Wheels of Grace

by Crosse, Tania

  ‘Hush, now. It’s all over.’

  ‘No, it isn’t. For me, maybe. Or maybe not. I could be sent back. But it’s not over for all the poor devils who are still out there. And never for the ones who won’t come back, or poor sods like Harry here. Private Fletcher.’

  Grace nodded gravely. ‘I know. Poor chap’s taken it really hard.’

  ‘Well, you would, wouldn’t you?’ Lieutenant Smith’s tone was sharp. ‘And he’s so young. Makes my problem seem trivial.’

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Grace asked, wanting to divert the grim conversation.

  ‘That would be kindness itself, Nurse Dannings. But I need the lavatory first. And don’t offer me a bottle or a trip in a wheelchair. I want to walk there on my own two feet.’

  ‘I’ll have to check your notes to see if you’re allowed. They’d have my guts for garters if you’re not. You can feel proper groggy when you’ve been in bed for so long. And with a head injury.’

  ‘Oh, come on, it must be well over three weeks by now—’

  ‘But it were serious! You had severe concussion, you know, and a very deep head wound. No. I must check your notes first,’ Grace told him firmly, and went off to do just that. She hadn’t made one mistake since she had come to Mount Tavy, and she had no intention of doing so now.

  ‘Well,’ she conceded on her return. ‘I see you’ve walked there twice this afternoon, but you have to be accompanied.’

  ‘Fair enough. Mind you,’ he said darkly as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, ‘how a slip of a thing like you could catch me if I decided to faint, I have no idea.’

  ‘I’m stronger than you might think. I used to work at a wheelwrights’ afore I came here.’

  ‘Wheelwrights’? Good Lord. Well, come on, then. And I promise I won’t pass out on you,’ he said with what passed for a smile.

  Nevertheless, he leant on her quite heavily as they progressed down the ward, out into the great hall and along to the facilities. Grace found herself tucking her shoulder under his armpit, arm around his back and grasping his slender waist so that if he did keel over, she could take his weight safely. The queerness of the situation struck her as they shambled along together. Here she was, in the middle of the night, her flank pressed tightly against that of a virtual stranger. And, although not alone since the house was full of patients and nursing staff, it certainly felt at that moment as if she was!

  Lieutenant Smith, however, appeared unaware of her misgivings as she left him alone in the cubicle. She waited outside, her emotions on edge and swathed in confusion. She had to admit that his physical closeness had actually been quite thrilling. He was an attractive man despite the scar across his cheek, and he was well-spoken and always polite even if a little laconic at times. And she was a young woman, twenty years old and never been kissed, her senses smouldering and ready to burst into flame. If it hadn’t been for the war, she might have been married by now, although to whom, she couldn’t imagine. But the presence of this stranger, together with the close contact she had experienced with the few patients on Happiness Ward, had ignited something new and passionate inside her; a sense of yearning and wonderment, and the need to be fulfilled.

  She had to concentrate hard on their way back to the ward. She really must not let these ridiculous feelings show!

  ‘I’ll get you that cup of tea now,’ she said, grateful to get her patient back in bed.

  ‘Thank you. And can you give me something for my head? It’s absolutely splitting again.’ And by the way his eyes were screwed against even the dim light, Grace could well believe it.

  ‘I can only give you aspirin, I’m afraid. Unless I wake Sister Guscott.’

  ‘No, don’t do that. I wouldn’t want to disturb her. Aspirin will do.’

  Grace retraced her steps across the hall, but over to the kitchens this time. She turned on the gas, another miracle she still hadn’t got used to. Perhaps the lieutenant would like a biscuit. Grace pulled herself up short as she realized she was making an extra effort to please him. Nevertheless, she placed a biscuit on the saucer before going back to the ward.

  ‘There,’ she said amiably. ‘And here’s some water to take the aspirin with. Is there anything else I can get you?’

  ‘No, thank you. That’s all very kind. Unless … If you have time, could we talk for a few minutes? I know it sounds silly when there are so many people all around. And I know you’re all doing your best to make us feel at home. But … I feel lonely. I’ve lost so much time since we all arrived here. I’m sure I’m over that now, but … There’s so much of me missing. Up here, in my head. I know it’s nothing to what some of the other poor devils have got to learn to live with, and that makes me feel ashamed. But, not knowing who I am—’

  ‘I don’t think you realize how seriously you were hurt. And besides, it’s what it means to you personally that counts. You can’t compare it to other people’s problems. We will find out who you are in time, even if your memory takes longer to come back. You know Matron’s sent off one of the buttons from your uniform to identify your regiment, and they’ll take it from there. It’s a bit of a jigsaw, and with all the chaos, lists of the missing and so forth. But we will get an answer in the end.’

  Grace met his gaze, noticing once again the intense sapphire of his eyes, and she saw his lips curl into a wry smile.

  ‘Thank you. I hope you’re right. It’s just so unnerving not having a name.’

  ‘We can give you one if you like. We’ll stick to Lieutenant Smith until we know better, but we can make up a Christian name for you. Is there anything you’ve always wished you were called?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know, would I?’ He raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘But I suppose under the circumstances, Oliver might be appropriate.’

  ‘Oliver? You mean, after Oliver Twist? Because they didn’t know who he were, either? Larry, a friend of mine, he got me reading some of Charles Dickens and I loved that one.’

  ‘Yes. But why can I remember Dickens and Shakespeare and some of the Romantic poets when I can’t remember my own name?’

  ‘It’s bound to come back eventually. In the meantime, I think Oliver will suit you quite nicely.’

  ‘Suit me?’

  ‘Well, yes. Somehow.’ Grace tipped her head to one side to contemplate him. ‘So we know you must be quite educated. And you’re not from round here. At least, you don’t have a Devonshire accent and we know you weren’t in the Devonshire Regiment. I imagine you were sent here because of Dr Franfield’s reputation with neurosis patients, and in all the chaos … But try not to think about it now. Drink your tea afore it gets cold.’

  ‘Thank you for making it for me. And for staying to talk.’

  ‘All part of the service. I’ll be back on days on Friday and we can talk again then.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to it. And,’ he faltered, his brow dipping into a frown, ‘I’m not sure if it’s allowed, but may I ask your given name? If I’m to be Oliver….’

  ‘You’re right. It’s against the rules. Officially. But I’m Grace,’ she said without hesitation. ‘Only don’t let anyone hear you call me that.’

  ‘I promise, Nurse Dannings,’ he answered. And for the first time since his arrival, she saw his serious face break into a grin.

  ‘Nurse Dannings,’ Ling Franfield addressed Grace a few days later. ‘Nurse Palmer’s replacement has arrived. She’s up in the dorm changing into her uniform, but she’ll need to be shown how to fold the headdress. If you wouldn’t mind?’

  ‘Of course not, Matron. I’m just going on my break so I’ll go straight up.’

  ‘Thank you. And I think you’ll be pleased.’ Matron gave a kind, almost mischievous smile. ‘She comes from your neck of the woods. You’re probably already friends.’

  Grace gave a perplexed frown as she hurried up the grand staircase. Who on earth could the new VAD be? Did Matron mean Walkhampton when she referred to her neck of the woods? Grace couldn’t think of anyone from the
village who could possibly be in a position to join the detachment. Matron must have been mistaken or muddled the name of the village. Unless … it couldn’t possibly be kind Mrs Snell, could it? Grace somehow couldn’t imagine her volunteering as a nurse, although the prospect filled her with joyous expectation.

  When she reached the top of the staircase, she almost ran along the narrow passageway to the dormitory even though running was strictly forbidden, and flung open the door. But the figure in the pale blue uniform with its back to Grace wasn’t short and stout, but tall and slim and altogether far younger. She must have heard Grace enter the room and instantly turned around.

  Grace stopped dead in her tracks. Unwelcome surprise scorched through her, followed at once by a swirl of bitter disappointment. It couldn’t possibly be – but it was.

  ‘Aggie!’ The disgruntled cry of disbelief was out of her mouth before she pushed the door shut behind her. ‘What the devil are you doing here?’

  ‘Same as you, I imagine.’ Aggie gave a casual shrug of her shoulders. ‘I came because I wanted to help.’

  ‘Help? Huh!’ Grace retorted, astounded by her own bluntness. ‘You’ve never wanted to help anyone in your life. Except yourself!’

  Aggie, in her habitual infuriating way, was not to be perturbed. ‘Well, maybe this time, it’s different. Besides, I’m sick of sitting around at home doing nothing, like my mother does.’

  ‘Ah, I thought there must be a selfish motive in it somewhere! Well, you won’t know what’s hit you here, I can tell you. Never stick it, you won’t.’

  ‘Maybe that’s where you’re wrong.’ Aggie’s eyes flashed challengingly. But then her shoulders sagged in a dejected sigh. ‘I’m determined to prove to my father that I’m not the useless imbecile he says I am. But he won’t normally allow me to do anything to show what I’m capable of. At least this was something he approved of, and it got me away from him.’

  ‘There we are, then!’ Grace hissed acidly. ‘You only came here because—’

  ‘No, that’s not true,’ Aggie insisted, her brow wrinkled in earnest. ‘I really do want to do something to help our soldiers. Because of …’ She hesitated, lowering her eyes, and Grace noticed a catch in her voice when she continued, ‘Because of Martin. You don’t have a monopoly on grief, you know. And whatever you think of me, I loved him.’

  Her eyes swam with moisture and Grace stared at her, chewing on her lip. Aggie could be play-acting. Heaven knew she was accomplished enough at that! Or it was possible that she was telling the truth. But whichever it was, Grace imagined that it must have taken considerable courage for Aggie to have sought her father’s approval to leave home. Everyone in Walkhampton knew that despite being a preacher, he was a strange and dour individual who strode through the village peering down his nose at anyone who dared to speak to him. At the thought of him, a drop of sympathy escaped into Grace’s blood. And if Aggie had genuinely loved Martin….

  ‘Matron asked me to show you how to fold your headgear,’ she said grudgingly. ‘It takes a bit of practice to get it right. Look, like this.’

  Grace smoothed out the starched white material on Aggie’s bed, made some folds, explaining how it would then be secured at the back of the head, and then opened it out again. To her surprise, Aggie made such a passable effort when she tried herself that Grace felt able to transfer it to the girl’s head and fasten it for her. What surprised Grace even more, though, was that Aggie had cut her hair into the short bob that was becoming fashionable.

  ‘Had your hair cropped, I see,’ she couldn’t stop herself from commenting.

  ‘I thought it’d be easier to manage if I’m going to be so busy,’ Aggie answered coolly.

  Well, well. Even Grace hadn’t done that. And of course, Larry had forbidden her. Not that his opinion would have stopped her if she had really wanted to. But perhaps Aggie was actually as genuine as she was making out.

  ‘Come on. I’ll show you where the kitchens are,’ Grace surprised herself by saying in a more friendly tone. ‘There’s just enough time to swallow a cup of tea, and then you can help me wash Private Fletcher. I must warn you, though, he has what we call a shoulder amputation on one side, and his other arm ends below the elbow.’

  Aggie’s face dropped into an expression of horror. ‘You mean … both?’

  ‘Yes. Poor devil can’t do ort for himself. It’s the worst thing I’ve seen. But … this is reality, Aggie. Do you think you can cope with it? Selina, the volunteer you’re replacing, she fainted when she saw him.’

  She watched as Aggie swallowed hard and then straightened her back.

  ‘Thank you for the warning. But I won’t faint. And I’m going to surprise you, Grace Dannings.’

  ‘I hope you do,’ Grace answered.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ‘THAT’S REALLY GOOD, Oliver!’

  Grace had come into the conservatory where all the arts and craft material was kept to see if any of her charges occupying themselves there needed any assistance. It was astonishing what emerged from the conservatory. In many ways, Grace thought creative activities must provide an even greater release than any of the outdoor pursuits available. And those weren’t an option anyway for most of the amputees. Like Harry Fletcher, for instance. When the tenderness eventually eased, his stump would be fitted with some sort of prosthetic which would give the poor fellow a shred of independence again. But in the meantime, Grace had suggested he tried painting using his feet.

  ‘Don’t be so daft,’ he had complained wretchedly, looking as if he might dissolve in angry tears.

  ‘What a splendid idea!’ Oliver declared. ‘Slippers off, everyone. Even you, Mark. No excuse only having one foot. Come on, chaps.’

  It had lapsed into one of the most hilarious afternoons anyone could remember. Oliver had everyone squelching about in trays of paint with their bare feet and then making patterns on paper spread on the floor. Friendly rivalry bantered about the conservatory as men tried to outdo each other, and Harry Fletcher had laughed for the first time since the exploding shell had blown off both his arms. The clear-up operation, however, had taken so long that it had been decided not to indulge in that particular activity again. But everyone had relished in the jolly memories for days, and Harry had been lifted out of his world of misery.

  ‘Why don’t you try holding a paintbrush in your mouth?’ Grace had suggested a few days later when Harry was enviously eyeing his partners in crime in the conservatory.

  ‘I’ll take some brushes over to the lads in the woodwork shop,’ Oliver offered. ‘Get them to cut the handles shorter to make it easier for you.’

  Harry had opened his mouth in doleful protest, but Oliver was already out of the door, Grace smiling gratefully at his tall, strong back. Kind was Oliver, with a wicked sense of humour when his frequent, crippling headaches and his own problems allowed him. And Grace … No. She mustn’t think like that. It was strictly forbidden between any member of staff and a patient. But she could feel a warm sensation curling up inside her whenever he was near.

  Harry’s first mouth painting was a furious dash of angry black streaks across the paper, but as the days passed, he gained more control, added colour, and shapes resembling flowers began to emerge. Harry seemed altogether brighter. Another patient excelled at cartoons lampooning the Germans and the Turks, while another, who was often found cowering under his bed, worked out his trauma in charcoal sketches of the trenches under attack, hardly works of art, but he threw all his fear and hatred onto the paper and out of himself.

  Now Grace was contemplating the painting of a little boy on Oliver’s easel. She could see something of Oliver in the child’s face, and it brought an unfathomable uneasiness to her heart.

  ‘Do you know who it is?’ she asked hesitantly, not wanting to destroy any flicker of enlightenment it might be causing in his fragile mind.

  ‘No,’ he answered flatly, and Grace saw a shuttered look veil his expression. ‘I’ve been seeing the face in my dreams a
nd I wanted to capture it before it goes away again.’

  ‘But you don’t think it means anything?’

  ‘No.’

  It was almost as if he wanted it to be meaningless. Afraid that it might be a clue. So Grace persisted very carefully. ‘But it might mean something in time. It looks like you. Perhaps it’s you when you were little.’

  Oliver’s eyebrows arched in frustration. ‘I really don’t know. Perhaps if I stare at it for long enough, it might spark some memory … Your friend’s settled in well, hasn’t she?’ he continued, deliberately changing the subject, it seemed. ‘She tells me you’re from the same village.’

  ‘Yes. But I wouldn’t exactly describe us as friends.’

  ‘Ah-ha! Do I detect a little tension there?’ Oliver gave a teasing wink. ‘Bit of rivalry?’

  ‘Rivalry? Hardly! Aggie’s, well, she were always out to cause trouble. But I have to admit she seems different here.’

  ‘Maybe she’s found her feet? This war is changing so many things. I don’t suppose life will ever be the same for so many of us. I doubt my life ever will. If I ever discover what it used to be.’

  Grace contemplated him for a moment or two. His mood could swing so suddenly between jocularity and despondency. Dr Franfield had explained that the blow to his head from the piece of shrapnel that had embedded itself in his skull was directly to blame. But the ensuing memory loss and the anxiety it was causing Oliver was in itself making matters worse. A vicious circle so to speak.

  ‘They’ll work it out eventually,’ Grace assured him. ‘I reckon it’s just not a priority, and there’ll be thousands of names to go through.’

  ‘Yes, but … When they do, what if it still doesn’t mean anything to me? Or I don’t like who I really am?’

  His eyes met hers, deep and intense with pain. And Grace felt her heart fragment.

  ‘Congratulations on the concert!’ Sister Freeman greeted Grace as she entered Happiness Ward. ‘I understand you’re already working on another one for Christmas?’