by Noelle Carle
“Why Alison, my dear. Whatever are you doing here at this time of night?”
“Can…may I come in?” The sight of Mrs. Reid released something in Alison and she felt herself on the verge of hysteria. She wanted to both laugh and cry at once.
“Of course!” Mary reached for her and drew her in. The kitchen was brightly lit and Mary eyed Alison penetratingly. “You must sit down, dear. I’ll make some tea.”
The room was warm and quiet but for the softly ticking clock that sat on a shelf. Surprised to see that it was after eight, Alison sounded a tiny “oh”. Mary turned around, saw Alison peering fixedly at the clock and clucked her tongue. She let the teakettle boil, dipped tea leaves into the pot and began pouring the boiling water over them. She set the teapot on the table, returning to the cupboard for teacups. She brought over two delicate bone china cups painted with pink roses. Alison didn’t notice. She clenched her arms across her chest, staring at the floor.
“Where are the girls?” she finally asked.
“All abed, over an hour ago,” Mary replied. “You may speak freely,” she urged.
Alison’s lips trembled and she struggled to maintain her composure.
“Has something happened, dear? To Sam?”
Alison shook her head, but the mention of Sam caused the tears to fall. She wiped them away with a hand that was shaking.
Mary’s features drew together in distress and she urged, “Oh my dearest, what has happened, love?”
Alison just hung her head miserably. Her throat felt like a rock was lodged in it and she couldn’t force any words around it. She desperately wanted to tell her teacher what had happened, but how do you say such words, how do you give voice to such an act? Neither was she inclined to reveal what she saw as her part in it. Staring at the teacup without really seeing it, she asked the first question that came to mind. “What happened to him? To your husband, I mean?”
For a long moment Mary gazed at the girl sitting opposite her. She took in the tousled hair, the stark paleness of her skin, the dirt and grass on her clothes, the bleakly desperate look in her eyes that said to her, take me away from here, take me out of this body, take me back in time. “You know he died, my dear,” Mary said carefully. “When the Lusitania was blown up by a U-boat.”
Alison met Mary’s green eyes, then looked down again. “I know. But I don’t know how it was, how you were, after. Did you realize how different things would be?”
Mary settled back in her seat, pulling her sweater tighter across her chest as if reliving the cold of that morning. Her fair skin looked pale against her cloud of dark auburn hair. “Even now I have dreams. Dreams of it happening over and over again. I wish I could control them, change the ending…at least in my sleep. But,” she lifted her chin, “that wouldn’t change real life. We were going to his mother’s funeral. It was the first time we’d been back to Ireland in years. His poor mother passed on after a long illness. We went as soon as we could, even knowing the danger.
We were so close to land that morning. We could see the green hills in the distance. We thought we were safe. Then…oh, the noise of it!” She shuddered once, looking grimly at Alison. “You don’t hear a noise like that without thinking about dying.
We hurried up to the deck where they were filling the lifeboats. It was so crowded, so chaotic with everyone rushing, the little children crying, people hurting each other to get on the lifeboats.”
She shook her head as she remembered, her lips tightening. “Some people acted with the utmost dignity and courage, like my Ian. Others were selfish cowards. We got to our lifeboat station. They were loading it and Ian helped me climb in. I can still feel the strength of his hands on my waist as he helped me balance. He said, ‘Don’t move from there, Mary me love,’ and he turned back to help others. I lost him in the crowd. Then there was another explosion, louder than the first. The ship was gone, in just minutes, fifteen minutes.” She shook her head, gazing at her husband’s picture sitting beside the clock. “It only took a quarter of an hour for my life to change.”
Alison nodded at her fleetingly. “Did you have any idea that something bad was going to happen?”
Mary shook her head. “None. No clue, no premonition, no feelings. We knew the dangers inherent in traveling then, of course. There were warnings in the papers, but we were so close to home. Even so, how does one prepare for catastrophe? I just had to go from there, go on with life, without Ian. But I can say that the good Lord helped me to cope. I prayed very often in those first months after Ian died.”
“But God didn’t change what happened, did he?”
“No. No, he didn’t, dear.”
At those words, Alison’s shoulders began to shake and she laid her head on her arms, knocking the teacup onto the floor. It broke into pieces as Alison sobbed out loud.
Chapter Twelve
The Gallant Fellows Under Arms
“Eliot! Hey, Sam Eliot!” Sam turned at the sound of his name being called from the opening of the mess tent. He stopped where he stood, looking with happy surprise at who was calling to him.
“Aubrey Newell? I can’t believe it! What are you doing here?”
Aubrey eagerly met him and shook his hand enthusiastically. “You’re surprised, ain’t ya?”
“Of course I’m surprised.” He took in the Ambulance Corp uniform, still new and clean. “This is amazing! Come over to my tent, if you have time.”
“Sure I have time. My supervisor said I could try to find you. We got here from England a couple of days ago and have been training ever since. Just heard today what battalion we’d be attached to and I remembered which one you were in. I thought I might be able to find you.”
They arrived at the large tent where Sam and his unit were bunked. “We have three days before we’re rotated back to the front. Everyone tries to catch up on sleep when we have the chance,” Sam said quietly. “It’s just habit to be quiet. Most of us could sleep through a bombardment.”
They sat on a bunk and Aubrey looked around interestedly. “Kind of spare, hain’t it?” he noted.
“We’re here for a few days, and then other companies rotate in. We don’t have much chance to make it homey.” Then eagerly he asked, “How long since you were home? How’s my family? My dad?”
“I left back in November. Tried to join up when I found out I have some little thing wrong with my heart. Ain’t that a caution? Ya know,” he confided looking around to make sure no one was listening, “I’m not seventeen. I’m twenty-two. I ran from Canada to avoid the draft. All that time I didn’t have nuthin’ to worry about anyways.”
His gaze slipped sideways to touch on Sam with a guilty look. “Seems like something changed in me though. I wanted to help. Seems like I needed to come somehow. So I got in the Ambulance Corps, did my training in New York and been in England for about a month.”
“And my family?” Sam urged.
“Oh, they’re fine as kine. Your dad was gonna start Henry on the boat when I left. I think your sister’s getting ready to get married.”
“How’s…everyone else?”
“That’s a great place, Little Cove. A bunch of ‘em have been helping take care of your little brothers and sisters, especially the schoolteacher. And one of those fishermen, the Frenchie guy, he’s got his daughters working on his boat. The other ‘un came over here to translate or something.”
“How’s Alison? My girlfriend?”
Aubrey drew still. He stared at Sam fixedly for a moment, and then shook his head, questioning, “Which one is she?”
“The doctor’s daughter. Alison! She’s with my sisters all the time. Dark hair, big blue eyes. Pretty as moonlight on the water.” Sam smiled and shrugged a bit as he said it.
“Oh, yeah. She helps your sisters a lot. She’s fine, I guess.”
Sam’s shoulders slumped. Aubrey changed the subject, asking, “What’s it like, up on the front?”
Sam looked around at his fellow soldiers. Many were sleeping,
others were writing letters or reading. “Half of our unit’s in the hospital, or dead. I’m surprised the rest of us aren’t mad. It’s loud, it’s filthy. The trenches are horrendous. The mud is everywhere. The vermin eat the dead bodies. These times I think are all that keep us going. That’s our chaplain over there.” Sam pointed at Tom Hudson who was reading on his cot. “He’s a good guy. Always looks out for us. I think he’s got angels guarding him. Seems he can face a machine gun barrage without flinching or getting hit.”
Sam stood. “Come on. I’d like you to meet him.”
Aubrey hesitated. “What’s a chaplain? Is that like a priest?”
Sam nodded. “Sort of. He’s just a regular guy though.” They moved across the large tent. Sam saw that Chaplain Hudson was reading his Bible. “’Scuse me, Chap. I’d like you to meet a friend of mine.”
Tom Hudson stood and grasped Aubrey’s hand. Sam introduced them, explaining that Aubrey was a friend from home who just arrived with the Ambulance Corps. Aubrey smiled nervously. “Glad to know you, son. Sam’s been kinda pining for news from home. Seems like a certain girl’s letters have not been as frequent as he’d like.” He grinned at Sam. Then he said to Aubrey, “Ambulance Corp is hard work. I’ll keep you in my prayers.”
Aubrey’s eyes widened slightly. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “I’d better get back now. But I’ll be seeing you around.”
He left then. Sam went back to his bunk, still mystified as to why he’d gotten so few letters from Alison in the last three months. Admittedly the mail service was erratic, especially as they moved around so much. Tim Cooper had just received a letter sent back in June, even while he’d gotten his latest ones two weeks after they were posted. His father wrote that all was well, and a letter from Esther spoke of Alison. But nothing had come from Alison herself.
It made him all the more mindful of her. Her picture was always in his breast pocket and he kept a letter on the go, posting them every couple of days or when he had the opportunity. It seemed the more tenuous his connection with her, the more desperately he needed her. He feared the hurt that his death would cause her and anticipated their future together – dreaming of home and a family, of getting back to Little Cove and never leaving.
They had seen many battles in the three months they’d been at the front. Sam recalled the utter numbing shock that first time at the front had been. He saw things that night that changed him fundamentally. The enemy was no longer just a faceless evil; rather it was real men behind real guns and bombs, trying to kill him. The reality of bullets, bombs and gas became frighteningly clear in their first battle when within the space of a minute the soldier on his right dropped dead with a bullet through his heart and not ten feet away three more men just disappeared after a whiz bang hit them. He saw men suffer traumatic amputations, men with their insides spread on the mud beside them. He saw men who were simply scared to death, and men who were methodic and enthusiastic killing machines. In the chaos of battle it became very difficult to keep the big picture in focus. He did what he was ordered to do and focused on surviving.
His chaplain inspired him. Their sergeant led the battalion officially, but the men looked to Tom for his persistent cheerfulness and an abandon that was baffling. He insisted that he wouldn’t die until it was his time, so he never wavered as they pushed through the mud and the remains of their allies, through the stream of bullets and bombs. He helped those who had fallen, prayed for the wounded and the dead. Sam saw him everywhere and would follow him anywhere.
It was Chaplain Hudson’s confidence that drew Sam. He spoke of God as a companion, or a brother-in-arms, unlike the stern and somewhat remote God portrayed by Pastor Whiting. He prayed and sang constantly. The boys teased him about it. As he shaved or read his Bible, his lips moved. When he passed by, they caught snatches of hymns drifting after him – “the blood of Jesus whispers peace within” or “abide with me, fast falls the eventide.” He took their teasing and often turned it into an excuse to pray for them.
Sam approached him now. “Chap?”
Tom Hudson lifted his eyes and Sam read in them genuine interest. He was a compact and energetic man, with a balding head and wide shoulders. He usually wore a beard, he told them. He’d had it from the age of fifteen and only shaved it off when the army made him. His wife had never seen him without it and almost turned him away at the door when he went home on leave. “I gave her such a fright,” he’d said, laughing at his joke, his green eyes crinkling at the corners. The rest of his body was covered with a thick carpet of hair, which he claimed was like wearing armor. Setting aside a letter he was writing, he patted the cot beside him.
“You should be getting some rest, Eliot,” he admonished. “Too excited after seeing your friend?”
“I guess so,” Sam answered. “That sure was a surprise. He worked with my dad and me; said he came from Bath and told us he was seventeen. I didn’t think he could have been.”
Tom was quiet and Sam’s voice died away. Finally he said, “Can you pray about something for me?”
“Sure.”
“I’m worried about Alison. I haven’t heard from her for a long time. And,” he shrugged and finished lamely, “I’m worried.”
“But didn’t you ask your friend? You said he was from there.”
Sam squinted. “That was odd too. He acted like he couldn’t remember who she was even, and I know he was not confused about her. I used to worry that he’d try to make her forget me. I’d see him watching her sometimes.”
“You still writing to her?”
“Whenever I can. I just feel like something’s wrong. Like she doesn’t want to write me anymore…maybe,” he finished slowly. “And I used to get a couple of letters a week from her. I still get letters from home, and Tim gets stuff from his mother all the time. And…and my family hasn’t mentioned her in their letters much for ages. It’s like she’s disappeared!”
Tom studied Sam for a moment then he nodded. “I’d be happy to pray.” And he clapped his hand on Sam’s shoulder and began, surprising Sam who quickly closed his eyes. “Father in heaven, I ask thee to comfort your boy Sam Eliot here. We know that your eyes are on his girlfriend right now, just as you are watching over us. I ask thee to send word from her soon, so he will know the assurance of her love. And we thank Thee, amen.
Sam opened his eyes, feeling more encouraged than he had in days.
Chapter Thirteen
The Old Unhappy Days
By December Alison knew she was carrying a child. It was confirmed for her when for the second month in a row she missed her monthly flow. She had been spared any sickness, but she felt miserably tired, unusually irritable and unbearably sad.
One morning the week before Christmas, both the freezing temperature in the room and the dark morning enticed Alison to stay in the cocoon of warm blankets. But Aunt Pearl was already up downstairs. She knew it was time to get ready for school. She quickly dressed in the darkness, shivering the whole time as she pulled on woolen stockings, a warm flannel chemise and slip, followed by a blouse, a woolen jumper and a sweater.
The kitchen was warm and glowing in the yellow lamplight this dim morning. Everyone seemed drowsy. The conversation was minimal as the doctor perused the paper and Aunt Pearl began the week’s baking. Remick ate with enthusiasm, but Davey picked at his oatmeal; no doubt, Alison thought, missing the sugar he usually sprinkled liberally on top of it. Owen sat with his chin in one hand, reading the back of his father’s paper and stirring the cream into his mug of coffee. As he stirred, his spoon clinked against the mug, over and over.
Alison felt a wave of despair wash over her. This family would be changed forever. No matter what the truth was, her reputation would be ruined. In such a close and insular town, everyone would know sooner or later that she was with child. And people liked to believe the worst about others, even if they were told the truth. Her future was bleak and she felt like crying. She snapped at Owen instead. “Will you stop that noise?”
&n
bsp; Everyone turned to stare at her in surprise. “Daughter?” questioned her father. “What noise?”
Alison burst into tears, muttering, “I’m sorry,” as she pounded back up the stairs to her icy bedroom, scaring the cat who stalked indignantly behind the stove.
Pearl wiped her hands on her apron, exchanging a blank look with her brother. Alison was rarely churlish and even more rarely cried. “I’ll see what’s wrong.”
Owen asked tensely, “Was I making a noise?”
“Vapors,” Remick muttered, grinning at Davey’s open mouth and curious look.
Owen snorted and looked relieved and Davey laughed aloud. Then he questioned his father, “What’s vapors?”
Upstairs, Alison clung to her aunt, unable to speak coherently for several minutes. Pearl smoothed her black curls and rocked her back and forth, murmuring to her like she used to when Alison was younger, missing her mother.
As the swell of emotions subsided somewhat Alison drew away, wiping at her wet cheeks.
“Whatever can it be, darling, that’s got you so upset?” Pearl implored, her arm still around her niece’s shaking shoulders.
Alison was still, her eyes closed, as she gathered her courage. Her lips trembled and tears continued to stream down her cheeks. When she opened her eyes to finally look at her aunt, they held such a depth of grief that Pearl drew a breath and held it.
“I’m going to have a baby.”
The words hung in the air as Pearl absorbed the shock. Her shoulders slumped and the breath escaped her in a gasp.
Alison continued, speaking almost incoherently through her sobbing. “The day that he left, Aubrey Newell took me up by the fort to show me a…a sculpture that he did.” Pearl’s arm tightened around her shoulder and her face lost its color as Alison continued. “It looked like Sam, like his face, and I told Aubrey how beautiful it was. I hugged him, to thank him, then…” Her voice faded to a whisper. “Then he was kissing me and saying he loved me. I kissed him back, Aunt Pearl, but then, I didn’t want anything else to happen, but he was so strong! I couldn’t stop him!”