God's Children

by Mabli Roberts

  ‘Here you are!’ she exclaimed, taking both my hands in hers. Through the softness of her gloves I could feel her delicate fingers, but her grip was firm. ‘Come, there is someone longing to meet you.’ She led me away to the far side of the room. How my heart raced to be seen traversing the ballroom hand in hand with the Tsarina. What must people have made of this plain nobody in the simple gown who so took the Empress’s attention? As we progressed she nodded and smiled and exchanged cheerful words with this baron and that duchess, effortlessly and expertly. At last we reached an unassuming man, not mature in years, and yet without the bloom of youth upon him, tall, neatly turned out, and, judging by the high colour of his face, as uncomfortable as was I in such a place.

  The Empress beamed at him. ‘Nurse Marsden, allow me to present Count Andrea Dimitri Kristov. He has travelled all the way from Vladivostok to be here today, so enamoured is he of your cause.’

  But when I looked at the count, when I looked at him looking at Maria Feodorovna, I knew that it was not a passion for my mission that had seen him drag himself halfway across Russia; it was his passion for the Tsarina. Indeed he regarded her with such puppy-like adoration I was embarrassed for him. For both of them. The Tsarina, naturally accustomed to such uncloaked expressions of devotion, contrived not to notice at all. It struck me then that I must not shrink from the business of talking of my plans. There was nothing to be gained from being reticent, and perhaps much to be lost.

  ‘I am heartened, Count,’ I said, offering him my hand, ‘that you have made time to come here and learn of my mission. The Empress tells me there are many philanthropists such as yourself in Russia.’

  He was obliged then, to turn his attention to me. He bent low over my hand.

  ‘Nurse Marsden, when the Tsarina told me of your intentions, well, I could not stay away. Such a laudable cause. Such bravery on your part, to undertake a journey of the scale and difficulty yours will inevitably be.’

  ‘I cannot allow geography to be a bar to my work, Count.’

  ‘Indeed, but even so, I cannot help but be concerned for your safety. For a woman to travel over such wilderness…’

  ‘Do you think me too frail, Count? Do I appear frail to you?’

  He blustered. ‘Why no, that is to say…surely you will allow the route is long and hazardous?’

  ‘I do not believe my sex to be a hindrance, nor people’s objection to it to be the greatest obstacle I will face,’ I told him. I noticed that our conversation had begun to draw the attention of others. Of course many stood close to be near to the Tsarina, but now still more were turning, pausing in their own conversations to listen to ours. ‘Where God sends me I must go,’ I said. ‘Those afflicted with leprosy suffer terribly; surely it is up to those of us blessed with good health to do what we can? The afflicted must not be left beyond the comfort of Christian charity.’

  At this Count Kristov’s expression hardened and I sensed he had taken my remark as a slight, if not against him personally, then against his fellow Russians.

  ‘We are not all at liberty to devote our lives to a cause, Nurse Marsden, however worthy. You must allow that the Russian people are godly, and as caring for their fellow man as any you will meet elsewhere in the world.’

  The Tsarina smiled. ‘Dimitri, don’t be so bristly. Nobody is suggesting you climb aboard a dog sled.’

  While others laughed politely, the count didn’t know whether to enjoy the Tsarina’s gentle teasing or defend himself. His Empress saved him.

  ‘We all have our part to play in God’s work,’ she went on, addressing those standing near as well as Count Kristov. ‘We are blessed to have such a fearless champion as Nurse Marsden. We should be grateful that because of her we are not required to endure the hardships and dangers of a long journey across wild county. Instead we can offer her our support. I know many of you came here tonight to do just that.’

  There was a general murmur of assent. A lady with ostrich feathers in her hair spoke up.

  ‘Nurse Marsden, are you not afraid to travel so far alone?’ she asked.

  ‘I shall not be alone. I shall have my friend Ada Field with me, who speaks excellent Russian. And of course I shall have guides and men hired to assist in transporting our supplies.’

  The gentlewoman shook her head. ‘But you will not have a husband with you,’ she pointed out.

  ‘Alas, not having one of my own, that would be difficult.’ I smiled and then added, ‘Unless of course I could find someone willing to lend me theirs.’

  There was a burst of laughter from the gathering. The woman with the feathers flicked her fan in the direction of a tall, pale man. ‘Oh, Madame Marsden, take mine, do!’ she laughed. Her husband took the joke happily.

  ‘I’ll go!’ he cried. ‘And I’ll shoot a bear for you, Natalia, how would you like that?’

  Beside him a bespectacled man piped up. ‘Well, with Pierre to see to the bears, that only leaves ten thousand miles of snow and forest, packs of wolves, frozen rivers… not to mention the damn Cossacks!’

  ‘Hey!’ objected a Cossack to his left. ‘I’d like to see you in snow shoes, Ivan.’

  I sought to capitalise on this good-humoured banter.

  ‘I will happily take whomever is moved to come with me, but this will be no hunting trip,’ I warned. ‘There will be no time for sport or recreation. Yes, the men with me will be armed against bears and wolves, but for our protection only. I myself will carry a pistol.’

  The Tsarina gasped. ‘Oh, Katerina,’ she said, slipping into that dear pet name she had chosen for me, and by doing so granting me high status indeed in the eyes of those present, ‘I have such a picture of you in my mind now!’

  The count objected. ‘A woman with a pistol in charge of a gaggle of wild men in a desolate part of the country? Ha! Madame, you will be telling us next you plan to wear breeches.’

  I shrugged and met his eye. ‘How else am I to ride astride?’ When there were gasps at this I went on. ‘To attempt to ride spirited Siberian ponies side-saddle for two thousand miles through dense taiga would be folly indeed. Yes, I shall appear outlandish, ungainly, no doubt, in my curious garb, but I care not about my appearance. And yes, I shall carry a gun at my hip, for if I am charged by a bear or challenged by a wolf I will not wait for a man to come to my rescue. Those niceties as protect us in comfortable society are not to be relied upon in such a place. I will not be taken, like a package, to meet those I propose to save. How will they look upon the instrument of God’s will if she is delivered to them like a sack of potatoes, helpless, unable even to care for herself?’ The frivolous nature of the moment had altered subtly, and I knew now that I had gained their interest and attention. ‘For finding the lepers will be only the beginning. I must convince them that I am able to help them. Just as I must persuade the people who have cast them out that I am to be trusted. I must earn that trust.’

  Another woman stepped forward to study me closely. ‘Tell me, Nurse Marsden, how will you do that? You cannot speak Russian, nor, I suppose, the languages of those in such faraway places. You are a woman from another country, not known to anyone. How will you bring them to your way of thinking? After all, nobody likes to be told how to look after their own, do they?’

  ‘You make such good points, madam,’ I told her, ‘I am tempted to ask you to accompany me as my spokeswoman. In fact, as you might imagine, I have given this matter a great deal of thought. Of course I shall require the services of Ada as translator, but beyond that, I believe that everywhere the word of God is spoken. I truly believe that people will see that what I am trying to do is to help them. I wish not only to rescue those outcast lepers who suffer in such terrible circumstances, but to show their families, their communities, that there is another way. I aim to locate a place where a hospital may be built for all sufferers of the disease. There will be permanent homes there for them, as well as a church, of course. This is my vision. And with the help of people such as yourselves, and with the bless
ing of the Tsarina, and with God’s guidance, this is what I shall bring about!’

  ‘Brava!’ cried the woman with the feathers, clapping her gloved hands, and her husband took up the cry. Soon there was a clamour of good wishes and hurrahs, and all were caught up in the excitement of that golden, hopeful wish I would clasp to my heart across half the length of Russia.

  At that moment, the orchestra struck up a lively waltz. A collective cry of delight went up and people eagerly took their partners. Count Kristov invited me to dance and I happily agreed.

  ‘Miss Marsden? Are you awake?’

  The nurse who brings my breakfast on a heavy tray does not wait for an answer. She swiftly and efficiently puts the tray down, helps me to sit up, rearranging my pillows so that I do not tip out of bed, and then places the breakfast before me.

  ‘Would you like me to do that for you?’ she asks as I clutch at my spoon.

  ‘Thank you, no. Porridge is something I can still manage,’ I tell her.

  She notices the sweet peas in their vase beside my bed.

  ‘Oh, how lovely,’ she says, enjoying their perfume. ‘Did Miss Norris bring them in for you?’

  ‘She may have.’ In truth I cannot recall who brought them, or indeed when they were brought. I stare at them and try to bring the moment to mind, but all that will come is ‘pink’ ‘blue’ and ‘smell’. ‘They are not yellow,’ I say at last. ‘The other flower was yellow.’

  ‘Other flower?’ she asks absentmindedly as she holds my wrist to measure my feeble pulse.

  ‘The one I went to find. It was yellow.’ I want to tell her more but forming the words aloud is so very difficult. I do remember that flower. It had no smell, or at least, no perfume. Rather a plain little thing. I can see it clearly in my mind’s eye. I close my eyes for a better view. Small, woody stemmed, an unremarkable thing. And yet I had set so much store by it. As many others had done before me.

  All nurses quickly become accustomed to working long hours, and the work is fatiguing. A nurse who is employed near the battlefield, however, cannot reckon upon schedules and times marked down for rest. War will not so conveniently shape itself to one’s ideal work pattern, so that at the end of a twelve-hour shift on the post-operative ward I found myself called upon to assist in the surgical ward due to a failed attack that had left many wounded. By the time I reached the building that served as the nurses’ quarters my only thought was of sleep. It is a curious thing to discover then that a person can pass beyond extreme tiredness into a sort of somnambulist state, where both body and mind are too restless and weary to cease their activities. On a muggy night in Constantinople I was in just such a condition, so that instead of going into the low building that housed the dormitory I sat upon the step outside. I did not look at anything around me, nor did any thought occupy my brain. I simply sat, as orderlies, nurses, soldiers and doctors hurried past.

  It was as I remained seated there that Dr Calvino emerged from the ward door opposite to take the air. The young doctor, Italian by birth, had travelled extensively, and had the look of a man who would be at home wherever he was. He stretched his tired arms to the sides and rolled his head to release the tension in his neck. Next he shrugged his shoulders once, twice, three times. Finally he raised his arms high, interlocking his fingers, stretching until small popping noises could be heard. There was not a trace of self-consciousness about him as he went through his little routine. He took several deep, slow breaths and then walked over to me.

  ‘May I join you, Nurse Marsden?’ he asked, indicating the space beside me. When I nodded he lowered himself heavily onto the stone step. For a moment we sat together in silence, watching and yet not watching the business of those around us. ‘A fine spot you have here,’ he said.

  ‘I was on my way to bed.’

  ‘Ah, bed,’ he gave a dry laugh. ‘I have taken to using the chair in my surgery,’ here he waved an arm in the direction of the ramshackle building to our left. ‘I find it easier to get up from an uncomfortable chair than a soft bed. Not that I have spent much time sleeping since the latest skirmishes. I think the enemy believes they will defeat us by depriving our army of the chance to either sleep or eat.’

  ‘An effective tactic,’ I replied.

  He nodded and was quiet again for a while.

  I was on the point of getting to my feet when he asked, ‘Have you seen the lepers brought in yesterday? They have been put in the tent behind the morgue.’

  ‘I have seen them, yes. I spent some time applying fresh dressings to their sores and wounds. I was told they were found during the search of a nearby village.’

  ‘Some of the worst cases I’ve seen.’

  ‘You are familiar with the disease?’

  ‘Oh yes, I’ve seen it all over. Leprosy is not a respecter of borders.’ He shook his head. ‘It is a pitiless thing. So disfiguring, so ugly, so relentless. There is a man in there with neither feet nor hands, and his wife has been blind for two years. The others with them are covered in sores, as are they. It is hard to look upon them, poor creatures.’

  I bridled at this description. It pained me to hear innocent sufferers reduced to something less than human. ‘They are all God’s children,’ I reminded him.

  He looked at me coldly. ‘Then God is a bad father.’

  ‘He will not abandon them.’

  ‘Do you not think He has done so already? Where was God when the old man lost his hands? Where was He when darkness fell upon that woman forever?’

  I did not allow myself to enter into an argument, for I knew Dr Calvino to be a fine surgeon and a caring man. He was tired beyond reason, and nothing brings a medical person closer to despair than being faced with a patient whose condition confounds him.

  ‘It is not uncommon to have one’s faith tested in testing circumstances,’ I said.

  ‘Tested?’ He shook his head again. ‘Rightly or wrongly, Nurse Marsden, I put my faith in science now. It will be medicine that rids the world of leprosy one day, not God.’

  It was my turn to look at him. I had only recently been called upon to nurse lepers, and I was appalled at their suffering and the lack of an effective treatment. ‘Do you believe there is a cure?’ I asked the doctor.

  ‘Of course there is. Nature does not supply the poison without its antidote, nurse, you must know that. Unfortunately, nature has also seen fit to leave it to us to find the thing for ourselves.’ He leaned close to me, suddenly intense and animated. ‘There was a soldier here a few weeks ago, a Russian grenadier, whose family came originally from Siberia. He told me where but I do not recall the name of the place, it was somewhere far from anywhere else. The type of place nobody knows of unless they are born there. Anyway, he told me that the shamans there, they grow a plant, a flower, he said, and this flower, it has the power to heal a leper.’ He slapped his thighs and leaned back. ‘Imagine that, Nurse Marsden. Something beautiful that can defeat all the ugliness in that tent over there.’ He stood up then, rubbing the small of his back as he did so. ‘It is a thing to dream about, is it not? If only we had the time to dream,’ he added with a wry smile.

  At last we were in the final stages of preparation for our journey. Our time in Moscow had been one of such sociability, as I attempted to raise awareness of my mission, that it was hard to imagine we would soon be in the wilderness and might not hear a word of English spoken for many months. My dear and stalwart young friend, Ada Field, was every bit as excited as myself as the moment of our departure drew near. Indeed, amid all the perils and travails and sickness and hardships of those two years, the short time spent amassing supplies for the journey was a merry interval. As new friends and supporters rallied to the cause, there was an atmosphere of almost festive anticipation, much like the preparations for a wedding!

  And as with a wedding, food occupied our minds a great deal. The apartments from which we were to soon depart became filled to bursting with our provisions and necessities. Boxes, crates and cases stood stacked in every avai
lable space. There were suggestions from all sides as to what would not spoil and what would provide nourishment and flavour, with many mentions of bottled fruit and potted meats. At last we settled upon tinned fish, tea, some bread (mostly of the black variety) and biscuits. The happiest supplement to this I had brought with me from England – fifty pounds of plum pudding. Always a favourite of mine, it will keep beautifully in cold weather, and I hoped it would provide a welcome lift, as well as perhaps a much needed taste of home. Besides food, there was also a good supply of candles and wicks. More important perhaps than these were the clothes I had ordered, after much deliberation. It was as I dressed myself in these that Ada, who had been out to collect yet another parcel from the postal depot, returned.

  ‘Goodness, Kate! Whatever are you wearing?’ she asked, setting down the packages, a little out of breath. I was struck by how delicate she was then and experienced a pang of worry. Was I wrong to have chosen such a slight young thing to accompany me on my arduous mission? Should I have selected a more robust person? But then, there were not many willing to take on the job of interpreter on such a journey. She picked up one of the foundation garments. ‘And what can this be?’