Mary Bridgette

by Danni Roan

  “Yes,” Mary replied looking around as if expecting the tractor to appear. “I thought you had something you needed my help with,” she finally stated.

  Dr. Niven turned placing one arm over Mary’s head as he leaned in. “Miss Robertson, this is a particularly difficult time in man’s history. A time when we must find help and comfort where possible. I’d like to think you’d offer some comfort to a man like me, far from home.”

  Mary looked up into the doctor’s dark eyes seeing and unfamiliar light that made her uncomfortable. “I try to offer what kindness I can,” she replied quietly.

  Dr. Niven leaned in closer. “You’re not one of these poor sniveling little chits who don’t know what the world is about,” he said. “I can see that you are a mature woman with a mind of her own. One who surely worries little about convention or social rules,” he continued.

  Mary leaned back against the fabric of the building behind her feeling the heavy canvas draping much of the building rough on her skin.

  “I’m not really sure what you want me to say,” Mary spoke. “I came here to bring hope and some level of care to the men serving, fighting and dying in this terrible war. I wish only to help.”

  Dr. Niven leaned in closer, his hand dropping to Mary’s hip. “Then help me,” he said dropping his lips to hers.

  Mary, leaned back against the wall trying to get away from Dr. Niven, but there was nowhere to go. Eyes still open she placed her hands on the man’s chest and gave a hard shove staggering him back two paces.

  “Dr. Niven,” she barked. “I don’t know what has possessed you to ever think that your behavior is appropriate, let alone welcome,” Mary growled. “I am not here to fraternize with anyone, not even you, and I would thank you to not bother me further.”

  Ducking around the corner Mary hurried back inside passing soldiers who followed her with pain filled eyes.

  How had she been so naïve as to not see the signs of the doctor’s infatuation. Celeste had been right and she had been a fool. True the doctor had followed her around like a puppy the last time she’d been in the hospital and now this. It was unacceptable.

  “Miss, Miss,” a weak voice caught her attention and Mary hurried to a soldier who stretched out a hand in her direction. “Can I have a bit of water please,” the man asked his dark eyes bright with fever.

  Mary looked at his chart glancing down at the requirements for his treatment and noting that he was aloud water. “Of course,” she said hurrying to a caldron that held fresh water and retrieving a cup before rushing back.

  Lifting the man’s head gently she tipped the tin cup to his parched lips letting the cool liquid ease the heat of the fever.

  “Thank you,” the man said sagging back onto the cot. He was lean and pale and his skin had a waxy quality to it. Impulsively Mary reached out taking his hand in hers.

  “What’s your name?” she asked her voice too cheerful in her own ears.

  “I’m David,” he said his eyes unfocused as they stared at the ceiling above.

  “That’s a good name,” Mary said. “Where are you from David?”

  “I’m from Iowa,” a slight smile tugged at his cracked lips. “It’s winter there now, but in the spring we’ll do the planting, all those tiny seeds going into the ground and sprouting with the first rains.” His eyes were far away now but Mary continued to hold his hand. “By July the corn will be as tall as my knees and dad will be worrying about summer being too hot. He always worries.”

  Bright beads of sweat broke out on the soldier’s brow and Mary gathered a rag dipping it into the water and bathing his forehead.

  “Mother will plan a picnic,” the soldier continued. “When the corn gets so high you can’t see over it anymore, she’ll pack a lunch, and we’ll sit under the stalks in the shade. It’s cool under the corn, no matter how hot it gets it’s always cool in there.”

  The man’s voice was bare whisper but his eyes grew suddenly clear. “Tell mother I’m sorry I won’t be home for harvest,” he said his hand going limp in hers.

  A knot grew in Mary’s throat threatening to choke her and she let the tears pour from her eyes as she covered David with his blanket. He too would be planted in the fertile earth this very day, and only time would tell what his sacrifice would bring to fruition. Too many had already died here on foreign soil, far from home, far from family, far from hope.

  In a quiet voice, a voice that would never be the match of her Aunt Meg’s, Mary began to sing. The words of the familiar hymn lilting from her lips like a prayer. Only the fact that she believed so firmly in the words she sang held her in place as around her the world seemed determined to tear itself apart.

  As the sweet by and by continued to whisper from her heart, Mary was surprised when the sound of other voices joined with hers as those well enough to do so lifted the words to the heavens. We will meet on that beautiful shore.

  ***

  Dr. Niven slipped back into the tent like structure stopping in shock as the sounds of singing filled the space. Wounded men, their voice hushed in reverence sang softly offset by the sweet strains of a woman’s clear alto.

  Scanning the beds he caught sight of Mary Robertson as she gently folded dead soldier’s hands over his breast as she wept.

  Something cold and dark seemed to slip into his chest as the words of faith filled the hospital, and he wondered at his bold behavior earlier. Lifting his chin he pushed away the dark thoughts. He was a Niven. He was a doctor and a man of science, old superstition and ridiculous constraints of old-fashioned values meant nothing to him. His life was his own and no god would dictate his actions.

  The singing came to a quiet end replaced by the familiar hushed sounds of men coughing, or moaning in pain.

  “Dr. Niven, Oh Dr. Niven,” A nurse hurried toward him, and the lean doctor lifted his head. “I thought you’d like to know you got a letter from your wife,” the nurse said loudly her voice full of cheer. “I brought it right to you.”

  Dr. Niven looked across the ward to where Mary Bridgette glared back at him. The gig was up, and he knew it. Not only had he failed to woo the woman, he’d lost all hope of her believing he could be anything more to her than a fling. It was obvious that Miss Roberston would not fall for his charms.

  Snatching the letter from the nurse’s hands he turned on his heel and headed toward the officers mess for a stiff drink.

  Chapter 12

  “Are you sure you want to go back tonight?” Celeste asked as Mary began repacking her bag.

  “Yes, if a transport will take us I’d much rather go back now.” She stood up looking at her friend and companion. “You were right,” Mary admitted. “Dr. Niven is not an honorable man.”

  Celeste stepped up to Mary. “Did something happen?” she asked her eyes hard.

  “He tried to kiss me,” Mary said. “I suppose part of it is that I’m a bit older than some of the so called ‘lassies’. He seemed to believe that I was somewhat more worldly for it so to speak.”

  Celeste scowled. “I’m sorry if he’s upset you,” she offered. “Some people only ever think of themselves.”

  Mary smiled at her friend. It was nice of her to be indignant about the situation for her. “I think it is best if we go back now and avoid the good doctor from now on. I’m sure Mrs. Baker will understand.”

  “I quite agree. We have been warned enough time to avoid any form of familiarity that she’ll surely want to help us maintain that standing. You know there hasn’t been a single indication of impropriety in all the time we girls have served here. Perhaps we should do more with our Sunday services as well.”

  Mary smiled through lashes still damp from crying only moments ago. “I’m sure glad I got to know you,” she said. “I also think your right. We’ll put a little more effort into the spirit of the thing so to speak.”

  Celeste hurried around her cot and grabbed Mary in a fierce hug. Releasing Mary she ran back to her own bunk and began repacking her gear. Tomorrow it woul
d be more doughnuts and more doughboys; more prayer, and more patience.

  ***

  Over the next few weeks all through Christmas Mary poured her heart and soul into the efforts to ease homesickness and boost the spirits of the men around her.

  She was dedicated, determined, and dogged in her pursuit of her work. Still each time the gray hawks of the French air fleet soared over head she wondered about the man she’d pulled from the downed plane. Was he still safe? Had he, like so many others lost his final battle in the sky?

  Surely, this destruction and turmoil couldn’t go on much longer and collectively the Salvationists prayed daily for the war to end.

  The men were heartened though when in late November the British using modern tanks crashed through Germany’s strong holds, pushing them back more than ten thousand yards.

  As Christmas came, the women tried to bake special treats or decorate with any little item that might bring a smile or a Merry Christmas to the camps. The cold and bitter snows of winter blanketed everyone bringing with it a further misery to be endured.

  Mary and Celeste added hot chocolate to their treats and carried the beverage right down into the trenches when it was still. Sometimes Mary believed that the waiting was as terrible as the attacks.

  “It’s a good thing we have this stove,” Celeste said as the she added wood to the firebox. “We’d freeze solid otherwise.”

  “It’s this cold back home as well,” Mary said grinning at her friend.

  “Not where I’m from,” Celeste grumbled. “Is it really this cold where you’re from?”

  “Colder I’d say. One year we almost lost one of my uncles to a blizzard that blew up in April. That was before I was born, but still it proves my point. Wyoming is beautiful,” she added. “I love it when the first snows come, and the whole world goes silent with white. My father would stoke the fire in the living room, and we’d roast nuts or pop popcorn.”

  “I wish we had popcorn here,” Celeste said. “Wouldn’t it be fun to string garlands of it around this shack?”

  “We’ll just have to make due,” Mary said.

  “Did you hear the latest news,” Celeste asked. “The British have taken Jerusalem from the Turks.”

  “Yes I heard that but have you heard about the prohibition act?”

  “I hope it does some good,” Celeste nodded. “I’ve seen so many families devastated by a thirst for drink. My very own uncle, God rest his soul, had a terrible struggle with the bottle. He was the nicest man until he started drinking.” The dark haired young woman shook her head. “My mother always said that something like the prohibition laws would only lead to other troubles, but I don’t see how.”

  Mary tried to imagine what harm could possibly come from banning the manufacturing of alcohol. Surely it would bring an end to a great many ills within society.

  “It seems so much is changing,” Celeste continued. “I hope that the New Year will bring an end to this aggression. It’s time for all of us to be able to go home and start rebuilding.”

  “I pray it will happen,” Mary agreed as she rolled out dough to be fried. “This war has gone on long enough. I pray God will grant us peace.”

  Above, the roar of airplanes broke the stillness of the gray afternoon and Mary tried to peer into the clouds hoping to catch a glimpse of the bi-wings as they buzzed over the trenches preparing to take the fight to the other side.

  That evening the girls pulled together the men for a service as Christmas Eve arrived and handed out hot chocolate and sweet treats. Some of the men requested songs and together the girls led them in heartening carols as bright flakes of snow filtered from the sky.

  Chapter 13

  A frosty winter turned into a wet spring filling the trenches with more mud, muck, and misery.

  March brought with it reports of illness back home and soon the doctors, nurses, and troops alike were talking of the Spanish Flu, and its devastating effects on troops awaiting deployment.

  “I hope my cousin is well,” Mary said one day as she riffled through a letter from home. “They’ve started the spring planting and are collecting every bit of scrap they can find for the war effort. Apparently, they have even considered scrapping the tractor. The horses are good with the plow, but my uncle Taylor insists he needs the tractor to pull trees from the slopes of the foothills.”

  “Do you think they’ll keep it?” Celeste asked. “Doesn’t your uncle have a saw mill and sell to the Navy as well as provide for the local area?”

  “Yes, but metal is precious.”

  “What will he do if scrappers try to take it?” Celeste asked. She’d enjoyed some of the lively tales Mary had told of her home. Being from the city herself Celeste often thought that Mary embellished a bit just to make the stories more fun and even after months of working together she struggled to keep the large family straight.

  “Knowing my uncle, he’ll hide it. He’s a hard worker, and he’ll make up for it somehow.”

  Celeste laughed. Perhaps one day when this whole horrid war was over, she would travel out to see Mary Bridgette on the Broken J Ranch.

  It was amazing to think of how much things had changed over the years, and when Mary told the old stories of how the ranch had begun, Celeste found herself grateful for the modern world and all it had to offer. Still if a simpler time would have brought an end to these aggressions, she might have been willing to take that trade.

  Unfortunately, people were the same the world over, and their sinful hearts and broken communion with God often led to unnecessary trials. The frailties of mankind and the weaknesses of the flesh would continue to bring pain and suffering to the world.

  No matter how much those who promoted the idea that science was the answer to all woes, if they did not recognize the true character of the human heart, they could never offer healing for it. It was for this reason that Celeste had joined the Salvationists. So often only the atonement of the cross could change a heart.

  Celeste had seen it again and again as men and women struggled to be better only to fall once more into the very thing they longed to leave behind.

  It wasn’t until their hearts were changed that their circumstances would follow. So many hearts and lives had been changed by the message of Christ’s love yet others still resisted it.

  “Where have you gone,” Mary asked snapping Celeste from her thoughts.

  “I’m just being thankful for truth,” Celeste said, “It doesn’t really matter how long or how hard one denies it, truth is always truth.”

  ***

  A sludgy spring gave way to the warmth of summer, and even with the landscape torn and scarred, signs of new life and growing things showed themselves.

  In the early dawn Mary often found herself looking toward the sparse trees that lined fallow fields, and she strained to hear the songbirds as they welcomed a new day.

  The warmth of the weather brought new problems as exhaustion and heat took their toll on soldiers and servers alike.

  Still the hot doughnuts proved a treat to those still holding their ground, and the girls worked tirelessly listening for news that this engine of war must surely grind to a halt.

  May lifted spirits as American troops took a German stronghold taking the village and holding it against desperate counter attacks. Perhaps a foothold had been made, and the allies could finally push forward to end the madness that held the world in its grasp.

  In June, reports that the American mines around the English coast were holding and that German submarines could no longer wreak havoc among ships making port. Each report gave renewed hope and determination to those who waited holding the lines.

  “Mary, look at this!” Celeste called out as she fluttered a battered paper at her friend. “The Allied Forces have taken Aisne and Marne. It has taken weeks, but they have it and hold it. We’ve broken through most lines and even with setbacks there is no denying that we’re making progress.” Celeste bright eyes sparkled with life and hope at the news, and she
embraced Mary then raced along the line to tell others.

  July and August were proving to be good months for the Allies and Mary offered a prayer of thanks.

  Again the planes raced over head and she whispered another more specific prayer for the flyboys. Aerial warfare was something so new and yet brave men were using it to take back what had been lost. Mary had been amazed when so many American’s had joined the French flight before the USA had even declared war. These volunteers continued to amaze everyone with their precision raids and bombings.

  By September a weary crew of Salvationists gathered for services offering prayers for the men who trundling into St. Miheil in tanks. The American’s had proven their worth along with their allied counterparts and a great push was made to drive the enemy back. Little by little, day by day, the march continued and the work of the Salvation Army Lassies did as well.

  Mary was reminded of the verse in the bible that asked for just a cup of water. Perhaps doughnuts didn’t seem to be much of an effort in a war that engulfed the whole world, yet this small thing brought joy to those who served, and as long as she saw a smile, or felt the thanks of someone who found pleasure in that little bit of something, she would continue to work.

  As the warm days of summer turned reluctantly to a chilly autumn emotions rose and fell like the barrage balloons that covered the country side seeking out enemy troops. At one moment, reports of battles won buoyed spirits, at another they plunged low as negotiations failed.

  By November, a cold and weary line held firm, and the Salvationist did their best to spread reminders of thankfulness to the men.

  Each cup of cocoa, each cookie, each fresh donut made was to cheer on the men who stood against the enemy.

  When November eleventh broke gray and dank hope budded, springing into full glorious bloom as the Armistice was signed at eleven o’clock in the morning Paris time, bring fighting on the western front to a complete and final end.