Wheels of Grace

by Crosse, Tania

  ‘But Artie will be all right?’ Grace heard the young lad say in a shaky voice. ‘Plenty of people survive being blown up, don’t they?’

  ‘Yes,’ Dr Franfield answered gravely. ‘Thank God it was a grenade and not a shell. But Artie … he has serious wounds to his lower body. And, well, put it this way. He’ll never father any children.’

  It didn’t take much imagination to realize what the good doctor meant, and Grace’s blood ran cold. She drew back, exchanging glances with Aggie. The two girls tiptoed away, the ebullient atmosphere from the concert utterly ruined.

  ‘Poor souls,’ Grace breathed. ‘They do so much for others, and to have that happen seems so unfair. But I bet they’ll be working tomorrow as if nothing has happened.’

  ‘Do you think we should make them a cup of tea?’ Aggie suggested, her face taut with compassion.

  ‘Nice idea, but better to leave them alone, I reckon,’ Grace answered, and as she lit the gas under the kettle, she wondered quite how it was that she and Aggie were becoming friends. But it had taken the deaths of millions of men and the maiming of so many more for it to happen.

  ‘Oliver, is anything the matter?’

  It was a bitingly cold, crisp February morning, but inside the great hall, the atmosphere was warm and comforting. The sunlight that shimmered on the blanket of hoar-frost outside streamed in through the large window, casting patterns on the polished floorboards. Grace had noticed that Oliver was lounging in one of the armchairs, staring sightlessly out over the wintry grounds, his expression frozen and lost in thought.

  He glanced up at Grace’s question, his eyes veiled in confusion. ‘I’m not sure.’ He held out his closed fist and slowly uncurled his fingers. In his palm sat a round, silver badge. For King and Empire – Services Rendered.

  ‘Your Silver War Badge,’ Grace stated steadily. ‘You’ve been officially invalided out.’

  ‘Yes. Remember the army quack came a few weeks ago to assess a group of us? He agreed with Dr Franfield that the awful headaches I still get and the fact that my memory still hasn’t come back could make me unreliable on the battlefield. The certificate caused a bit of a problem, hence the delay in it coming through. At least it should make them get a move on trying to discover my real name. But for now, they’ve put me down as Oliver Smith, identity to be confirmed. I’m under oath, mind, to inform them if I remember who I am before they manage to work it out.’

  His words ended in bitter irony, and Grace sank onto her haunches before him. ‘Aren’t you pleased, though, that you won’t be going back to the Front?’ she questioned him, since she herself was overflowing with relief that this man who had lit something inside her was to be saved from the continuing carnage.

  His eyes when they met hers were dark and troubled. ‘I don’t know. No man in his right mind would want to go back, and of course I don’t. But I feel such a fraud. Most of the time, I’d make a perfectly good soldier.’

  ‘And so would many of our shell-shock patients,’ Grace argued passionately. ‘But suddenly something could trigger it all again. Even the smallest sound on the ward if someone drops something can have them diving for cover or turning back to senseless wrecks just like that.’ She paused just long enough to click her fingers. ‘It could be something similar with you. You’ve got to accept that there’s still something very wrong inside your head, Oliver, and you could be a liability on the battlefield. I know you try to hide it, but I’ve seen you almost staggering with pain when one of those headaches comes on. And they still make you sick sometimes.’

  Grace stopped, burning with exasperation. Oliver had sucked in his cheeks, but now one side of his mouth curved in a wry smile. ‘Not much escapes you, does it?’

  She felt the heat prickle beneath her starched collar. ‘And I had to report it each time, too, I’m afraid. So I’m partly to blame for your honourable discharge.’

  She watched, relieved as his smile broadened. But then a sudden, tearing sigh escaped his lungs and he sprang to his feet.

  ‘I need some air,’ he declared from between clenched teeth. ‘I’m going to take a walk around the grounds. Unless … unless you’d like to join me?’

  A sudden joy bubbled up inside her. She had accompanied Oliver on strolls on numerous occasions just as she had with other soldiers hundreds of times. Sometimes she had taken them down to the town. It was part of the rehabilitation process to see how they reacted to the hundreds of soldiers garrisoned there, or the noise of the motorized vehicles and the two train lines that ran through Tavistock. But somehow the issuing of Oliver’s Silver War Badge had made the close relationship Grace had shared with him over the past months blossom into intimacy.

  ‘I’ll just check Sister doesn’t need me for anything,’ she replied, fighting to keep her emotions in check. ‘And then I’ll fetch my coat.’

  ‘I’ll wait for you on the bench under the portico.’

  Within a few minutes, Grace stepped out into the frosty morning, the glacial air making her face tingle after the warmth inside the great house. But deep inside her, something was glowing. Oliver stood up when he saw her, and her heart turned over. He looked so tall and handsome in his greatcoat unlike the shapeless hospital blues he wore beneath. He was bare-headed, and his hair, which had been left to grow back longer than the normal army cut in order to hide the deep scars from his wounds, had a lustrous sheen to it. Grace hardly saw the ugly slash across his cheek she was so used to it. Besides, she had seen inside him as a man, and that was what counted.

  They walked slowly, absorbing the pleasant tranquillity of the morning. They weren’t the only ones to be enjoying the stillness, but the grounds extended to over forty acres and soon they were well away from the house and virtually alone. Grace waited for Oliver to speak first, sensing he needed time to untwist the tangled thread of his emotions. It wasn’t until they came into a copse hidden down by the river that ran through the estate that Grace became aware of him beginning to relax.

  ‘You’re right, of course,’ he said at last, although there was still a hint of irony in his voice. ‘But then you usually are. I should be relieved and utterly grateful to be honourably discharged. I just don’t like the feeling that I’ve let somebody down somewhere.’

  ‘But you haven’t. You’ve fought for king and country and been seriously wounded in the process. You’ve done your bit, and you need to accept it. So…?’

  She peered up at him cajolingly, her head tipped to one side. He met her gaze and his face slowly spread into a smile.

  ‘Yes, Nurse. I must look forward. To the future. Which will be easier when they tell me who I am. But in the meantime, I promise to be more positive. You know I’m to be discharged soon?’

  ‘No?’ A black shiver darkened Grace’s present pleasure, but she knew she mustn’t allow it to show.

  ‘Matron told me this morning. There’s nothing more they can do for me, and some other poor sod could do with my place here, I’m sure.’

  ‘But … where will you go?’ Grace faltered, feeling as if she’s been run over by a steamroller.

  ‘Not far, if I can help it. I’ve no home to go to, after all. At least, not as far as I know. And I need to be near, anyway. If news comes through about my identity, it’ll come to the hospital first. But …’ He put a hand on her arm, halting her and turning her towards him. As he fixed his gaze on hers, his eyes were deep pools of emotion. Grace gulped, and her stomach filled with butterflies as she stared intently into his tense face.

  ‘There is another reason why I don’t want to go far,’ he croaked, wetting his lips. ‘There is someone … It was all such a blur when I first came here. But every time I came to my senses, there was someone there. Smiling at me. Encouraging me. And it came to be that this angel was in my mind even when I was unconscious, so that often I wasn’t sure if she was real or not. But as I got better, I knew that she was real. And she was just as beautiful and sweet and caring as she was in my dreams. I came to look for her the minute I wo
ke up each morning. And over the weeks and months that she’s been caring for me, she became my reason for living.’ He paused, the breath trembling in and out of his lungs. ‘Tell me I’m a poor deluded fool, but, Grace Dannings, I love you. And I pray that when this ridiculous business is over, we can be together for the rest of our lives.’

  Every nerve, every muscle in Grace’s body was totally stilled. Her mind emptied of all thought, and that tiny light that had been flickering inside her for so long burst into flame. She watched, head tilted upward, as Oliver’s eyes searched her face. She waited, the breath quivering at the back of her throat, longing. And when, in the quiet depths of the copse, his mouth barely touched her, enraptured joy rushed through her veins.

  Oliver drew back, a frown wavering on his brow. ‘Did you…? Could you…?’ he choked.

  The words Grace yearned to say lodged in her throat. And so she raised herself on tiptoe instead, pulling him towards her, arms around his neck. Her lips found his again, sending shockwaves down to her belly and tingling out to her fingertips.

  They drew apart, and Grace’s hand went over her mouth as she gazed back at him.

  ‘I’ve just broken one of the sacred rules,’ she gasped. ‘I’m not supposed to fall in love with any of my patients.’

  Oliver threw up his head with a roar of laughter. ‘I take it that means you have, then?’ he crowed. ‘I was so frightened you wouldn’t feel the same. And it’s all right because I won’t be your patient for much longer and you won’t be breaking any rules. Oh, my darling girl!’ His arms came about her, crushing her to his chest. ‘You’ve made me so happy, I can’t tell you! I’ll find somewhere to live in Tavistock. Get a job, hopefully.’

  ‘And I can tell you where! Tresca Trembath – she’s one of the volunteer nurses on Happiness – her husband owns a hardware shop. His assistant’s just got his call-up papers, poor fellow, so he needs a replacement. Perhaps he’ll take you on. He’s starting to expand into this new electricity business. And there’s a flat over the shop that goes with it. They live in Bannawell Street themselves.’

  ‘Sounds perfect, if they’ll have me!’ Oliver’s eyes shone like stars as he smiled down at her.

  ‘I’ll go and ask her as soon as we get back. That’ll be two good pieces of news they’ve had today. All three of their sons are in the Ninth Devons. By some miracle, they all survived Ypres with only minor injuries—’

  ‘God, that is a miracle!’

  ‘And now the Eighth and Ninth are being sent to Italy where they should be relatively safe.’

  ‘Poor devils, they deserve it. I do remember being out there somewhere, you know. It was hell on earth. The noise of the big guns, shells exploding and machine-gun fire. The stench of the mud. There must have been hundreds of bodies decomposing in the slime that filled the craters. You had to try not to slide off the duckboards because if you did, you were likely to drown before you could be pulled out. And that was without the bloody fighting.’

  His face had taken on that terrible, distraught look again. It was no wonder his damaged brain had decided to blank out vast tracts of his memory, except that it had chosen the wrong ones. But Grace didn’t want their moment of elation to fade.

  ‘Let’s not think about that now,’ she urged. ‘Let’s just think about ourselves and our future. And,’ she said, smiling coquettishly, ‘I rather liked that kiss, so please may I have another one?’

  So Oliver happily obliged.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  THE SHOP DOORBELL clanged as they stepped out into the April sunshine in buoyant mood, Grace’s fingers laced about Oliver’s crooked elbow. A grey, niggling fear still rumbled deep in her soul, but she stubbornly refused to let it mar her happiness on her afternoon off. She had waited for Oliver as usual at the bottom of the stairs in the back room of the shop, leaving the door slightly ajar for propriety’s sake so that Morgan Trembath could glimpse them through the gap – if he wanted to! But for a few moments, they had drawn back into the stairwell and enjoyed a long, passionate kiss that had sent an electric charge sparking down Grace’s spine.

  Once or twice during the two months Oliver had been living and working at Trembath’s hardware store, while Morgan had been busy with a customer, Oliver had pushed the door to and they had taken advantage of those brief minutes to snatch a quick cuddle. Oliver had slipped a hand beneath Grace’s cardigan, cupping her breast through her blouse and underwear. At first she had gasped with shock, but Oliver had never attempted to go any further. And the rapturous enchantment that plunged down to her loins once she had become used to his gentle touch almost made Grace wish that he would!

  Now they sauntered down the steep hill of West Street, passing a long queue outside a grocer’s shop. What with food shortages, the recently introduced rationing of certain items, and the hundreds of soldiers garrisoned in the town, it was impossible to forget that the country was still at war. There were also those who, like Oliver, bore the Silver War Badge on their civilian lapels but whose injuries were more obvious than his. However, when passers-by saw the gash gouged out across his otherwise handsome face, their expressions displayed just as much sympathy.

  ‘Oh, good, I’ve found you.’ Ling Franfield’s voice startled them from the blissful reverie they had both fallen into. Straight away, Grace’s attention was drawn to Matron’s face, but she couldn’t fathom the expression she found there. A knot of apprehension tightened in her stomach, for why had Matron apparently sought them out on purpose?

  She had her answer almost at once.

  ‘It’s up to you what you do when you’re off duty, of course,’ Ling went on. ‘I can’t say I altogether approve, for your own sakes’ as much as anything. And I have some news,’ she announced, using her eyebrows to indicate the brown envelope in her hand. ‘Perhaps we should go somewhere quiet? There’s a bench in the churchyard.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  Oliver’s voice was grave, and when Grace looked up at him, the colour had drained from his cheeks. Her own heart had begun to hammer painfully so that she could feel the tremor of each beat. Oh, God. That envelope, she knew, contained the key to their future. Oliver yearned desperately to discover his identity, and yet what if it were something neither of them wished to hear? As he took her elbow and steered her towards the churchyard in Matron’s wake, not a word was spoken. Oliver sat down between them on the bench, and Grace was glad to be seated since her flying pulse-rate was making her feel faint.

  Matron opened the envelope and removed what was evidently an official letter. ‘It’s from The Queen’s Own Royal West Kent Regiment,’ she began with quiet efficiency. ‘That was what your tunic buttons told them.’

  She paused, waiting for Oliver’s reaction. ‘Kent,’ he said pensively. ‘Yes. Do you know, I think I have a picture in my head of Tunbridge Wells? And everyone says from the way I speak that I could be from the Home Counties.’

  Beside him, Grace dared not look into his face. An apple had stuck in her throat so that she could not speak, so she nodded instead. Kent. Yes. It made sense.

  ‘They can’t be absolutely sure,’ Ling continued, eyeing them both shrewdly, ‘but by a process of deduction, they believe you might possibly be one Lieutenant Clarence Smith-Haddon.’

  ‘Clarence!’ Oliver’s cry of horror was instantaneous. ‘Oh, dear heavens, Clarence?’

  The hint of an amused smile played about Ling’s mouth. ‘I’m afraid so. You were listed as killed in action last summer at Ypres, but no body was ever recovered. But sadly that’s common enough, of course. If they’re right, you drew some sketches for the Wipers Times. That would fit in with your artistic talents, of course. If it is you, you’re thirty-three years old, and in peacetime, you were a solicitor, as you mentioned just now, in Tunbridge Wells.’

  Grace heard Oliver draw in an enormous breath. She herself was scarcely breathing at all, feeling the blood coursing round her body. Her muscles were locked in paralysis, dreading what was to come next and yet
still hoping beyond hope….

  Ling Franfield rose to her feet and turned to face them both, her gaze steady and level. ‘We’ll know for certain tomorrow. As we speak, the lady believed to be your wife is travelling here by train. Poor soul, if it’s all wrong, well, you can imagine what she’s going through. But if you are Clarence Smith-Haddon, you have two lovely little boys aged six and three. Now then, I’m afraid I must leave you to ponder the news together. My own son, Artie, is being brought home from the specialist hospital later this afternoon, and Elliott and I wish to be with him, of course. But I shall expect you in my office at ten o’clock tomorrow morning, Lieutenant. In the meantime, I think you two will have a lot to discuss.’

  She replaced the letter in the envelope and held it out to Oliver who took it in trembling fingers. He sat forward, resting his elbows on his spread knees and turning the envelope over and over in his hands. Grace watched him, her heart deadened. Waiting for the crippling pain to subside. She was like a fledgling, ready to leave the nest and soar into the sky, to experience the world and the magical joy of love – only to discover that she was really a bird without wings. Her soul, everything that made her who she was, had crashed to the ground, shattering into a million pieces like broken glass.

  ‘They could be wrong,’ she heard Oliver croak at last. ‘This woman might not be my wife.’

  Grace stared ahead, seeing nothing. Feeling the fight pulse out of her. ‘If it’s not her,’ she barely ground the words from her throat, ‘it’ll be someone else. You’re a lovely man, Oliver. And attractive. You’re bound to be married. Deep down, I’ve thought it all along, but just refused to let myself believe it.’

  ‘Perhaps any wife I might have will be put off by this,’ he said wryly, fingering the disfiguring scar on his cheek.

  ‘No. Not if she really loves you. Like … like …’