“You think God made her sick then – to get her attention? Is that what you’re saying?” Rosie was suddenly unnerved by the possibility of such a notion.
Cassie shook her head. “You know, Rosie, I don’t believe sickness is ever God’s design. When Jesus walked on earth, he went around healing people of their diseases. In fact –” There was a sudden catch in her throat. She tried to collect herself. “In fact, I’ve found myself wondering what would have happened if Jesus had walked into our home during the last days of Beth’s life. I can’t help thinking she would have still been with us.” Tears ran down Cassie’s cheeks now. “I don’t know, Rosie. Jesus often challenged his own disciples about their lack of faith. Perhaps that’s it. Perhaps we have more faith in the power of sickness to destroy us than we have in the power of God to heal us.” She shook her head again. “I just don’t know, love. I might be getting on in years, but I still have an awful lot to learn when it comes to spiritual things.”
“So you don’t think God made her sick?” Rosie was anxious to clarify the point.
Cassie thought for a moment. “Like I said, Rosie, I don’t believe sickness is ever God’s perfect design. But I think there’s a difference between what God designs and what God permits. The most important thing in Beth’s case was that she made her peace with her Maker. In the light of eternity, a human life – whether it spans five minutes or a hundred years – is nothing but a breath, a fleeting shadow.” Cassie gulped back a sob. “Beth will understand that now.”
Rosie felt bad as she witnessed Cassie’s distress. She wished she’d never brought the subject up. Maybe she was being selfish seeking for answers to questions that were far too big. Feeling awkward, she rubbed her hands together as though to warm them.
“You’re getting cold, Rosie.” Cassie dabbed her eyes as she spoke, her tone bearing no trace of resentment or irritation at Rosie’s indelicate probing.
“No, I’m okay,” Rosie answered quietly. “It’s nice out here. I’ve been indoors too long.”
Cassie didn’t argue. She nodded gently and pointed towards the flowering cherry. A young sparrow had landed on a birdfeeder suspended from one of the tree’s branches. It grappled clumsily on the footrest as it tried to peck at the seed. Cassie’s face relaxed into a smile. “I love watching the birds, don’t you, love? I think they have such a lot to teach us.”
They watched as another sparrow came to join the first. For a few moments the two tiny creatures broke into a squabble, pecking at each other and flicking their wings as though in territorial competition. Then, just as suddenly, the argument ended and each bird settled on its own rest and began to feed.
Cassie exhaled slowly. “You know, Rosie, I don’t pretend to understand everything. I don’t know why Beth got sick. I don’t know why she had to die, if indeed she had to die at all. All I do know is –” She pointed once more to the two small birds on the feeder. “God’s word says that not one sparrow will fall to the ground apart from the will of the Father.” She closed her eyes as though seeing the text in her mind. “And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.” She turned to Rosie. “Y’know, love – if it had been up to me, things would have been very different. I would never have chosen this path. But then, I don’t see the end from the beginning, and my Heavenly Father does. So I leave it in his hands. I know that one day everything will become clear. Until then I simply trust him.”
Rosie was quiet. Even in her grief and confusion Cassie portrayed uncommon serenity. Rosie could see that the trust she spoke of was absolutely genuine. It was attractive, enviable. Yet for Rosie, the words ‘trust’ and ‘father’ seemed frustratingly incompatible.
Cassie reached out and took her hand. “You asked me if God could sort anything, Rosie. And I still say – yes, he can. As I said, I don’t always understand him or the way he works. But even in those dark and difficult times, he lets me know he’s there; lets me sense his presence, gives me his peace. And somehow that makes everything alright. He’s not like anyone you’ve ever known before, Rosie. Really. He’s not like anyone you’ve ever known.”
Rosie’s heart ached. Everything in her was longing to believe Cassie’s words. It was clear now that both Cassie and Jonathon were talking about the same person. Yet there were so many things that seemed to stand in the way; things Rosie wished she could tell Cassie … things she’d never told a living soul.
But she knew she never would. She would never tell anyone. And the thought that God might already know about them was almost too much to handle.
____________
By the time Monday morning came round, Rosie was sufficiently recovered as to be able to start work. She still felt slightly fragile but was determined to give the new job her best shot. She’d arranged for a lift with Jonathon the previous evening. Now as they walked into the school together, he put his hand on her arm. “All the best, Rosie. See you at break hopefully.” And then he was gone. Was it her imagination or had he seemed a little quiet on their way here? She tried to put it out of her mind as she made her way to Helen Walker’s classroom.
Nothing about Molly Guest’s appearance suggested she’d even remotely enjoyed her Easter holiday. The child’s face seemed even paler than Rosie remembered, and her mournful eyes were underlined with dark circles. She stood in the doorway of the classroom whimpering softly as her mother attempted to push her inside.
“Come on, Molly. We’re going to have fun today,” Helen cajoled, skilfully concealing her exasperation as she tried to prise the girl’s fingers from her mother’s sleeve. Rosie felt sorry for the young mother as she watched the scene. The woman was clearly distressed as she uttered apologies first to Helen and then to the child. Helen signalled to Rosie to come over. “Mrs Guest, this is Rosie Maconochie. She’s standing in for Mrs Vardy. She’ll be keeping a close eye on your daughter. Don’t worry – Molly always settles down once you’ve left.”
Looking barely convinced, the mother nodded gratefully, and with a final gentle pull managed to extricate herself from her daughter’s grasp. Once the door was shut, Rosie and Helen exchanged glances.
“Looks like we are going to have fun today,” Helen muttered under her breath. “Boy, am I glad you’re here.”
The first part of the morning went slowly. Molly remained subdued, refusing to speak or write a word. During Literacy, Helen did a tour of the tables to observe how each child was getting on. When she arrived at Molly’s table she shrugged resignedly. “Looks like she’s having one of those days, Rosie. She used to do this sometimes with Lydia. I doubt we’ll force anything out of her today. No point getting your hair off about it … just do what you can.”
Easier said than done, thought Rosie as she watched Molly scribbling agitatedly on a piece of rough paper.
At breaktime, Rosie offered to stay in the classroom and keep an eye on the girl. It was clear that keeping her out of the playground was going to be the best option for the moment.
Helen frowned. “Are you sure, Rosie? I would have stayed in with her myself.”
“No, you’re okay. Might give me chance to get to know her a bit, away from all the other kids.” Better show willing, she thought stoically, seeing as it’s my first day.
But getting to know Molly was no easy task. Despite Rosie’s best efforts to engage her in conversation, the girl sat staring at the table, her only contribution to the exchange being the odd shake or nod of the head. About five minutes before the end of break, the classroom door opened unexpectedly. The sound of it made Rosie jump and she spun round to see who’d come in.
“Hi, Rosie. Brought you a drink –” Jonathon’s brightness faded as he frowned and nodded towards Molly. “Is she okay?”
Rosie turned again to see the child hunched over, her face pressed down against the table, her arms wrapped around her head.
Jonathon studied her for a moment. “Perhaps it’s best I leave you two alone. Just thought I’d br
ing you a coffee anyway. Catch up with you later.”
When Jonathon had gone, Rosie put her arm around Molly’s shoulder. “Come on, Molly. What’s wrong?” But even as she spoke, she felt the girl’s frame go rigid beneath her touch. She withdrew her hand and sat back, wondering how best to proceed. Moments later Helen arrived.
“Everything alright?” She glanced at Molly and shot Rosie a sympathetic look. “Don’t worry, I’ll hold the fort at dinnertime. I’ve some work to do anyway. She’ll be able to stay in here with me.”
Rosie felt secretly relieved. So far, her first day’s efforts with Molly had proved nothing short of unfruitful. Suddenly she looked forward to the prospect of escaping the confines of the classroom.
When dinnertime came, she made her way to the staffroom and took her lunch out of the fridge. She spotted a spare seat next to a young woman with bobbed red hair and striking green eyes. “Okay if I sit here?”
The young woman smiled enthusiastically. “Sure, take a seat. You’re the new NTA, aren’t you? I’m Chrissie. Chrissie Havers.”
Rosie introduced herself and they quickly fell into conversation. When she chanced to glance up at the wall clock, Rosie was surprised to see how much of the dinner hour had already passed. Funny; there’d been no sign of Jonathon at all. She made casual mention of it to Chrissie.
“Oh Jon –” Chrissie replied breezily. “He does football club on Mondays. Poor guy, he’s out there come rain or shine. One of these days his team’s gonna go all the way. Or so he keeps telling us.” She broke into a chuckle and Rosie smiled too. But secretly, she couldn’t help feeling slightly threatened by the familiar tone in which Chrissie spoke about Jonathon. She found herself recalling her own cyber correspondence with him, and realised that in all the time they’d been e-mailing each other, she’d never yet felt at liberty to call him Jon. Moreover, as that realisation broke upon her mind, she found her thoughts going back to the day she’d first come into the staffroom at Paddock Hill. When she’d been standing by the kettle with Bev. When the door had burst open and Jonathon had come in laughing and joking. Of course. He’d been with Chrissie Havers then. It was the red hair Rosie remembered; perhaps the green eyes too. But it had all happened so quickly, it was hard to be sure. Now as she thought about it, Rosie felt strangely upset. She did her best to hide it as the conversation continued, trying hard to stay in tune with the theme of the thing, making sure her smiles and nods came in all the right places. But while her face endeavoured to engage with Chrissie, her mind was a whirl of half-formed notions. The more Chrissie spoke, the more Rosie noticed the flash of her green eyes and the singsong laughter in her voice. It wasn’t just that. This girl was nice too. The sort of person you couldn’t help warming to, even if you tried …
Rosie mentally kicked herself. What was the matter with her? So what if Chrissie and Jonathon were close? They were workmates, weren’t they? Weren’t workmates allowed to be close?
The bell went and Chrissie jumped to her feet. “Well, have to fly. Like to be in class before any of my little darlings get there. Been great getting to know you, Rosie. See you later.”
As Chrissie hurried out, Rosie went over to the sink to wash her cup. She was disturbed by the thoughts assailing her mind. But then, most things to do with Jonathon seemed to have a way of disturbing her these days. She was so preoccupied, she didn’t realise how hot the water was becoming until it scalded her fingers. It was at that moment that the door opened and Jonathon himself walked in. Still dressed in a navy tracksuit, his hair was damp with sweat and his cheeks flushed from being outside. Despite herself, Rosie felt her heart turn over as she looked at him.
“Good game?”
Jonathon grinned. “I think some of them have been overdoing it on the Easter eggs. It’ll take a couple of weeks to knock ’em back into shape, I reckon.” He flicked on the kettle and pulled a mug from the cupboard. “I’m gonna have to get a move on – I still need to get changed.”
Rosie hesitated. “D’you want me to make your drink and bring it down to your class on my way back?”
“Would you, Rosie?” Jonathon was grateful. “Year 6 kids are usually okay on their own for five minutes or so, but I don’t like to push it. I’ll just nip and get out of this gear. Tea, no sugar.”
He disappeared and Rosie quickly set about the task. Minutes later she found her way to his classroom. Jonathon seemed to be going through a register and didn’t notice her enter. He was half sitting on his own desk at the front, one foot placed firmly on the floor to balance him, the other swinging slightly in midair as he straddled the corner of the wooden table. Back in his office-type clothes, his combed, blond hair still a little damp around the edges, he suddenly had all the appearance of a real teacher. It was the first time Rosie had seen him in situ. She fleetingly remembered the scruffy gardener she’d originally met in the churchyard. For a moment she wondered if she really knew Jonathon at all.
He looked up as she approached him. “Oh thanks, Rosie. You’re a star.” As his eyes locked with hers, she felt a flush of self-consciousness. Mumbling a reply, she excused herself and quickly exited the room, hoping beyond hope that none of Jonathon’s astute Year 6 kids would notice the deepening crimson of her cheeks as their teacher thanked her for his cup of tea.
The rest of the afternoon went by surprisingly quickly. Helen began a new geography topic and the children were encouraged to share their experiences of foreign holidays with the rest of the class. It was an enlightening session, full of comic moments and childhood observations. Molly, however, remained resolutely taciturn throughout, her expression barely altering as the afternoon ticked by. She seemed in a world of her own, insulated from the cheerful company of her classmates by invisible walls of silence. By the end of the day Rosie felt she’d achieved little. On the way home Jonathon was sympathetic. “You’ll get through to her eventually, Rosie. Though I have to say she seems a poor little thing – you’re gonna need some patience by the look of it. Perhaps she’s one of those kids that struggle to come back to school after holidays. Feel a bit like that myself sometimes.” He laughed to himself then turned to her. “I’m absolutely sure you’re the right one for the job.” He smiled gently before fixing his attention back on the road, but in that moment she saw in his eyes a look she did not understand. More disturbingly, she struggled to understand the effect it had upon her. When they arrived at Oak Lodge, Jonathon pulled up outside but left the engine running. Rosie thanked him. “Am I still okay for a lift in the morning?”
“Course you are. I said so, didn’t I?”
It was the gentlest of rebukes, without the slightest hint of irritation or annoyance. But Rosie understood the meaning of it. Jonathon had given his word, and she should relax in that. He wasn’t about to let her down.
As she stepped out onto the path, Jonathon called after her. “Any more news of my Uncle Philip? You won’t forget to e-mail just because you’re gonna be seeing me every day, will you?”
Before she had time to answer, he pulled away.
That night in her room, Rosie opened the diary and flicked through it until she found her page. Keeping a thumb in her place, she leafed through the rest of the notebook. Still some pages to go, but not all that much left now. One thing was sure; Sam’s writing didn’t make it through to the back cover. She thought back over the last few months. Strange how this dilapidated old book had become part of her life. And strange how the only one to have really shared it with her had been Jonathon. Beth had died long before she’d reached the end. That seemed to Rosie a both sad and ironic thing as she recalled Beth’s uninhibited excitement at her unusual find. Funny. The diary had never managed to make Rosie excited. But, in some peculiar, deep down way, she knew it had become precious to her. Now as she looked at it, she wished it didn’t have to end. Somehow, scanning the remaining pages of pencilled scribble, she realised there were few conclusions to be drawn. The blank pages that followed on from them seemed pregnant with mournful inevitabili
ty, their yellowed emptiness shouting louder than all the vibrant paragraphs Sam had ever penned. She began to type.
Poperinghe July 14th 1917
The three of us visited Toc H yesterday. How good it was to go back, Emily. It doesn’t seem at all changed to me (perhaps a few more holes in its outer walls, but nothing too grave). Inside, the atmosphere was just as I remember; charged with cheerfulness and goodwill – a veritable haven for us weary Tommies!
We spent a little time in the library, then afterwards watched some fellows perform a comic play. We laughed till our sides hurt. In fact, Em, I can’t remember laughing like that in a long time. For a brief while, it didn’t seem to matter that the German army was just across the way. I think maybe our enemies need to laugh too.
Despite the fun we had, Em, I think perhaps the thing that struck me most about our visit this time was the service in the chapel. Even I’m surprised to find that I’ve begun to warm to such things. When we sang the hymns, I found myself wishing their words could be true. When the address was given, my heart began to be pierced by a slender hope. But the thing that affected me most was to see a group of men – among them our own pal, Jimmy – standing by the little font waiting to be baptised. I don’t know that anything has ever moved me like that. Boxer was as happy as any man I’ve ever seen, and I found myself remembering the day he told me he’d made up his mind to look out for Jimmy. No one would recognise the fellow now. To be honest, I could wish I were more like him myself. Boxer has done an impressive job.
After the baptisms we had communion, and I myself partook of it. I couldn’t help feeling that, for me, there was something missing. I’m not like Boxer and Jimmy; I know that in my heart. But suddenly, I find I would rather like to be. To have that same peace and confidence, no matter what happens. Is it because of what I know is coming? Am I simply wanting to believe because I’m fearful about the next big push? Would God view me as a coward for that? I’m sure I can’t be on my own in my anxieties. Who knows for how many of us these first communions will prove to have been our last rites?
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