Love for a Soldier

by Mary Jane Staples

  ‘Is that the junction?’ she asked, peering ahead.

  ‘Yes. There, take the road on the left.’

  Sophia turned and found herself motoring over a fairly reasonable surface. The steel braces of the hood creaked a little, but the wheels ran smoothly. Captain Marsh became conscious of light at his back. He slewed round in his seat. Through the malleable window of the risen hood he saw two small beams, coming up fast.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Sophia.

  ‘Traffic. Pull off the road as soon as you can.’

  Sophia saw them in the mirror, the chasing lights. She opened the throttle and the Bugatti burst forward.

  ‘We can outdrive them,’ she said, then wondered at her crazy self. Why should she think of outdriving anyone, whoever it was? Could it be Major Kirsten? Had he put his car to rights so soon?

  ‘Don’t try speed, Sophia, not on a night as dark as this and on a road we don’t know,’ said Captain Marsh, urgent in his need for her to do as he wanted.

  But Sophia, bitten by impulses incomprehensible even to herself, rushed on, her gloved hands tight on the wheel, right foot active on the accelerator. What was she doing, driving at this speed, careering into bends that leapt at the headlamps? The tyres scurfed at her intermittent use of the brake. She was trying to keep this man out of the hands of her countrymen. She was driving like a maniac and behaving like one. The lights brought into view an opening ahead, an opening to a farm track. She slammed into low gear and swung the wheel hard to the left. The car slewed round, the tyres burned and the back wheels skidded. Sophia, maintaining power, straightened the roaring Bugatti and burst through the opening. The car bounced and jolted over the rutted track. She braked and stopped. She switched off the engine and the lamps. She sat with Captain Marsh in darkness, her hands trembling on the wheel.

  ‘You handle this car as if you built it yourself,’ he said.

  ‘I am good with cars,’ she said numbly.

  They heard the noisy roar of motorcycles. The machines, two of them, shot past the farm track. Their roar faded. Two more followed a moment later. Captain Marsh, turning, heard a steady, growing whine and knew what it was. It was the sound of a long column of motorized vehicles. The first of them appeared – infantry lorries carrying troops. He saw them passing, black moving shapes with masked headlamps. The steady, driving noise of engines was indicative of a column stretching far down the road.

  Sophia, feeling disorientated, watched silently. She knew what it meant as vehicle after vehicle passed the farm opening. Another of her father’s divisions was moving up to join the growing concentration of troops which were to form the spearhead of General Ludendorff’s gigantic offensive.

  Captain Marsh was mesmerized by the endless stream of packed lorries. It made him think of the long infantry columns he had seen moving so cautiously during the day. What he was seeing now was a huge effort of transportation, taking place under the cover of darkness. Every army on the Western Front made its more important troop movements at night.

  ‘There’s something brewing,’ he murmured.

  ‘There’s always something happening in war, isn’t there?’ said Sophia. ‘Something that means more slaughter.’

  ‘One only comes to that conclusion when it’s no longer credible to wave our flags.’

  ‘Whether our German flag is being waved or not, it is still flying,’ said Sophia.

  They sat in the car, watching the lumbering, motorized troop carriers thunder by. They could not move. They were trapped by the endless procession.

  As a diversion, Captain Marsh said, ‘How did you come to drive a car so well?’

  ‘I was taught by our family chauffeur. He would not have liked the way I made that turn. He would have said however self-satisfied I felt about it, it was an abuse of a car.’

  ‘It was magnificent, even if it was an abuse, although it didn’t do my nerves much good.’

  ‘Your nerves?’ Sophia flashed him an angry look. ‘What do you think mine are like?’

  ‘Yes, it’s been a long day,’ he said, ‘and it’s going to be longer waiting for this traffic to clear.’

  ‘Longer even than you think,’ she said. ‘We’ll never get back on the road tonight.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It will be too busy. Can’t you see?’

  ‘I can see.’ Captain Marsh, eyes on the lumbering shapes, was thinking. ‘But all night?’

  Sophia shook herself.

  ‘Perhaps,’ she said, and shrugged.

  ‘Is this a new German Army, Sophia?’

  ‘How should I know? All I do know is that Germany will win.’

  She was very impressed, he thought, by the weight and strength of the motorized column. A staff car appeared, and he tensed as it pulled over to park sideways on to the opening. It was quite clear in the dim lights of each oncoming lorry. Four officers alighted. They lit cigarettes and stood to watch the progress of the vehicles. They were only about thirty-five yards away from the Bugatti. Sophia saw them. One of them turned about. Captain Marsh knew the man was looking into darkness, but the way he was looking conveyed an impression of curiosity, as if the Bugatti was visible. He took a few steps forward, and perceptibly he was peering.

  Captain Marsh whispered, ‘I think he’s going to take a closer look. That means I must run. You’re free now. My sincere apologies for being so rough, and my deepest admiration for your courage and endurance – and your driving.’ He could not resist the impulse to kiss her warmly on her cheek. Then, as the curious officer took further steps, he slid swiftly and silently from the car. Bending double, keeping his line of retreat shielded by the bulk of the car, he moved fast down the rutted track to let darkness swallow him. A gate loomed up, and a hedge. He went over the gate and pressed himself flatly into the hedge. He waited and listened. There was still the continuous whining rumble of the countless lorries, but above it he heard the gate creak as someone else climbed over it. The next moment the German girl was beside him. He was astonished but said nothing. He felt her shoulder close to his. She was trembling and breathing fast. He essayed a cautious look back. Against the vague outlines of the passing vehicles, and against the faint patches of light cast by the masked headlamps of each successive lorry, he saw moving silhouettes. All four German officers were advancing on the standing Bugatti.

  Sophia also essayed a look. She saw a torch flash on. It moved about, then hovered, its light playing over the farm track. The four officers conferred. The torch moved again, beaming light into the car. One man opened the luggage compartment. In it was her travelling case.

  Knowing the Bugatti was lost to them, Captain Marsh whispered, ‘Time for me to definitely run, but for God’s sake, you didn’t need to.’

  ‘Yes, that is easy for you to say,’ whispered Sophia. She drew a breath. ‘You are somebody’s son. I am only somebody’s daughter. Do you know how difficult it is for a daughter to be a free being compared with a son?’

  The German officers were obviously both curious and suspicious, and Captain Marsh delayed his answer to Sophia’s question as he watched them moving around, the torch sweeping in a search of the dark surroundings. The discovery of a Bugatti car, with its engine still warm and its driver missing, parked close to a road forbidden to all traffic except that which was part of the German military machine, was causing activity and discussion among those officers.

  He said, ‘Parents consider their daughters more vulnerable than their sons. Go back to your car.’

  ‘No.’ Sophia was in emotional confusion, quite unable to understand herself. ‘I’m running too. What I told you was true. I do want to get to Douai to see Fritz. If I go back, my mother will smother me with a surfeit of protection, and I’ll end up marrying the man of her choice, not my own.’

  Frost lay over the furrows of ploughed fields, and the stars in the sky were jewels of crisp light.

  ‘Sophia, you must make your own decisions, and I must make mine. I’m going to run before those offi
cers begin a thorough search of this place.’

  He moved quickly along the hedge, keeping close to it. Sophia, hesitating, drew another breath and followed him. The field was ploughed, the ridges crumbling beneath their feet. She stumbled in her effort to catch up with him. He turned at once and steadied her. They walked on together, putting distance between themselves and the Bugatti. Enclosed by the night, they were invisible to the prowling, searching German officers.

  Breathless because of her hurried stride, Sophia said with an effort, ‘My mother is very loving. She’s also very strong. I shall soon be twenty-one and wish to live my own life, not my mother’s. It’s so very difficult, because how could one not love one’s mother?’

  It struck a strange note, this breathless, murmured little outburst, and he wondered what his demands on her had done to her nerves and emotions. In the darkness, he grimaced at himself.

  ‘Sophia, to their children, most mothers are irreplaceable, whatever their faults. Even their possessiveness can be an endearment. But our own way of life means much to all of us. We all know when it’s time to leave the nest.’

  ‘Yes, you are right,’ said Sophia. ‘I know it’s time for me to leave.’

  They were entering the silent realms of France again, the sounds of the motorized column no longer discernible to their ears.

  Captain Marsh said soberly, ‘I’m afraid I turned your escape from possessiveness into something of a disaster. Very unfortunate, but I wasn’t in the best of tempers this morning. The complicated situation is now more complicated. What am I to do with you?’

  Sophia, totally bemused by the mad impulse which had made her scramble out of the car to go after him, said, ‘You can make up for the results of your bad temper by helping me to reach Douai on foot now that we have no car. You mean to get there, so I will go with you. My father, I know, will have men looking for me. I don’t wish to be caught. Therefore, we shall still have to put up with each other.’

  Her father, in fact, had sent only Captain Vorster to look for her, and Captain Vorster had long since returned to Valenciennes to report failure. He had received a brusque order to try again, starting at dawn tomorrow. He was to go direct to Douai.

  ‘I’ve no wish to offend your mother,’ said Captain Marsh, deciding that this ploughed field was a damnably extensive one, ‘but I’ll be only too pleased to get you to Douai. It’s the place for both of us. It holds Fritz for you and hope for me. I want to find a way of returning to my squadron.’

  Sophia, hurrying with him, caught her foot on a hard, frosty ridge of earth and stumbled again. He swept an arm around her. She wrenched herself free, her hat falling off. She let it lie.

  ‘Don’t touch me!’ she breathed.

  ‘I’m sorry – I thought you were going to fall.’

  ‘I keep hoping I’ll find you’re only a bad dream,’ she said, ‘but you aren’t – you’re real.’

  ‘Shall we go on?’ he asked. Silently, she continued on with him. ‘Ours is an awkward relationship,’ he said, ‘but I mean you no harm and should like to avoid fractious moments with you.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Sophia, ‘but I’m not at my best any more than you have been.’ She bit her lip. There were clouds in her mind, clouds that obscured rational thought and reasoning. It was becoming so difficult to conjure up clear pictures or to call on the angry hostility that had burned so brightly and naturally for most of the day. The one unclouded picture now was the welcome Fritz would give her when she finally arrived. And even that could not be sustained.

  They reached a gate at last. He climbed it. She heard him wince a little because of his broken finger. He turned to give her a helping hand. Pride and confusion made her ignore it. Then there was the necessity of lifting her coat and dress in order to freely negotiate the high, barred gate. She thought how ridiculous it was to worry about him seeing her legs when the whole world was anxious about the magnitude of this awful, never-ending war. Aware of her pride at least, Captain Marsh moved on. He disappeared in the darkness, and she was shocked at the way his disappearance panicked her. She hitched her clothes and climbed the gate with long-legged and supple agility. She landed safely and as she straightened up the panic increased because there was only darkness ahead. She could neither see him nor hear him. She ran, frosty grass beneath her feet. A gasp escaped her as she collided with him. Momentarily, the warmth of his hard body assailed her own body. She drew sharply back.

  ‘We must turn right and keep the road on our right. It leads to Douai. We can’t simply wander. Eventually, we’ll have to cross that road. The river’s somewhere in front of us, and we can’t cross that. But we can get to Douai by using the little lanes on the other side of the road, and without having to cross the river. It’ll be a long walk. Let’s go on over the fields now and try not to lose contact with the road. It’s our guiding line.’

  ‘I am willing,’ she said.

  They went on at a steady trudge, through the darkness and over fields lying fallow and fields full of ploughed furrows. They climbed innumerable gates. He always climbed first and moved on in polite regard for her modesty. Sophia, very much a woman and owning her share of woman’s endearing perversity, began to get angry with him, and this confounded her confusion.

  Aware that her firm chin was up, Captain Marsh said, ‘I feel I’ve upset you again.’

  ‘Our relationship is awkward, as you said, but –’ She stopped, knowing her feelings to be quite ridiculous. ‘It’s of no importance.’

  ‘What isn’t?’

  ‘I am used to men being a little gallant, at least. The gates are all very high.’

  ‘Sophia?’

  ‘It’s not important,’ she said, at which another gate loomed up. He climbed it. He turned, and she was angry with herself for her absurdity. She ignored the hand he extended. She hitched her skirts. Her silken-clad legs glimmered. She began to climb. He reached with both hands and, despite his painful fingers, took hold of her waist, swung her lightly upwards and over and deposited her feet gently on the ground. Flushed, she said, ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Look,’ he said, and her eyes strained until the vague outline of buildings crept into her vision.

  ‘A farmhouse?’ she whispered.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Be careful of dogs,’ she said. The dogs of French farmers were fiercely aggressive at the smell of intruders.

  ‘Even the French farmers have been short of meat for their families. Most of their dogs have been eaten.’

  ‘So have all our German dogs.’

  ‘Touché,’ said Captain Marsh with a smile. ‘It’s time we took a rest. We can’t walk all night. We’ll be dead on our feet at a moment when we might need to run fast. And if, as you say, that road is going to be busy all night, we may not be able to cross it until dawn. It’ll be quiet then. My squadron will be over on patrol. Let’s take a look at these farm buildings.’

  He advanced cautiously, reaching bare, trodden ground. Sophia followed, the same question hammering at her mind. What was she doing? She could have been free of him, so what was she doing?

  The blank wall of a brick building loomed darkly. They skirted it and turned at the end of it, feeling their careful way. They smelled farm animals. They reached a sturdy door, its top half open. A stable. Captain Marsh felt for the latch, lifted it and opened the lower half. In a stall, a plough horse stirred, lightly shaking the mane of its drooping head. Against a wall, piled straw offered primitive comfort. Sophia sank down. The banked straw rustled and yielded beneath her body. Tiredness returned then.

  ‘Will it do?’ whispered Captain Marsh, peering down at her dim form.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We must be awake and away before dawn.’

  She was languid. The stable smell was a warm one. She was almost murmurous as she said, ‘If there are chickens here, the cock will wake us up.’

  He smiled and took off the greatcoat. He hesitated, knowing her capable of rejecting it, but she had said so
mething about gallantry. He smiled again and placed the coat over her. Its extra warmth was a physical luxury to her, and she closed her eyes. Her body sought sleep and her confused mind sought oblivion.

  He came down beside her after a while, sharing the bed of straw with her at a modest distance, and in the darkness he pondered on the fact that life was unpredictable and events took their own course. His feelings towards this unbowed German girl were a sign that man could not govern the consequences of his acts or equate emotions with reason.

  Sophia slept. Captain Marsh listened. There was not a sound except for her even breathing and the occasional little scurry of field mice. The farm buildings were locked in by the night, and the farmer and his wife were no doubt sleeping the sleep of the just, the deserving and the hardy.

  His heavy lids fell. He slept. They both slept. The hours slipped away. Sophia did not move. Neither did he.

  Chapter Ten

  IN THE EAST the dawn was beginning to break, the dark horizon showing a streak of grey. The chickens rustled on their perches. Outside, the cock strutted. When Sophia woke up, grey light was penetrating the stable. She felt warm and dreamy. She saw a figure beside her. The dreaminess rushed from her. Reality took over. She sat up, throwing off the greatcoat. Her sudden movement brought Captain Marsh awake, and he was at once on his feet, his eyes darting as if the enemy was on his tail. Sophia stared up at him, at his set face and stiff figure, outlined by creeping grey dawn.

  ‘You are not in the sky,’ she said.

  His face relaxed and was warmed by a smile, and Sophia, who felt the night had dispelled her clouds, was shocked as confusion returned.

  ‘I was dreaming,’ he said, and ran a hand through his thick, untidy hair. He looked around. The seeping light was spreading, painting the whitewashed stable walls a pale grey. The implications of retreating darkness aroused him to urgency. ‘We must go,’ he said, ‘or the farmer will kick us out and pepper us.’