Tabitha (26 page)

“May I assist you, Nurse Hale?” the sister asked.

“I would be honored, Sister,” Tabitha replied.

It took four weeks for every VAD to complete the training.
Afterward, with the permission of Sister McDonald, she assigned her proctors to
oversee the regular bathing of patients in her ward until the VADs were deemed
able to perform the task without supervision.

Then Tabitha moved her proctors to another ward and repeated
the process. Slowly, the VADs began to assume the responsibility for bathing
patients.

Between class times, Tabitha visited wards and monitored her
students, lending her hands, modeling correct habits and, when needed, applying
discipline.

Discipline, she discovered, was an ongoing problem. A few of
the patients were incorrigible flirts—and some of the VADs flirted back. When
Tabitha first witnessed one of her VADs flirting, she called the girl into the
hall and did not mince words.

“VADs and nurses do not fraternize with patients, Edwards,
nor do they, at any time, behave unprofessionally in the wards—regardless of a
patient’s manner. Do you understand me?”

Edwards, a sulky young woman, pursed her mouth and did not
answer.

“I asked you a question, Edwards.”

“Yes, I understand,” the girl ground out.

“You will address me correctly and with a proper attitude or
I shall assign corrective measures.” Tabitha’s tone was icy.

“Yes, I understand, Nurse Hale,” Edwards whispered, but
underneath she was still defiant.

Tabitha stared with cold disdain until the young woman’s
eyes dropped to her shoes.

“You have a good touch, Edwards,” Tabitha murmured, “and can
make something of yourself without flirting. Do not make the mistake of
thinking a
worthy
young man will respect a girl with loose manners.”

She softened her tone further. “If you wish to have respect
for yourself at the end of the day, do not sell yourself cheap. Rather, give
yourself and our profession the honor and attention they deserve. Do I make
myself clear?”

“Yes, Nurse Hale. Thank you.”

The chastened girl returned to her work and Tabitha was
gratified to see her attitude improve. As for the young man who was the other
half of the problem . . .

Tabitha inquired of the nursing sister on that ward who
pointed out the soldier at the heart of the issue.

“Sister, may I have your permission to speak to your patient
regarding his behavior toward the VADs?” Tabitha asked.

“You have my permission, Nurse Hale. Corporal Perkins needs
a good set-down.” Sister Ingram chewed her lip a moment. “I believe I shall
enjoy watching you administer it.”

“Thank you, Sister.”

Tabitha strode into the ward and, without hurry, walked from
bed to bed until she had made her way toward the loud offender. His leg was
splinted and held in traction; other than that, he seemed in good health.
Certainly he was in good spirits: He told loud, animated, off-color jokes and
generally enjoyed being the center of the other patients’ attention.

For their part, his fellows seemed to have tired of the
corporal’s boisterous manner, but he seemed to take no notice.

Tabitha walked to his bed and stood by his side, her hands clasped
in front of her apron. “Good morning. It is Corporal Perkins, is it?”

“Blimey! Aren’t you the Very Adorable Darling! Hair like a
fiery sunset, wot? Hey, Red! Come give us a closer look.”

Some patients had redefined the VAD acronym to stand for
“Very Adorable Darlings.” It was the first time a patient had called Tabitha
so. She thought it a sweet toast to the volunteers who worked so hard to care
for the war wounded—but only when kept in proper bounds.

As for Corporal Perkins calling her ‘Red’? Tabitha’s fingers
hurt as she clasped them tighter and commanded herself to remain cool and calm.

Tabitha was also well aware that Sister Ingram was observing
the scene and that the four VADs on the ward—including VAD Edwards—had stilled,
waiting to see what the Head VAD was doing.

Tabitha stared, unblinking, at the young man until the noise
in the ward died down—until the other patients recognized the drama about to
unfold. Until Corporal Perkins himself appreciated that he was the center of
attention.

The wrong kind of attention.

“Wot?”

Tabitha continued to look at him until he started to fidget.
His head swiveled side-to-side, and he saw that the entire ward was focused on
him—and on the beautiful but stern VAD standing before him.

He flushed and licked his lips. “Ah, beg your pardon, miss.”

“You will address me as Nurse Hale, Corporal,” Tabitha said
with quiet firmness.

His mouth opened a little.

“Nurse Hale,” Tabitha repeated.

“I, uh, I beg your pardon, Nurse Hale,” he muttered.

“I cannot hear you, Corporal.”

He flushed again, irritated, but he growled, “I beg your
pardon,
Nurse Hale
.”

“Edwards, come here,” Tabitha commanded.

Her chastened and embarrassed VAD scrambled to Tabitha’s
side. “Yes, Nurse Hale?”

“Corporal, do you see this volunteer?”

“Yeah.”

“You will address me correctly, soldier,” Tabitha snapped.

“Yessir! I mean, yes, Nurse Hale!”

A titter went around the other patients’ beds, and the
unlucky Corporal Perkins blushed a darker red.

“Corporal Perkins, I am Head of the Volunteer Aid Detachment
for this hospital. As such, I am responsible for VAD training and behavior. My
VADs are not your ‘darlings,’ Corporal. They are honorable servants of the
Crown and of England. You will not flirt with them. You will not disrespect
them. You will treat them with the deference their profession demands. Do I
make myself clear?”

He swallowed, glanced around at the nodding, approving
glares of his fellow soldiers. He huffed and capitulated. “Yes, Nurse Hale.” He
swallowed again and, while staring at his coverlet, mumbled to Edwards, “I beg
your pardon, miss.”

Tabitha waited a long—a very long—moment more, then swiveled
on her heel and addressed the patient in the bed next to Perkins. “And how are
you today, Private?”

A collective sigh rippled through the ward as the tension
eased.

Corporal Perkins, Sister Ingram reported to Tabitha later,
was subdued and docile the remainder of the day. “VAD Edwards, also,” she added
with an approving slant of her eyes toward Tabitha.

As rushed off her feet as Tabitha had been since she arrived
at Colchester, she hardly realized that five weeks had passed. In one respect,
she felt she had been in England for months. In another, the weeks had flown
by.

In all regards, Tabitha was busier in her new position than
she had ever been in the Emergency Services ward in Denver. Even so, the mantle
of responsibility for the VADs was something she loved from the outset. And
Matron Stiles and Sister Alistair, with few words but many favorable nods, told
her she was making satisfactory progress with her trainees.

I love these women, Lord,
Tabitha admitted.
I love
this work . . . and I am good at it.

But as she crawled into bed that night, it dawned on her
that Carpenter had not replied to her letter.
O Lord, surely he has received
my message. Could it be that he is upset with me? That he is angry that I left
the safety of Denver and am here near the war zone?

No
, she assured herself as she drifted to sleep.
But
it is also not like him not to respond. I am certain a letter is coming. It
will be here soon.

She thought of the three-day pass she had hoped to earn so
she could visit his air base. With reluctance, she admitted how unlikely it was
that Matron would grant her one in the foreseeable future.

When, with my new duties, will I ever be free to take
time off?

Her responsibilities seemed to have no end. As
geographically near as Mason’s posting was to hers (comparatively speaking),
would either of them ever have time to visit the other?

She was writing a letter in the ward for convalescing
officers when the Sister in charge whispered in her ear, “Nurse Hale, a message
from Matron’s office has arrived. Please report to Matron as soon as possible.”

Tabitha nodded. “Thank you, Sister. Please excuse me,
Captain, but I have been called away. Perhaps Norwich will finish composing
your letter?” She beckoned for the VAD to come and take her place.

It was mid-August. The sea breeze that reached the town by
way of the Colne River was fresh and did much to alleviate the heat and smoke
of the city’s factories and wool mills. Tabitha stretched her legs as she
walked from the hospital to the administration buildings and closed her eyes
momentarily to rest them.

I am tired, Lord, but such a good tired. Thank you for
bringing me here, for letting me serve in a meaningful manner.

She tripped up the steps to the matron’s offices, a light
bounce in her step. “Good morning, Miss Thompson. Matron asked for me?”

Miss Thompson smiled and Tabitha wondered at the glow on her
cheeks. “Um, yes. Good morning! Nurse Hale, Matron has granted you a half-day
pass. Please be back for dinner.”

“Sorry. I do not understand.” Tabitha shook her head in
confusion, but Miss Thompson giggled a little, lifted a languid hand, and
pointed behind Tabitha, to her left. Tabitha followed the direction of Miss
Thompson’s finger.

“Hello, Nurse Hale.”

The air left Tabitha’s lungs and her heart tripped. “Mason?”

He crossed the room to her, and their hands met, twined, and
clung together. Tabitha could not tear her eyes from his face. “Oh, Mason!”

Miss Thompson coughed a tiny cough behind them. “Do have a
lovely afternoon,” she murmured. She smothered another giggle before it left
her mouth.

Mason drew her toward the door and they walked outside
together. He said nothing, but kept leading her away until they reached a shady
grove of trees. He led her within the sheltering branches of a willow—then he
pulled her into his arms and stared into her face as though trying to commit
every part of it to memory.

“Tabitha. My darling girl.”

Tabitha did not realize she was crying until he swiped a
tear from her cheek. “Mason! How did you get here?”

“Never mind that now. I want to kiss you, Tabitha. May I
kiss you?”

She nodded and he drew her closer until their lips met.
Tabitha tasted mint and a freshness she could not characterize. She wanted to
melt into his strength and remain there, but all too soon their lips drew
apart. She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed.

“Mason.”

“Yes, darling?”

“Mmm.” She nuzzled her face into his neck.

“Oh, I completely agree.”

After Tabitha changed out of her uniform, Carpenter took her
to a pub for lunch. When they saw how dark and smoky the pub was, Carpenter
asked the barman to pack them a lunch.

“Can we get to the Colne River from here?”

The barman looked them over. “For a nice bite on th’ grassy,
eh? Rec’mmend Castle Park, I do. Nice bit o’ th’ river flowin’ through. A mill
with a weir ’crossin’ th’ river. Perfect for sweethearts, eh?”

Tabitha blushed, but Mason grinned like a mad man. “Thanks,
mate.”

With a bound paper package in one hand and Tabitha on his
opposite arm, Mason followed the barman’s directions. They caught a bus to the
park and wandered toward a grassy knoll that sloped down to the river’s edge.

“This is lovely,” Tabitha murmured.

He squeezed her hand and they found a spot not far from the
slow-moving water. There they spread their ploughman’s lunch on the brown paper
they carried it in—crusty bread, cheeses, chutney, pickles and pickled onions,
a fruit tart, and two bottles of lemonade.

“What a beautiful old town,” Carpenter commented.

“Would you believe it? I have not been off hospital grounds
since I arrived,” Tabitha admitted.

“Speaking of hospital grounds, Miss Hale, I have neglected
to tell you how very angry I am with you.”

Tabitha ducked her head. It was softly spoken and partly in
jest, but enough of the truth bled through. “Are you so
very
angry,
Mason?” She looked at him with adoring eyes and he shook his head.

“You, my darling, are incorrigible. When I opened your
letter, my heart fell through my shoes to the ground. Do you know how many
ships the German U-boats have sunk?”

Tabitha thought it imprudent to mention the
Arabic’s
close call. “I arrived safely, as did you when you crossed over. And the work I
am doing is so important, Mason!”

He listened as she described her position in the hospital
and her role to better train the VADs.

“Already I can see such changes in these women. They are
beginning to take pride in their service and are eager to learn and to grow
their skills.”

Mason shook his head. “You are a natural leader, Tabitha. I
am so proud of you.”

She smiled in shy delight. “Thank you. And what of your
pursuits? How is your friend, Mr. St. Alban?”

“Cliff? He is well, thank you. I shall tell him you asked
after him. He and I work long hours every day with our pilots, primarily in the
two-seater
B.E.2
model aeroplane. It is a stable craft, quite suitable
for reconnaissance runs. Our pilots fly over the enemy positions while their
passengers take photographs and radio back German troop movements.

“The problem we face is that German aeroplanes can
outmaneuver the
B.E.
The Huns now have the
Fokker
, a new model
aeroplane that employs a machine gun. With this plane, the Germans dominate the
sky. We lose planes and pilots daily because of the
Fokker
.”

He was quiet a moment and Tabitha realized how painful those
losses were to him. He sighed and added, “Thankfully, the RFC is rethinking the
role of aeroplanes in this war. The French have paved the way with newer,
better models of aeroplanes that are as good as the Germans’. So now the
British are scrambling to manufacture new models, too—or order them from
America—and I am glad.”