by Amanda Harte
“You have a visitor in the mess tent.” One of Carolyn’s tent mates stuck her head through the flap.
Carolyn looked up in surprise. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Theo wasn’t due for leave for another month, and though they were hoping to arrange some time together, they had both agreed that they wanted to meet away from the battle zone.
“Who is it, Margaret?” Even to Carolyn’s ears, her voice sounded dull and lifeless. It was no wonder, when that was the way she felt.
The other woman shrugged. “He wouldn’t tell me his name, but he’s very handsome.”
A tiny seed of hope lodged in Carolyn’s heart. It couldn’t be him, could it? And even if it was, she didn’t want him here, did she? There was only one way to find out. “Thanks, Margaret.” Carolyn grabbed her cape. As she headed toward the medium-sized tent that functioned as a general meeting place in addition to a dining room, a small shiver of anticipation went up her spine. The visitor could be someone else, perhaps one of Ed’s friends. But it could also be …
He stood inside the tent. Though his clothing was mud-stained and his face lined with fatigue, Carolyn was certain she had never seen anything so wonderful in her life. The lethargy and sense of emptiness that had plagued her from the day she had arrived here were gone, replaced by a simple happiness. “Dwight!” Miss Pierce had been right when she had advised Carolyn to remain in the familiar surroundings of Goudot. It was surely only the sight of a familiar face that made Carolyn feel this way. She would have felt the same way if Helen had come. Of course she would.
Carolyn extended a hand in greeting. Though her heart pounded with excitement, she forced herself to speak slowly. “How did you get here?” she asked, when what she wanted to know was why he had come.
A crooked smile lit his face. “I commandeered a horse,” he told her. By all rights, he should have released her hand. Common courtesy required only a brief touch. But Dwight seemed to have forgotten that, for he kept a firm grip on her. By all rights, she should have pulled her hand away. But Carolyn did not, for the warmth of Dwight’s hand had started to dispel the cold that she had despaired would ever thaw.
“The horse wasn’t as fast as an automobile.” Dwight gave her another wry smile. “But at least I knew it wouldn’t break down.”
Though his words were commonplace, the way they made her feel was anything but common. For the first time since she had left Goudot, she felt as if she were once again a complete person.
“Why did you come?” The words escaped before she could stop them. She shouldn’t ask. She shouldn’t hope that he had come only to see her. Most likely, he was on his way to somewhere else. Perhaps he was delivering a message from Helen. That was it. Helen had wanted to come but couldn’t because of her pregnancy.
Her legs suddenly weak, Carolyn sank onto a bench, pulling Dwight with her. He waited until she was facing him before spoke, and his eyes were warm with an emotion that Carolyn could not identify. “I missed you,” he said.
The seed of hope that had appeared when Margaret told her she had a visitor sprouted leaves. “Aren’t the other nurses capable?” Carolyn wouldn’t let herself believe that there was anything personal in this visit.
Dwight turned her hand over and began to trace the lines on her palm. It was the lightest of touches, and yet the sensations his fingertips created were anything but casual. Shivers of delight raced from Carolyn’s hand up her arm.
“The others aren’t as good as you.” Dwight raised his eyes and waited until she met his gaze. “That’s not why I came,” he said. “I won’t try to convince you to return to Goudot because I need you as a nurse. The fact is, I miss you, Carolyn, not your nursing.”
Blood rushed to Carolyn’s face. He missed her. Dwight missed her. And, oh, how wonderful that felt! Though several men in Canela had vowed eternal love, no one had said words that touched Carolyn’s heart the way Dwight’s simple declaration did. Even when he had called her “darling,” Ed had not …
Ed! Carolyn bit the inside of her cheek. What was she doing, harboring fantasies that could never come true? What kind of woman was she?
“I won’t change my mind,” she said, tugging her hand free from Dwight’s. “I won’t go back, and I won’t marry you.”
If her words and her gesture bothered him, Dwight gave no sign. “Did I ask you to?” He gestured toward the saddlebags that lay on a table next to him. “I brought a Thermos of tea and some of those pastries that you like. I was hoping you’d share them with me.”
It was a simple request. There was no reason she should refuse. After all, refusing would not bring Ed back; it would merely be rude. And if she accepted, Carolyn would have another memory to help her through the lonely future.
“Thank you. I’d like that.”
It was too cold to sit outside, so they spent the afternoon inside the mess tent, drinking tea, eating pastries, talking of everything and nothing. Carolyn recounted her experiences as a casualty clearing nurse; Dwight reported the progress of the patients she had known in Goudot. They spoke of the weather and the war, of food and fears. The one topic they never touched was Dwight’s proposal of marriage.
Carolyn was happy that he did not repeat his proposal. Of course she was, for they both knew what her response must be. And yet as the afternoon waned, she couldn’t help wondering why he said nothing. Could it be that he regretted his impulsive action? Dwight, after all, was not given to impulse. Perhaps he was relieved that she had refused. But if that was true, why had he come, and why had he told her he missed her?
Dwight glanced at his watch and frowned. “I’m not sure how often I can get away,” he said as he rose to his feet and reached for the saddlebags. He looked down at Carolyn, his expression earnest. “Would I be welcome if I came again?”
It would be wrong. He would be wasting his time. Carolyn knew that. But as she opened her mouth to forbid him to return, she heard herself say, “I’d like that.”
And that night, for the first time since she had learned of Ed’s death, Carolyn’s sleep was undisturbed by nightmares.
Chapter Twelve
“He’s courting you,” Margaret said as she coiled her hair into a bun.
“That’s ridiculous.” Both the idea of a courtship and the blush that stained Carolyn’s cheeks were ridiculous. Thank goodness the other nurses had left, and only she and Margaret remained in the tent. This was a conversation Carolyn did not want overheard, particularly since she was unable to keep that telltale color from stealing onto her face. Carolyn knew there was speculation about her and Dwight, created by his visits and the letters that arrived almost every day. Her reaction to Margaret’s declaration would only add fuel to the fire.
“Dwight’s a friend. That’s all. He knows I’m lonely; that’s why he comes here.”
Margaret raised an eyebrow as she skewered her bun. “Then why do none of the other nurses have ‘friends’”—she gave the word an ironic twist—“who send them books and candy?”
Carolyn had no answer. The truth was, she had been surprised when the beautiful leather-bound book of poetry had arrived. To her knowledge, there was no place in Goudot that sold English language books. When she had asked Dwight, he had told her that he had asked Helen to buy a copy in England. Her pregnancy now obvious, Helen had been forced to return home. Carolyn had known that. What she hadn’t known was that Dwight corresponded with Helen and appeared to have enlisted her aid.
“And why,” Margaret continued, “does no one else have a suitor who somehow manages to find time to visit, even though he’s obviously overworked and exhausted like the rest of us?”
“Perhaps he wants a change of scenery.” Carolyn was grasping at straws; she knew that, but she also knew that she wasn’t going to give Margaret the satisfaction of admitting that she had asked herself the same questions.
Margaret’s hoot told Carolyn that she found her explanation incredible. “Are you trying to convince me that the good doctor comes here—mere miles from
the front—because he wants a change of scenery? Carolyn, the man isn’t crazy. He’s in love.”
Carolyn wasn’t sure of that. After all, though his behavior was suspiciously similar to the traditional courtship rituals, since that afternoon in Goudot, Dwight had never once mentioned love or marriage. He had acted as if he had expected her refusal to return to Goudot and as if her refusal to marry him was of no significance. That was good. Of course it was.
“It’s not love,” she told Margaret. “It’s friendship.”
Margaret raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. “I give up! If you want to delude yourself, go ahead. I know the truth, and I’m quite certain you do, too.”
Self-delusion. Helen had accused her of that months ago, telling Carolyn that she and Dwight were in love but were trying to deny it. The truth was, Carolyn no longer tried to deny it. She loved Dwight with all her heart. But that didn’t change the fact that she could not consider marrying him. Other women married after their husbands or fiancés died. Carolyn knew that and approved of it. In fact, she hoped her sister Martha would one day remarry. But other women’s situations were different. Those women were not living with the knowledge that they had failed their men. Carolyn could not undo the mistakes she had made, but she would not repeat them.
“Do you know what today is?” Dwight asked. It was two days later, and he’d arrived in time to spend part of her half-day off with her. As he had on his last visits, he appeared visibly tired, his face lined with exhaustion, yet his eyes sparkled as if he looked forward to their time together as much as she did.
“Am I to assume that today is something special?” This year for the first time, she had forgotten Valentine’s Day until one of Dwight’s letters had mentioned it. What had she forgotten this time?
“Indeed, it is special.” Dwight led her to the table where they spent rainy days, then sat on the bench, turning so that he was facing her. “Today is the first day of spring,” he said and reached for her hands. “If you’ve read Tennyson, you know what that means: a young man’s fancy turns to love.”
Though Carolyn hadn’t read Tennyson, she had heard the phrase, for Emily had accused Theo of falling into love each spring and falling out of love three months later, as if the changing seasons regulated his feelings. When they had spoken of Theo, she and Emily had laughed. Carolyn wasn’t laughing now. This was probably the least romantic spot on earth: a mess tent that smelled of stale food and mud, a place where instead of soft, lyrical music, the silences were punctuated by the sound of distant artillery fire. And yet, Carolyn could not ignore the fire that she saw in Dwight’s eyes or the earnestness she heard in his voice. In another time and place, in another life, her heart would have sung with happiness that this wonderful man was sitting there, looking at her as if she were the most precious being on earth. Instead, her heart began to pound with fear that he would utter the words that would destroy their friendship.
Dwight raised her hands to his lips and pressed a soft kiss on them. “I love you, Carolyn.” The gesture was sweetly romantic and the words the ones every woman longed to hear. They should have kindled a warmth deep inside her. Instead, Carolyn felt as if someone were tightening a band around her heart. Dwight smiled at Carolyn, apparently not sensing her inner turmoil. “Please say you’ll marry me.”
Carolyn closed her eyes as she tried to fight the pain that threatened to engulf her. “Oh, Dwight!” She blinked, hoping to hold back her tears. “I can’t.”
His eyes darkened, and she saw confusion on his face. “I don’t understand. Was I wrong in thinking you loved me?”
A coward would lie, but Carolyn was not a coward. “You weren’t mistaken. I do love you.” It was the first time she had spoken the words aloud since the day she had learned of Ed’s death. It was odd, how right it felt to admit her love when she knew that it was wrong to love Dwight. Worse yet was the hope that the simple phrase lit in Dwight’s eyes. Perhaps she should have lied; perhaps that would have been kinder.
“Then why won’t you marry me?”
Carolyn stared at the tent wall, wishing there were a way to make this easier. “Because I can’t.” And, oh, how she wished that weren’t true! It wasn’t hard to conjure the image of herself married to Dwight. She could picture them in a country home, with big old trees in the front yard, one of them holding a swing where their children played. She could picture herself cooking dinner for Dwight, then waiting until he returned from a late house call to share it with him. But those were fantasies that would never come true.
Though she tried to tug her hands away, Dwight kept them clasped in his. His hands were warm and comforting, and that made Carolyn feel worse. Why was it that she kept hurting the men she loved?
“If you think it’s too soon,” Dwight said, “I can wait. I understand if you want a full year’s mourning.” That had been the traditional period before the war, but now couples, apparently sharing Dwight’s belief that not a single day should be wasted, often married more quickly. That might be right for them, but it was wrong for Carolyn.
“I can’t marry you, Dwight. Not now; not a year from now.” Though Carolyn hated the pain that her words caused, she couldn’t let him continue to hope, not when she knew that her answer would never change.
“Why?” It was only one word, yet it sounded as if it were wrenched from deep inside Dwight.
“It would be wrong.”
He gave her a long appraising look. “Because of Ed?”
Carolyn nodded.
“But he’s gone.”
“I know.” That was the problem. If the war had ended and Ed were still alive, perhaps there could be another answer. As it was, there was no hope.
Carolyn frowned as she pulled out a piece of stationery and prepared to answer a fortnight’s worth of correspondence. Though she normally replied the next day, for the past two weeks she had been unable to do more than scan the letters, wishing for an hour’s respite. The days since Dwight’s last visit had been tumultuous ones, for March 21 had marked more than the start of spring. It was also the beginning of the enemy’s latest offensive, what some were calling the Emperor Battle. The combination of poisonous gas and the greatest artillery barrage of the war meant that every field hospital on the Western Front was flooded with wounded men. Though the staff worked around the clock, there were times when it felt as if they were making no progress, as if two wounded arrived for every one they treated.
Today was the first day that they had been able to tend to every injured soldier, and Carolyn had returned to her sleeping tent an hour earlier than usual. Though she was exhausted, she did not want to delay her correspondence any longer. Carolyn slid her brother’s letter from the envelope, then closed her eyes, remembering how often she had answered first Ed’s, then Theo’s epistles. And now. Now she went whole days without thinking of Ed, and when she did, it was becoming more and more difficult to remember what he looked like. It seemed as if Ed were fading from her memory the way the daguerreotypes from the War Between the States had faded with age. Carolyn hated that. Somehow it felt like the ultimate betrayal, worse even than her feelings for Dwight.
Carolyn frowned again. She didn’t have to close her eyes to picture Dwight. He was always there, hovering at the edges of her mind. When she assisted a doctor in the operating tent, she remembered Dwight’s skill. When the mailman handed her a letter, she remembered Dwight waiting for an envelope from Louise. And when it rained, she remembered how she and Dwight had danced together. Thoughts of Dwight were crisp and fresh, while memories of Ed were blurred and faded. That was so very, very wrong!
Resolutely, Carolyn re-read Theo’s letter. What’s wrong, Sis? I’m worried, because your letters don’t sound like you. Carolyn clenched her pen. Could she do nothing right? The last thing she wanted was to add to Theo’s worries. He had enough of those, being so close to the front, never knowing when the next offensive would put him in the midst of constant shelling. Fortunately, Theo’s premonitions earlier
this year had proven unfounded, and he was still safe. That was the one blessing 1918 had brought.
Carolyn scribbled a quick note to her brother, trying to make him smile with images of his fastidious sister standing ankle-deep in mud, wearing one of the least flattering aprons mankind had invented over a dull gray uniform. You may have vowed never to eat another canned tomato once the war ends, she wrote. I made a different vow. I can promise you that I will never, ever own another gray garment.
When she had sealed her letter to Theo, Carolyn opened one from Martha. I know it may seem impossible, her sister had written, but try to find something good each day, some reason you’re glad to be alive. That’s how I dealt with Henry’s death. Carolyn bit the end of her pen. What was good about her life? Unbidden, the image of Dwight opening his saddlebags and pulling out a Thermos leaped into Carolyn’s mind. She shook her head, trying to dismiss the thought. It was foolish and frivolous to think of Dwight’s visits. What was important was the work she was doing and the lives she was helping to save. Martha was right. Carolyn needed to focus on what was important. She could do that. She would think of nothing other than nursing. She would be as single-minded as Dwight.
With a cry of disgust, Carolyn tossed her pen onto the table. Why did everything remind her of Dwight?
If only everything didn’t remind him of her! Dwight stared at the nurse who stood on the opposite side of the operating table. “Scalpel,” he repeated. The woman reached for the instrument, nearly dropping it in her hurry to hand it to him. Carolyn would not have fumbled. Even her first day assisting him, she had shown more skill than this nurse, who had years of experience.