s my job,’ Kitty said. ‘I want him to walk again.’
‘Why? You don’t owe him anything.’
‘I think I do.’
His frown deepened. ‘How do you work that out?’
Kitty hesitated. Stefan had told her his story as they walked up and down the ward together. Over the past few months, he had told her a lot about his life in Serbia, how he and his younger brother Emil had grown up in an orphanage with no one but the other to rely on. He told her how the Nazis had taken over his country and how he had watched his brother become seduced by them until Stefan felt he had lost him forever.
He had also told her about the day Emil died.
‘Do you know how he came to be wounded?’ she asked Mal now.
‘No,’ he shrugged. ‘And I can’t say I care much, either.’
‘Well, you should. He was badly beaten by Allied soldiers. Then they drove their truck over him as he lay injured.’
Mal looked appalled. But then his chin lifted. ‘Well, I daresay he asked for it,’ he said.
‘How? His unit had already surrendered. All he was trying to do was defend his brother after the soldiers shot him.’ She looked at Mal. ‘They put him up against a wall and used him for target practice, Mal. Our boys.’
Mal stared back at her, and Kitty could see the tide of emotions flowing across his face.
‘He’s lying,’ he said finally. ‘I don’t believe a word he says, and you shouldn’t either if you’ve got any sense.’ He sneered at her. ‘Our lads wouldn’t do that.’
‘How do you know?’ Kitty said. ‘How do you know our side aren’t just as cruel as the Germans?’
‘Because I’ve fought alongside them!’ Mal shot back. ‘I’ve seen some of my best friends killed right beside me. And I know that for every wounded German there are British men who have suffered far worse. Like your own brother.’
Kitty lowered her gaze. ‘Don’t you think I know that?’
‘Do you? I wonder.’ He sent her a reproachful look. ‘Sometimes I wonder if you know whose side you’re on any more, Kitty Jenkins.’
‘How can you say that?’
‘It’s true. I see you with those prisoners, laughing and joking. Now I’ve got nothing against any of them personally, but I know that if things had been different none of them would have hesitated to put a bullet in my head or a bayonet in my belly. Including your friend Stefan. And I would have done the same to him.’
A Nightingale Christmas Carol Page 15