Mary Bridgette

by Danni Roan

  “I’m glad. I think they’ll need you this year.”

  “What are you girls whispering about down there?” Stevens asked turning weathered eyes on them. The old wrangler had, at one time, been the youngest member of the Broken J, but now he was the oldest living man still living on the ranch.

  “We’re talking about the war effort,” Lilly replied. “Mary Bridgette is leaving with Eric in the morning.”

  Steve huffed, he wasn’t one to meddle in the lives of those he loved, but he didn’t think it was wise for the young woman to go. “We need young women here at home as well,” he mumbled under his breath. Steve had never been one to give an opinion on the running of the Broken J. As a young man he’d signed on with Joshua James, after a difficult prairie crossing, to work and was happy to have a place where people let him be who he was.

  Mary Bridgette looked up at the old man her eyes kind. “We all need to do our part in whatever way we’re led,” she agreed.

  Dinner continued, a normal moment in an abnormal time. The whole family seemed to try harder to show their love to each other, but laughter still came easy at the table, as men and women shared little details of their day and the work they had done. Taylor was sketching out the plans for the next day’s wood cutting operation and insisting that his old steam tractor would be used to do the hauling.

  Even Mary’s Aunt Mae and Uncle Reese had joined them, coming down from the hill where they had built their home, bringing their rapidly growing twins Matthew and Madison with them. Reese had received notice that as the resident doctor in the area he would be called to work at nearby Fort Russell helping to care for soldiers who would be shipping out soon.

  Maddie and Mathew, Mae’s twins, had grown so much over the past few years, and they quickly fell in with their cousins laughing and talking about school. Mary wasn’t sure if the twins would stay on the ranch with Nona and the rest of the family, or if they would travel with Reese, but she knew that wherever they were they would be well loved.

  As dinner ended Reginald, Lexi’s husband, pulled out his fiddle and began to play leading the family in song. Meg and Clayton, Blake’s parents, joined their voices to the tune and soon the whole family was singing familiar songs that had been passed down for years.

  Mary Bridgette watched her family soaking in every sound, image, and expression storing them in her heart to be played again and again in her dark moments. Tomorrow she was leaving, going far away, and she didn’t know when she would return. Her eyes traced the lines of time and age on each face and her heart questioned the changes of time. It was not an easy thing to leave your home for the first time, but she knew she had to follow her heart’s conviction.

  As Reg laid his fiddle down and sleepy children were collected Will stood gathering the others close. “Tomorrow Eric and Mary will be leaving,” the lean wrangler said his voice cracking slightly. “Let’s all gather around and pray for their safe return.”

  Arms circled around the big blonde cowboy and the slim dark haired girl as Will’s voice rose in reverent prayer.

  Chapter 3

  Mary bid her family good-bye in the chill darkness of a dawning day then climbed into the big wagon seat.

  Behind her Eric was saying a tearful good-bye to his wife Joan and their three boys. Young Joshua nodded seriously when his father told him to look after his mother. As Eric kissed his sons and promised to write, his father climbed up on the bench of the oversized wagon and shook out the lines for his team of gray percheron horses.

  “You ready for this?” Hank asked softly leaning close to Mary.

  “I’m ready,” Mary replied. “This must be hard for you,” she added glancing at Eric.

  Hank nodded looking up at Fiona who stood quietly on the front porch of the big house, tears in her eyes. “It’s a bad time, but we all need to do our part.”

  Mary looked up at her own mother feeling the sharp pinch of departure but thankful that her mother stood bravely smiling for her girl even though it hurt to say good-bye.

  From the other side of the barn across the yard, the sound of the massive steam tractor that Taylor used for harvesting wood in the distant hills, churned to life. The big black engine would be used for the wheat harvest and threshing that fall as well to insure maximum production.

  “You’ll miss the first day of wood cutting,” Mary said to her uncle. “Couldn’t someone else drive?”

  Hank smiled easing his big shoulders under his jacket. “No, I needed to do this. Me and Eric showed up here nearly twenty years ago in this very wagon. If he sees need to leave, he can go out the same way.”

  Mary could feel reluctance mingled with determination emanating from Hank Ballard, and she felt again the tinge of doubt about her decision to join the efforts of the Salvation Army. She knew just how painful it was for everyone to say good-bye. Already her heart clenched with the sorrow of parting.

  “It will be alright,” Hank said picking up on her thoughts as Eric kissed Joan one more time then climbed up next to them. “We all have a different path to follow, and only the Good Lord knows where it will lead.”

  Mary smiled stiffly waving as the horses leaned into their harness starting the trek toward the nearest town, Tipton. It was a long ride and it would be an even longer train ride to New York. As much as she hated the fact that they were leaving the Broken J behind, she was glad that at least she would have her cousin Eric with her for this part of the journey.

  Looking back over her shoulder only once, Mary saw her mother turn into her father’s arms but then look up and wave cheerfully as if tears didn’t already mar her lovely face.

  As the big team made the turn out of the ranch yard and onto the road leading toward the school Reese Hamilton met them on the road waving Hank to a stop. “I’ve prepared these notes for both of you,” the dark haired man said. “They contain some basics of medical aid that may benefit you.”

  “Thank you,” Mary Bridgette said taking the soft leather bound journal from her uncle. “I’ll cherish it.”

  “Just make sure you read it too,” Reese offered a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he waved them on.

  “Your uncle is a good doctor,” Hank commented. “You’ll do well to follow his lead and read that information. You never know what will happen on foreign shores.”

  “I’ll read it Pa,” Eric said, his voice rough with emotion.

  “I’ll read it too Uncle Hank,” Mary agreed. “It will give me a connection to home if nothing else.”

  Hank slapped the reins to his new team setting them into a ground eating trot. This new Jack and Scott, replacements for the Clydesdales he had arrived at the ranch with, were coming along well, but he had work to do and today’s drive would put some much-needed miles on the young team. Hank had counted on his oldest son helping him train the team, but now he would do it on his own.

  As the big red wagon trotted past the school house, Alexis and the children lined the road waving homemade flags and cheering them on, and lifting their hearts.

  It was almost evening by the time the big red wagon rolled into Tipton. The town was a mad bustle of activity as men prepared to ship out and commerce set the pace of living.

  “You go on in to the boarding house,” Hank said helping Mary from the wagon. “Me and Eric will unload the wagon and be along soon.”

  Mary tipped up on her toes kissing her uncle on the cheek. The big man smiled squeezing her hand softly. He was a gentle giant of a man, and Mary couldn’t remember her life without him in it.

  Turning Mary opened the door into the noisy boarding house. It was rare for the whole James family to travel all the way to Tipton anymore, but on rare occasions they had all bundled into the big wagon or saddled up to make the long trek to town and the building was familiar to the family.

  Today however, it was bursting with Salvation Army workers, and Mary smiled when she saw Mrs. Baker in her long blue coat and cap.

  “Mary Bridgette,” Mrs. Baker said giving Mary a curt no
d. “I’m glad you were able to make it. We ship out first thing tomorrow morning, and I want all you girls to keep close. There will be no suggestion of impropriety on my watch.”

  The girls all smiled at each other, understanding that the older woman meant no disrespect by her words. They were off to a foreign land with no idea what to expect, and any hint of scandal could easily undo all of the efforts the organization had worked so hard to achieve.

  “Our leader Commander Evangeline Booth is counting on each of us to provide care as needed in France. We must be strong and hold to our faith,” the woman continued. “Though we are few, we will render what aid we may.”

  The others assembled nodded as they gathered around the table accepting their role in the march to the front.

  Mary settled at the table and gazed about her. Their numbers were few, but their fervor was strong. She wondered what the new day would bring as she listened to the plan of the Salvationists.

  ***

  Eric Ballard stood next to his father gazing through the window at his cousin. Mary Bridgette had been named after her grandmother and her great grandmother Blakely, both women who had been strong of heart and full of determination that had left a legacy to the women of the James family.

  Eric could see the stubborn set to the younger woman’s chin and chuckled. “She looks like she’s ready to take the fight straight to the front lines.”

  Hank dropped a heavy hand on his son’s shoulder. “You volunteered as well,” he said, his gray eyes sad. “Are you sure you’re ready to leave Joan at home?”

  “No,” Eric answered honestly. “But I know that I couldn’t look her in the eye properly if I didn’t follow my convictions. Joan understands Pa,” Eric said softly. “She doesn’t like it, but she understands.”

  “You’ve got a big heart Eric and I know that half of the reason you decided to go was because there are others you want to protect.”

  Eric nodded. “I can’t think of others going off to fight from the ranch,” Eric agreed. “What if they called Blake? He’s just a boy. And what of the teams out there on the front lines, I have skills that other men might not that could make a difference. I trained at almost everything on the Broken J thanks to you. I feel that I have a part to play. Maybe just my extra muscle can turn the day.”

  “I’m proud of you Eric,” Hank admitted. “I’m proud of Mary Bridgette too. Just be careful,” he added turning and hugging his boy who had become such a good man.

  Chapter 4

  The sea journey from New York started well, but as the Salvationists moved across the Atlantic many of the girls grew homesick, and when the weather blew up a storm, fears assailed.

  Mary, somehow untouched by the rolling sea tended her fellow Salvationists as best she could and when hints of fear tinged already strained faces she lifted her voice in song. God will Take Care of You, soon filled the ship and as they moved out of the rougher weather nerves calmed. Mrs. Baker shifted among the young women encouraging and praying with each of them as well, and soon a strong sense of community and partnership connected everyone.

  At one point, they even celebrated a girl’s birthday as the late days of April rolled by. Hot Chocolate and ginger ale were served as a birthday treat to the lucky participants and a sense of cheer permeated the ship. Despite the trials of the journey, spirits remained high by journey’s end and soon Mary was looking toward the docks of a brand new shore wondering what came next.

  Mary didn’t know exactly what lay ahead of her, but she knew that she had given her heart to God first, the cause second and believed that whatever befell she had a part to play.

  Earlier that year another contingent of Salvationists had arrived and she understood that huts had been built behind the trenches that had been dug along the French countryside. These hutments would be the primary area that the girls would work and provide what comfort they could to the doughboys in uniform.

  After a quick tour of Paris, a city both dark and dour from the pressures of war, Mary Bridgette found herself on her way to Ligny, where a Chateau served as headquarters for the Salvation Army. There, along with the others, she was given a lecture on moral conduct, a gas mask, helmet, and revolver.

  Several of the girls bulked at the firearms, but as they were shown how to use each item and grew comfortable with them the items were taken with thanks.

  On the ranch Mary had learned to shoot along with her cousins. Nona and the James daughters had all insisted that the girls be taught to shoot. After several incidents with outlaws over the years and the necessity of removing varmints or firing shots to summon help, they all believed it was best to feel comfortable with a fire arm and all of the children were taught both respect and safe handling of any firearm.

  The Salvation Army lassies as they were called by the soldiers were also regaled with hair raising war stories, admonished about fraternization or any favoritism among the soldiers and trained in the use of the gas masks they were given.

  Pulling the smelly rubber mask over her face Mary concentrated on thoughts of home and the fresh air that surrounded the Broken J to endure the suffocating feeling of the protective device. The mask didn’t have to stay on forever she reminded herself. She only had to get through the initial training.

  Two days later Mary along with a girl named Celeste was in a hut behind the trenches and learning how to make doughnuts for the doughboys.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever made so many doughnuts in my life,” Celeste, her companion and coworker said as together they rolled dough, cut it and dropped the round discs into hot grease. “I didn’t think this was what I would be doing when I signed on.”

  Mary smiled. No matter how many doughnuts they made, it seemed that the soldiers were always clambering for more, and they worked from early morning to late evening. When not cooking, they would do mending, lead singing, or provide simple services to those in need. It was what the Salvationists did.

  The rains that spring had been torrential and the trenches were rank with mud. Spirits had dropped as the water rose but two of the hut girls, desperate to find something to buoy moral, determined to make doughnuts for the boys. The young women had no idea how well the doughnuts would work, but they had surely done much for raising moral.

  It had been a normal day when Helen Purviance and Margaret Sheldon, with little left in way of supplies on that dank day, but they had enough flour, sugar, lard, and soda to mix up a batch of hand turned doughnuts. The story had it that Helen and Margaret had used an old wine bottle for a rolling pin and had fried those first doughy treats in a helmet over their tiny wood stove. Now the Salvationists cooked thousands of doughnuts daily to keep up with demand, but it was worth it to see the happy smiles on worn and weary faces.

  Still Mary was amazed at the hours of hard work that went in to cooking treats, mending clothes, and generally providing what homey service they could to the soldiers. Each night she collapsed into bed exhausted and overwhelmed by the need and demand.

  When the first shells began to fall as enemy airplanes strafed the trenches. Mary’s heart cried for help, and she shook with fear but determined to face it even as the brave young men held their own in the shattered trenches along the line.

  “Mary, Mary,” Celeste cried as they gathered their equipment making ready to evacuate. “Look at the hut,” the other girl said her dark eyes full of fear and wonder at the hole a piece of shrapnel had torn into the wooden structure.

  Outside more shooting continued as again the bi-wing planes buzzed overhead like a swarm of angry hornets.

  Mary Bridgette peaked up through the tiny window of the hut and gasped as bright red machines dove from the sky only to be met by the gray hawk like planes flown by French and American pilots.

  The shower of sparks, made by the rain of bullets, and the heavy bombardment of artillery shattered the air like a fourth of July gone mad.

  “Let’s move,” an army private called hurrying the girls from the hut as more bombs shattered th
e earth around them.

  Men were running everywhere as the attack continued, some standing in the trenches while others pulled wounded comrades to cover.

  Ambulances stood idling as stretchers were carried to and fro collecting those in need of immediate care.

  As Mary stepped from the hut a bomb fell in an abandoned bunker spraying her and those around her with dirt and one of the orderlies fell dropping the stretcher to the ground.

  Mary raced to the scene, grabbing the driver by the arm and hefting the stretcher in her hands.

  “Celeste,” she called summoning the younger woman to help.

  Together the two women and the other orderly managed to get the wounded into the back of the wagon but as the door was closed behind them the rapid fire of an attacking plane pelted the space pinging off the back door and the driver dropped to the earth dead.

  “Mary, what do we do?” Celeste cried pressing a rag to the wounded soldiers shoulder.

  “I’ll drive,” Mary barked climbing over the front seat and dropping into the seat, as she prayed this was just like driving the tractor at home.

  “You don’t know how to do that, we have to get help.”

  Mary shoved the ambulance into gear cringing at the grinding sound, then popped the clutch and coasted toward the nearest road.

  The angry buzz of the air battle above grew louder as the planes turned for another round but Mary pushed the gas pedal hard and bounced them away along the road.

  “Where will you go?” Celeste said. “I can’t tend both of these men myself.”

  “Do your best,” Mary’s voice was like the crack of ice on a spring day. “I’m heading back the way we came in. Pray we can get out.”

  Behind them the rat-tat-tat of enemy fire, the boom of big guns, and the anguished cries of soldiers echoed as Mary drove.

  There was nothing they could do now but pray and hope to get these men to the hospital before it was too late.