In Falling Snow (18 page)

I remain, yours sincerely, Miss Flower Bird,

Miss Flower Bird

I sat there beside the wooden box and stared at the letter. Dr. McKellar had told me I shouldn't go back to Royaumont because of my heart. I didn't say to her that my heart was the very reason I had to go.

I'd been twenty minutes coaxing the stove in Blanche to life, only to walk away for half a minute and have the thing go out again. It was a special anthracite stove, the newest thing, hopeless compared to the old Kooka at home but supposedly good for warming our large wards. I couldn't get the correct amount of air inside to sustain the fire. It kept going out like this and as I'd let myself become the resident fire expert, they'd call me back to relight it.

I had been to the Croix-Rouge offices in Paris often with Miss Ivens since the hospital opened but I hadn't seen the officer I'd met when the inspection team visited the abbey to accredit us at the beginning. I saw the name Jean-Michel Poulin on reports occasionally but I didn't see Jean-Michel Poulin himself and found myself disappointed each time I returned from Paris on the train.

I didn't mention this to anyone, least of all Violet, who had teased me for weeks after the inspection, even implying to Miss Ivens that the officer had been sweet on me and that's what led to such a positive report.

By the end of February, the Croix-Rouge were so impressed with Royaumont that they were asking us to open more wards. This we did, using not only the rooms we'd originally intended on the second floor—our Elsie Inglis ward—but also the monks' guest hall down on the first floor's west wing. During the winter we had used it as a general storeroom, but now, as our Queen Mary ward, it would provide an extra fifty beds.

“You've a visitor, Iris,” Quoyle said, and at first I confess I wondered if it might be him, Jean-Michel Poulin, although I knew that would be ridiculous. “An Australian,” she said. “A handsome one.”

I threw the lump of anthracite I was holding into the little stove and ran to Miss Quoyle and kissed her. Then I rushed from the ward, took the stairs two at a time, and heard her yelling behind me, “In the cloisters, dear.” I'm sure she thought me fresh. I couldn't have cared less. I went outside without coat or hat. There was no one in sight. I looked left and right. No one. And then he emerged from behind the pillar right in front of me. A sound came from me and my heart thumped against my ribs.

It was Tom, all right, as large as life. Taller, thinner about the face perhaps, looking more man than boy in the greatcoat, but with Tom's grin and eyes. “Jesus, Iris, you'll crush me.” I had my arms around him without even realising I'd put them there. The smell was his smell, his oily sweet apple smell, but he was a good two inches taller than me now. He'd started shaving; I could see the shadow on his face and I felt the roughness when we embraced. He'd stretched into manhood and I'd missed it.

“Oh Tom,” I sighed, wiping tears from my cheeks.

“Hell, Iris, what's the matter with you?” he said, holding me at arm's length, smiling, which only set me off again.

I couldn't tell him what I'd feared, could only look into his face and cry. He hugged me close then, held on as I sobbed.

Violet and I had sent the wire to Chantilly when we returned from Senlis. A sergeant at the new Allied Command Headquarters had wired back that they'd do their best to locate Tom. And then I'd waited. I'd told myself I mustn't worry, but my dreams were full of fear. Many of the women had brothers or cousins who were fighting, though none as young as Tom. I looked at the way they went on regardless of the danger their own relatives were in, and I wanted to be as brave as they were.

Tom took my arms from around his neck and looked at me and smiled but when I tried to smile back, I just cried again. Orderlies walked past, each carrying a lump of anthracite for the stoves, and Mrs. Berry, who looked as if she wanted to speak to me, but smiled and kept going instead. News of my visitor would be all around Royaumont within the hour.

“I hadn't heard,” I sniffed. “I thought . . . I don't know what I thought. Are you all right?”

“'Course I'm all right,” Tom said, noticing the glances and smiles from my colleagues. “I got your letter, Iris. I was going to write and then my captain said a mad young woman had gone to Senlis when they were under attack, looking for me, and that sounded pretty familiar—the mad young woman bit. I think you saw a corporal there. He was pretty worried about you apparently. Anyway, he asked if the captain knew me. The captain asked had I upset a young redhead. So I thought I'd better come and find you.” It was Tom's slow drawl, though his voice was nearly as deep as Daddy's now. “You know what happens? The letters go to England and then come back here. It's still pretty quick, considering. What about this place, Iris? It's a palace. God, it's good to see you.”

Eventually I stopped crying. “Are you well, Tom?” I said, holding on to both his hands.

“I'm grand,” he said. “I'm a proper soldier.” He grabbed at his hat to show me. “A British soldier, can you believe it?”

“But where are you stationed?”

“I'm just at Chantilly. I'm with the post office, believe it or not.”

“The post office?”

“Officially the Royal Engineers—Special Reserve, Postal Section. We do the mail for all the soldiers.”

“You're safe.”

“Safest job in the war,” he said. “I work out from the lists where the soldiers are, then sort the mail into bags. And soon I might even get to deliver it. You're the most popular bloke around if you're bringing letters from home.”

“When we didn't hear, I thought . . .” I didn't go on for fear I'd start crying again. “Come in and we'll have a drink.”

Tom followed me inside and we went into the staff dining room—the monks' refectory—where we kept a pot of hot tea. I made his tea, half milk and three sugars, and black for myself. We sat down at one of the long tables. Tom had taken off his hat when we went inside and with that mess of dark red curly hair he looked more like the boy he'd been when I last saw him. He told me about his boat trip to England, and signing up with the Engineers. “When I got here to France, I was supposed to be going up to Amiens, with an infantry company. At that time I didn't know the battles from the bush. But one of the officers asked me what work I'd done back home. I said I'd been a postie, not knowing that's what I'd end up doing.”

“But that's a lie, Tom.”

“Not completely. Remember last Christmas I delivered the post?”

“For two weeks, and you only carried the extra for Garth.”

“Well, I had to say something. He asked me how old I was anyway, the bugger. I said I was nineteen and he asked me was I sure. No one else had doubted me, not in Sydney, not on the ship. I told him I was and he sat there a while just looking at me.

“There was another bloke with him, Captain Driscoll, who was recruiting for his own unit, the postal unit that is, and he said to the first bloke, just put him in with me. Turns out there's quite a few of us in Captain Driscoll's unit who aren't nineteen. He has a thing about it. I don't mind, other than I feel a bit useless. The unit's mostly made up of retired posties and some of the old blokes look at me and I know what they're thinking. The blokes I came across with, they're in the thick of things. And I'm sorting bloody mail,” he said.

I wasn't listening to Tom. I was elated. Tom was safe. If I could have met right then that wise Captain Driscoll who gave my little brother a safe job, I'd have thanked him with all my heart.

When we'd finished our tea I grabbed my coat and scarf and we went back outside. We walked across the abbey grounds. It was a fine clear afternoon. I showed Tom the remaining stones that marked the outline of where the church had been. I'd read the abbey's history now. Royaumont was completed in the thirteenth century for Louis IX as his summer palace. During construction, the sixteen-year-old king visited each day to work with the stonemasons and monks. He'd kneel down with them and pray so that God would reside in the very walls they were building. “King Louis was about your age when he built this,” I told Tom. The abbey's church, more ambitious in design than any that had been built before, was demolished during the French Revolution. The abbey was sold to a cotton miller who installed the paddlewheel for the mill. After the miller moved out, the Sisters of the Holy Family of Bordeaux planned to establish a novitiate, but the nuns too gave up and sold the abbey to Monsieur Gouin's family. “And Monsieur Gouin donated the abbey to us.”

I told Tom all about Miss Ivens and the other women. “At first I thought we couldn't do it. You should have seen the place, Tom. And some of them don't have a lick of sense. But we have done it,” I said. “Miss Ivens is the most marvellous person. She has a way of believing in you that makes you think you can do anything. The British Red Cross didn't want anything to do with us but the French jumped at the chance. I can hardly believe it.”

We had walked across into the forest. The leafless trees made lovely forms against the blue of the sky. It was late already, the light fading into evening. “It's great you came over,” Tom said. “We'll never forget it, you know. It will make us.” It was strange to hear Tom talking so seriously. I was always the more serious when we were younger.

I didn't tell Tom I'd come to France to take him home. I didn't want to scare him off. Not yet, I told myself. We'd been asked to extend the hospital, which would mean creating new wards and recruiting more staff. Miss Ivens would need me there. At any rate, I thought, the war would be over soon. Tom was safe in the postal service so we might as well stay.

“How's the old man?” Tom said then, looking me in the eye, not with defiance, as I might have expected, but with fear.

“Has he written you?” I asked softly.

“Only about ten times, telling me to come home.”

I chose my words carefully. “He's frightened. I'll write and tell him I've seen you and you're in a safe job. He'll come round.” But even as I said it, I doubted its truth.
You've no idea what you've done, Iris.

We'd walked for two hours and hardly noticed the time, but soon darkness would be upon us. “We should get back,” I said. “I'm on nights.”

We came out of the forest and onto the road that would take us back to the abbey. Before long I heard a motor. It was Violet in her ambulance. She tooted and blew me a gloved kiss and pulled up a few yards down the road. “Who's he?” Tom said, looking put out by the familiarity.

“She,” I said. “Violet Heron. I told you about her. She's my friend. Come on, we'll grab a lift.”

Violet was dressed in a wool coat and her long pants and boots. She wore a leather cap and goggles and gloves against the cold. “Hullo,” she called as she jumped down from the ambulance. “Want a ride, honey?” She pulled off a glove and offered her hand to Tom. “I'm Violet,” she said. “You must be Tom.” She turned to me and smiled. “You found him, darling!” I nodded, grinning.

“I am Tom,” he said. “But how did you know?”

“Iris doesn't have time for a suitor. She's mentioned her handsome brother.” Violet pulled up her goggles. “She wasn't kidding. You can sit by me, sweetie.”

Tom blushed. “She's mentioned you too,” he managed to say.

“Want a lift?”

“Rather walk,” he said, clearly annoyed at himself for being embarrassed.

“Forget it, Tom,” I said. “It will be freezing in about half an hour. Violet's saved our bacon.”

“Can you take me to the station then?” Tom said. “There's a train back at six.”

“Of course,” Violet said. “Iris, I've just been to Creil. They say we'll have another rush. The word ‘imminent' was used.” After the first busy time when the hospital opened, we'd had a lull. Now, it seemed, we'd be back to double shifts. But even the prospect of days and days without rest couldn't take the shine off my day right then.

We climbed into the car, me in front, Tom on one of the benches in back. Violet started up and set off along the track. “Iris tells me she's going to send you home,” she called back to Tom.

I turned around to see him glaring at me. “Is that true?” he said with fierceness in his eyes.

“I told you Daddy was worried,” I said. “And so was I until I saw you.”

“But is it true?”

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, I'm supposed to take you home.” Oh Violet, I thought, I wish you hadn't said anything.

“I don't want to go. I won't,” he said, sounding like he had as a child of six, refusing to go to school if I didn't sit in his classroom.

“Oh pet,” Violet said. “Aren't you a baby boy? I told Iris she should let you stay. But now I think she ought to take you home and put you into bed. You might need a little nap.” She glanced over my way, a little smile on her face. I shook my head slightly to try to get her to stop but I don't think she noticed.