A Nightingale Christmas Carol

by Donna Douglas

  He turned away, but Miss Sloan went on staring at them, her eyes full of hurt. ‘You mean . . . but how could they?’ Her mouth quavered. ‘For heaven’s sake, it’s Christmas. To deny someone the gift of music at this time . . . it’s too cruel.’ She shook her head.

  ‘I know,’ Dora said helplessly. ‘But what can we do about it?’

  ‘I’ll tell you what we can do about it, Nurse Riley.’ Miss Sloan stood up straighter, squaring her shoulders. ‘We will not allow ourselves to be defeated. If no one will sing Christmas carols for us, then – we’ll sing our own!’

  Dora frowned. ‘I’m not sure about that—’ but then she caught the fire blazing in Miss Sloan’s eyes and felt her own blood ignite. ‘Why not?’ she said. ‘You’re right, why shouldn’t we sing our own?’ She turned to Major Von Mundel. ‘Major, could you ask them to sing for us?’

  Major Von Mundel opened his mouth to protest, but he must also have seen the determined look in Miss Sloan’s eyes. He turned to the men and spoke rapidly to them in German.

  There was a ripple of muttered conversation up and down the line of beds, then they turned back to face Major Von Mundel. The oldest of the men, a weighty man in his forties, cleared his throat and started to sing in a powerful tenor voice.

  ‘Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht, Alles schläft; einsam wacht . . .’

  Gradually other voices joined in, until the air was filled with the joyful, beautiful sound of men singing.

  ‘Nur das traute hochheilige Paar . . . Holder Knabe im lockigen Haar, Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh . . . Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh . . .’

  A lump of emotion rose in Dora’s throat. ‘That was lovely—’ she started to say, but then from somewhere in the distance came an answering cry.

  ‘Silent Night, Holy Night . . . All is calm, all is bright . . .’

  She and Kitty looked at each other. ‘The other nurses,’ Kitty said. ‘They must have decided to come after all . . .’

  ‘No, my dear. Those are men’s voices.’ Miss Sloan cocked her head to listen. ‘It’s coming from over there, the other end of the passageway.’

  ‘The other military ward,’ Dora said. She turned to Major Von Mundel. ‘Can you make them sing again?’ she asked.

  Major Von Mundel nodded to the men, who started to sing. Soon the two languages were swelling and mingling in one joyful, perfectly harmonious chorus.

  Miss Sloan turned to Dora, her face rapt. ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ she cried.

  Dora nodded, tears stinging her eyes. ‘It is,’ she said.

  Then Kitty nudged her. ‘Nurse Riley?’ she whispered.

  Dora followed her gaze to the doors, where the other nurses were standing, their faces lit by the candles flickering in their jars. They were singing too, caught up in the wonderful sound. The war and all its woes seemed to be forgotten in a moment of pure joy.

  All except for Helen, who stood, stony faced, her lips pressed together, her eyes full of spite.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  ‘What do you mean, you don’t want to get up?’

  Stefan turned his head away so he wouldn’t have to see Kitty Jenkins standing at the end of his bed, the calliper in her hand. How he’d come to hate that damn thing over the past few months!

  ‘It’s Christmas morning,’ he muttered.

  ‘Yes, but you haven’t been out of bed in two days,’ Kitty said. ‘It’s not like you. You won’t get better if you don’t put weight on that leg, you know.’

  She was trying to encourage him, but this morning her cheerfulness only grated on him.

  ‘Please, Fraülein, do not waste any more time on me,’ he said. ‘There are other patients who need you more than I do.’

  ‘But I want to help you,’ she said plaintively. ‘We’ve worked so hard . . .’

  He saw the hurt in her eyes and felt his treacherous heart melt.

  Seeing her face, so open and filled with trust, Stefan realised that he could easily fall in love with her. Perhaps he was already in love with her. He had never been in love, so he couldn’t tell. But he knew how it would end if he allowed himself to submit to his feelings.

  He should never have let his guard down. But he was like a dog, starved and beaten throughout its life, who had suddenly been exposed to kindness and a gentle hand. It was only natural that he would want more.

  But he couldn’t allow it to happen. It was wrong and it was dangerous. Cruel as he was, Felix had made him realise how reckless he had been to let his guard down, and now it had to end. Better to cut himself free now than to live with the lingering pain.

  She was still holding the calliper out to him. Stefan looked at it, then back at her. ‘Why?’ he asked.

  She frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It is a simple question, Fraülein. Why do you want to help me? I know how much you and your family dislike the Germans, and with good cause. Surely you would rather I was in my grave than on my feet?’

  Kitty opened her mouth, then closed it again. ‘You’re not like the rest of them—’ she started to say.

  ‘Why? Why am I not?’ He saw her flinch at his harsh tone, but he couldn’t help it. Suddenly her answer was very important to him.

  Kitty was silent for a moment, searching for an answer. ‘Well . . . you’re not from Germany, for a start—’

  ‘No, but I am still a German. I am an officer in the German army.’

  ‘But they made you join up. You said so . . .’

  ‘Perhaps, but I still fought for them. I killed for them.’ He saw her flinch but he knew he had to say it, to push a final wedge between them, to destroy any lingering shred of feelings they might have for each other. ‘I have killed a great many men, Fraülein. Young men, like your brother—’

  ‘No!’ she cut him off.

  ‘You do not want to believe me. I can see you wish to think well of me, but I promise you there is nothing here.’ He leaned forward, placing his hand over his heart.

  ‘Why – why are you saying this?’

  ‘Because I want you to see me for what I truly am. A killer, who does not deserve your help, or your sympathy.’

  She was hurt and bewildered, he could see it in her eyes. He was hurt too, but he had to do it. He had to put space between them, for both their sakes.

  ‘And so I said to him, I don’t mind if I do!’

  Everyone around the table laughed. Even Kitty’s mother managed a quiet chuckle.

  ‘You are a card, Malcolm. Isn’t he, Kitty?’

  Kitty looked up from her reverie to find everyone looking expectantly at her. ‘Yes,’ she smiled a fraction too late. ‘Yes, he is.’

  Mal grinned. ‘Poor Kitty, I expect she’s already heard all my jokes. Starting to repeat myself, aren’t I, love?’

  Kitty smiled again, but her thoughts were elsewhere.

  She should be happy, she thought. It was Christmas Day, she had a few hours off duty and her mother had cooked a lovely dinner for them all. But instead her heart lay like a stone inside her chest.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about Stefan Bauer and the way he had spoken to her that morning. She had never seen him so low or so angry before. The lost, desperate look on his face haunted her.

  ‘Are you all right, love?’ Kitty looked up to see her mother frowning anxiously from across the table.

  ‘I’m fine, Mum. Just a bit tired, that’s all.’

  Her father pointed his fork at her, his mouth full of stuffed mutton. ‘They work you too hard at that hospital.’

  ‘Aye, you’re right there, Mr Jenkins,’ Mal agreed. ‘She takes on too much. You should see her, running about all the time. I don’t know how she does it.’ He smiled admiringly at her across the table.

  ‘It wouldn’t be so bad if it was our boys she was nursing,’ her father snorted angrily. ‘But looking after the enemy . . . It’s a disgrace, that’s what it is. After what they’ve done to our brave boys . . .’ He shook his head.

  I have killed a great many men, Fraülein. Young me
n, like your brother. The words came into Kitty’s head.

  ‘What are we supposed to do, let them die?’ she asked.

  ‘Why not?’ Her father glared back. ‘The only good German is a dead German, as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ Arthur chimed in.

  ‘And what about our boys who are over there?’ Kitty asked. ‘Would you like the same thing to happen to them?’

  She saw her father’s red, speechless face and knew she’d gone too far. Horace Jenkins always had the last word in everything.

  Her mother must have noticed too, because she jumped in quickly.

  ‘Has everyone had enough? There’s plenty more veg, if anyone wants any . . .?’ She seized the serving dish and started to pass it round, a desperate look on her face. ‘No? Are you sure? I’ll go and fetch the pudding, then.’

  The moment of tension passed, and soon everyone was tucking into the Christmas pudding and praising it to the skies.

  ‘I’m glad you like it,’ Florrie Jenkins blushed with pleasure. ‘I got the recipe off Kitchen Front. It’s made with carrots. I know it’s not how we’d usually have it, but it’s not too bad.’

  ‘It’s delicious, Mrs Jenkins,’ Mal said. ‘Better than we’d ever get in the NAAFI, let me tell you. And it’s so nice to spend Christmas with a family, with mine being so far away in Scotland.’

  ‘Well, I hope you’ll look on us as your family too, Malcolm,’ her mother beamed.

  ‘Oh, I do.’ Mal reached for Kitty’s hand under the table.

  ‘Perhaps we soon will be family?’ her father said.

  ‘Dad!’ Kitty felt her face scalding with colour, but Mal just chuckled.

  ‘You never know, Mr Jenkins!’ he said with a wink.

  They all laughed, but Kitty could only stare down at her plate, mortified, until thankfully Arthur changed the subject back to the war. The Allies were finally driving the Germans back from the ground they had gained in Belgium two weeks earlier, and soon the men were discussing what their next move should be.

  For once Kitty was glad of the war talk, because it meant that she could allow her thoughts to wander off. And it wasn’t long before they drifted back to Stefan Bauer.

  No matter how hard she tried, Kitty couldn’t work out why Stefan’s attitude had changed so much. After driving himself so hard for so long, why had he suddenly decided he didn’t want her help? It was such a shame, and such a waste of effort. And it was so unlike him to give up, too. Stefan Bauer was a fighter, anyone could see that. Kitty had seen him almost weeping in pain, but still he refused to give up. So why throw in the towel now, when he was so close?

  There had to be a reason, she thought. But she couldn’t imagine what it might be.

  The men’s discussion was still going on as Kitty and her mother cleared away the dishes.

  ‘Listen to them,’ her mother said affectionately, ‘putting the world to rights as usual.’

  ‘I dunno what they’ll find to talk about when the war’s over,’ Kitty agreed, scraping the leftovers into the pig bin.

  ‘I’ll be glad when it is over,’ her mother said quietly. ‘I daresay you will be too, won’t you, love? What will they do with the German prisoners, I wonder?’

  ‘Send them home, I suppose.’ Kitty was surprised at the pang she felt. Six months ago the idea of nursing German prisoners of war had filled her with revulsion. But now she had learned that they weren’t monsters, but flesh and blood just like herself.

  And then there was Stefan. The thought of him leaving England and her never seeing him again filled her with a surge of unexpected panic.

  What was wrong with her, she wondered.

  There was a burst of laughter around the table in the next room. Florrie Jenkins beamed.

  ‘It’s so nice to have Malcolm here,’ she said. ‘He’s been such a tonic to us all, especially Arthur. I think he’s missed having an older brother to look up to.’ She turned to Kitty. ‘And I’m glad you’ve found yourself a nice young man, too. You deserve someone who’ll take care of you. Malcolm’s a good man. He loves you.’

  Before Kitty could reply, Arthur appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Dad says to come in, because the King’s Speech is starting soon,’ he announced.

  After they’d listened to His Majesty on the wireless, they played cards. Kitty could feel Mal’s restlessness as he sat beside her, playing round after round of gin rummy and whist.

  She sensed he was agitated about something, but she didn’t know what.

  Her mother’s words came back to her. He’s a good man . . . he loves you.

  But do I love him? Kitty wondered. She remembered the way Bea had described how her heart skipped and her knees went weak whenever she saw Hank. Kitty couldn’t say she’d ever felt like that about Mal.

  But perhaps that wasn’t love. Perhaps what Bea felt was something out of the movies and the penny romances, and real love was slower and steadier, like the feelings she had for Mal?

  She looked at her mother and father, sitting companionably across the table from each other. She couldn’t imagine them going weak-kneed about each other, yet they had been married for more than twenty-five years.

  Then she glanced at her brother. Her mother was right, Mal was a good influence on Arthur. He hadn’t got into any trouble since Mal had taken him under his wing.

  Soon five o’clock came, and Mal had to return to duty. He asked Kitty to walk with him to the corner of the road.

  It was already dark outside, and a thick frost glittered on the pavement in the dim light of the street lamps. When they reached the corner, Kitty gave him a quick peck on the cheek and went to hurry away, but Mal reached for her, pulling her back into his arms.

  ‘Don’t I get a proper Christmas kiss?’ he said.

  Kitty laughed, but she wasn’t laughing a moment later when Mal’s mouth came down hard on hers. She put her hands up to his shoulders and tried to push him away, but it only seemed to excite him more. He pushed her back against the wall, his tongue invading her mouth in a rough, obscene way while his hips pressed into hers.

  She finally managed to break free, gasping for air. ‘What was that for?’

  He leered at her, his eyes glittering in the darkness. ‘My Christmas present. Did you like it?’

  She touched her bruised lips. ‘No.’

  ‘Go on, you loved it,’ he smirked.

  She pulled away from him, straightening her clothes. ‘I – I have to go.’

  ‘When will I see you again?’ he called after her.

  ‘I don’t know . . . I’ll have to wait and see when Sister gives me an evening off.’

  ‘You do that, and I’ll take you somewhere nice. Up West, maybe, to one of those posh restaurants.’

  ‘You don’t have to do that.’

  ‘I want to. I want it to be special. You just get yourself dolled up, Kitty Jenkins!’

  She didn’t look back as she walked down the street on shaky legs.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Hank the Yank was every bit as impressive as Bea had made him out to be.

  It was as if a movie star had suddenly stepped from the screen of the local picture house to join them for Christmas dinner. Dora couldn’t take her eyes off the handsome GI sitting opposite her at the dinner table, and she knew she wasn’t the only one. Even Nanna seemed taken with him. She didn’t say much, but Dora noticed she’d slipped out and put her teeth in just before they sat down to eat.

  Hank’s glamorous presence seemed to fill the tiny kitchen. Everything about him was polished, from his uniform – so much smarter than the rough serge their boys wore – to his disarming smile, slicked back hair and smooth charm.

  His manners were perfect. He’d arrived bearing gifts for them all: nylons, sweets, cigarettes and so much food her mother nearly fainted at the sight of it. He lavished praise on the Christmas dinner as if he’d never tasted anything so delicious. He flirted with Nanna and even made old Mrs Price blush with his complim
ents. He did magic tricks that left the children open-mouthed with wonder, and answered Alfie’s endless questions about guns and bombs and battles with endless patience.

  And yet there was something about him Dora didn’t like. She didn’t know why she had taken against him when he was trying so hard to fit in, but he seemed almost too good to be true.

  Not that anyone else seemed to notice as they all fluttered around him like moths around a shining light. Bea sat beside him, preening herself with pride. She kept sending him admiring sideways looks, as if she couldn’t quite believe her luck.

  The only one who didn’t seem to be falling for Hank’s charm was Lily. She sat at the far end of the table, scowling down at her plate and ignoring Mabel’s demands for attention.

  ‘Trust her to be in one of her moods on Christmas Day!’ Nanna muttered to Dora.

  When Dora got up to fetch the Christmas pudding, Lily immediately offered to help her.

  ‘Well, I never! Talk about a Christmas miracle,’ Nanna Winnie said as Lily jumped up from her chair. ‘I never thought I’d see the day that girl lifted a finger in this house.’

  Lily practically shoved Dora into the scullery, pulling the curtain closed behind them.

  ‘I can’t stand it!’ she said, putting her hands to her temples. ‘I had to get away before I burst and said something!’

  ‘About what?’ Dora frowned.

  ‘Him!’ Lily jerked her head towards the kitchen. ‘Mr sodding Perfect in there.’

  ‘He does seem a bit full of himself—’

  ‘Full of himself? Did you hear him going on about the dinner? It was only a bit of mutton, not the Last Supper!’

  Dora smiled as she lifted the pudding from the pan. ‘He was only being polite, I s’pose.’

  ‘He’s a liar,’ Lily declared flatly. ‘And Bea’s falling for it. She’s going to make a fool of herself, you mark my words.’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve tried telling her, but she won’t listen. She reckons they’re love’s young dream.’

  ‘Well, he does seem very fond of her—’

  ‘That’s what they’re all like!’ Lily raised her voice, then glanced over her shoulder towards the kitchen and lowered it again. ‘I’ve seen them at that club, the way they talk to the British girls,’ she hissed. ‘They’re all over them, buying them presents and promising them the earth, until they get what they want. And then you don’t see them for dust.’