The Sisters of St. Croix (6 page)

“Reverend Mother at the time refused to take the child as a novice, she was far too young, but she did agree to give her a home until she was old enough to make up her own mind. That made other families want to do the same. Three of our children were truly orphans, passed on to us by an aunt who couldn’t cope. Once the word got round that we accepted children, several have been deposited on our doorstep… what my father would have called children of shame!”

“And you took them all in?”

“Of course. Where else could the poor mites go? I was asked by Mother to look after them, to see to their day-to-day care and teach them, so that one day, should they choose to leave the convent, they would be able to earn their living in the world.”

“Did you want to do that?” asked Adelaide with interest. “I thought you were a nurse.”

Sarah laughed. “I was, after a fashion, but never a good one. Oh, I could scour bedpans and make beds, but the real nursing was left to those much more skilled than I. Anyway, as the wounded soldiers finally went home there was less call on our little hospital. No, I was delighted to take on the children. Our mother house in Paris also has an orphanage, and so it was well within the work of our order.”

“And you’ve had orphans ever since?” asked Adelaide.

Sarah sighed. “They still turn up on our doorstep from time to time. We’ve never turned one away. I don’t have the daily care of them now. That is the work of Sister Danielle. She, and one of the novices, Sister Marie-Joseph, take care of them now, and they go to the village school, so that they are part of the local community.”

“And the hospital? Has that gone? Are you no longer a nursing order?” asked Adelaide.

“After the war, when the last of our wounded had been sent home, a new, small hospital was built just outside the walls. Just two wards, one for men and the other for women. That is where we still nurse the local people, and look after the dying. During the war there were huts in the courtyard outside, dreadful, ramshackle affairs, but we needed the space then and they were better than nothing. Those, I’m glad to say, have gone. They were pulled down when the new hospital was built.” She sighed. “We’re kept busy enough, but nothing like the flood of wounded that came back from the front.”

“Tell me about my father,” Adelaide said. “Tell me about Freddie.”

Sarah smiled reminiscently. “Dear Freddie. He was the best of brothers. Our mother died when our younger brother, James, was born. He didn’t survive either, so there was my father and just the two of us. We were very close. When Freddie joined up in 1914 I missed him dreadfully, and when he wrote to us telling us of the dreadful state of affairs in the hospitals behind the lines, I persuaded my father to let me come, with my maid, Molly, to help nurse the wounded.”

“But why here?” asked Adelaide.

“Because nowhere else would have me! I was too young to join the VAD and anyway they wouldn’t have let me come to France for years. I wanted to be there straight away, to help. I’d done some Red Cross training and I thought I could be of use.” She gave a short laugh. “It turned out that my maid, Molly, was far more useful than I was. She knew how to make a bed, to do laundry, to scrub floors. And as it happened, she turned out to be a natural nurse.”

“But why here?” persisted Adelaide. “Why this convent?”

“Because my aunt was already here. My mother’s younger sister had joined the convent while I was still a child. It was she who persuaded the reverend mother that I could come and help. Persuading my father was the hardest part, but I finally managed it. So Molly and I came, and I’ve been here ever since.”

“What happened to Molly? Is she a nun too?”

Sarah laughed. “No, not Molly! She was decidedly Protestant. She didn’t approve of all this Popery at all. She only came with me because I pressed her to. My father really wouldn’t have allowed me to come completely alone.” Sarah sighed. “No, poor Molly fell in love with one of her patients, and when he… died… she was sent home in disgrace because she was expecting his child.”

“How sad!” Adelaide said. “What happened to her?”

“She went home to her parents and had the baby there. It wasn’t a happy household. When I took my vows I sent her all the money I had left. It wasn’t much, but I hoped it would give her a chance to break free and live her own life.”

“So where is she now?” asked Adelaide, fascinated by this story.

Sarah shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ve had no news of her since my father died. I have written of course, but I’ve never received a reply. I don’t think she can have received my letters or I am sure she would have answered.” She gave a shake of the head. “Now, I have something else to tell you, which I hope will please you. Your great-aunt, my mother’s sister, is still alive and here in the convent. She is almost bedridden now, poor dear, but her mind is as sharp as ever. I’ve told her you’re coming and she asked me to bring you up to see her before compline.”

Adelaide stared at her for a moment. “You mean I’ve another aunt alive that I knew nothing about?”

Sarah nodded and rose to her feet. “Sister St Bruno. Your Great-Aunt Anne. Come and meet her.”

Together they went through the convent, past the common room where Adelaide heard several of the nuns gathered for their hour of recreation and upstairs to a small room on the first floor. Sarah tapped on the door and then opened it, peeping round before going in.

“Are you awake, Sister?” she asked softly.

“Of course, Mother, please come in.”

Sarah opened the door wide and ushered Adelaide into the room. An elderly woman was sitting up in bed, a shawl over her head and another round her thin shoulders. Glasses were perched on her nose and she had an open Bible on the bed beside her.

“I’ve brought Adelaide to see you, Sister. You know, Freddie’s daughter. Adelaide, this is your Great-Aunt Anne.”

“Freddie’s daughter… Charlotte’s granddaughter.” The voice was so soft that Adelaide could hardly hear the words, but she crossed the room to the old woman’s bedside and reached for her hands. Thin and papery though they were, they gripped hers fiercely as the old nun peered up into her face. “You have the look of Charlotte,” she said.

“Sarah… Reverend Mother… says I look like Freddie,” said Adelaide.

“She may be right,” agreed her aunt, “but I hardly knew him. No, you have Charlotte’s eyes, though your colouring is not quite the same.” She patted the bed and said, “Will you sit with me for a few minutes? Mother, I’m sure you can spare her.”

“Of course,” Sarah said. “I’ll come and collect you just before compline.” She smiled at her aunt. “Now don’t tire yourself, Sister, Adelaide will come and see you again tomorrow, I promise. She’s staying with us for three days.”

Adelaide sat on the bed as directed and smiled at the old lady. “It must be very strange to call your niece ‘Mother’,” she said.

“Not really,” replied Sister St Bruno. “There is always a reverend mother, just now it happens to be my niece. She has only just been elected, but I think she will make a good job of it. She is well respected by the sisters, despite the fact that she’s English. Most of them have forgotten that by now anyway. She is strong and stands up for what she believes.” The old lady laughed. “She wouldn’t be here at all if she hadn’t stood up to her father on more than one occasion. No, I think the convent is in good hands while she is Reverend Mother, and that is how I address her… in public.”

Adelaide smiled. “And she calls you Sister.”

“She has done so ever since she took the veil. It is as it should be.” The old lady gave a conspiratorial smile. “Except when we’re alone, then we’re Sarah and Aunt Anne.”

“Will you tell me about my grandmother, your sister, Charlotte?”

“Ah, Charlotte, she was another very strong-minded one…”

When Sarah came back to collect her, Adelaide could hardly believe she had been sitting by the old nun’s bedside for nearly half an hour.

“She’ll come and see you again tomorrow, I promise,” Sarah said as she took her aunt’s hand and tucked it under the covers. “God bless you, Sister.”

That night Adelaide lay in the narrow bed in the room her aunt had shared with her maid Molly all those years ago and thought about all she had learned that day. What a day! Two new relations, both full of stories about their family… her family. Telling her of Freddie, her father, the man with dark hair and dark eyes so like her own; whose smile matched her own.

Sarah had shown her a faded snapshot of Freddie, not in his uniform, but in comfortable country clothes in the garden of his own home, petting his dog and grinning up at the camera. Even Adelaide could see the likeness between them, and she felt an ache in her heart that she had never known this laughing man, her father.

She heard of a man with all his life before him, who had led his men into the trenches and beyond. Of the war; of the courage of two young women, setting off to a foreign hospital to “do their bit” for King and country; of the horrors they had found and the wounded they had nursed. Adelaide was amazed by their courage, their stamina, their devotion to duty. She wondered as she drifted off to sleep, could she have ever done something like that?

The next two days Adelaide spent exploring the village and surrounding countryside. Although it was November and the days were short, it was relatively mild and the wintry sun still probed the drifting clouds. She walked along the riverbank, and drank coffee in the little café called Le Chat Noir on the village
place
. She attended several services in the convent chapel. She talked to the orphans when they came home from the village school, playing ludo and snakes and ladders and telling them stories. After the midday meal she spent some time with Sister St Bruno, her Great-Aunt Anne, and heard childhood stories of her grandmother. During recreation she sat with Sarah and listened to tales of her father, his exploits as a boy, his experiences in the trenches, his brief courtship of her mother, and wished that she had had the chance to know them all. It was on such an evening as this that she brought up the question of the money she had inherited.

“I’ve seen the will,” she told Sarah, “and it worries me. There’s no mention of you in it. Surely your father should have left half what he had to you.”

Sarah took her hand. “Bless you,” she said, “but there’s no need to worry about that. My father provided for me when he was still alive.” And she told Adelaide about her trip to London at the end of the war. “He was determined that the money should come to you and that no one else should have any control over it once you were of age. So, my dear, have it, enjoy it, use it for good. That’s what he really wanted for you. Remember, he was a charitable man. Follow in his footsteps and he would be proud of you.”

On the last morning, when she was due to leave the convent, Adelaide sat with Sarah for the last time.

Sarah opened a drawer in her desk and pulled out a box. Inside it was the photo of Freddie that Adelaide had already seen. Sarah held it out to her niece.

“You must take this,” she said. “It is important that you have a picture of your father to keep.”

Adelaide didn’t take the snapshot, but shook her head. “No, thank you. You must keep it,” she insisted. “It’s yours.”

“No,” Sarah said firmly. “I can remember what he looked like very well. You must have it… and this, too.” She took something else out of the box and held it out to Adelaide. It was a silver pendant on a chain. Sarah placed it in Adelaide’s hand and closed her fingers over it.

“Freddie gave it to me on the last day that I saw him,” she said. “I would like you to have it now.” And, as Adelaide began to protest, she went on, “I can’t wear it, Adelaide, it is a waste for me to keep it in a box. It gave me great pleasure when he gave it to me, and I wore it all the time, but since I can’t wear it and enjoy it anymore I would like you to wear it for me. See, the pendant is a St Christopher… to keep you safe.”

“Sarah… what can I say?” Adelaide looked at the photo and the pendant, all she had left of her father, all Sarah had left of her brother.”

“They’re yours,” Sarah said firmly. “And don’t worry,” she added with a twinkle, “I’ve kept the one of my parents… and that’s as it should be.”

As Adelaide went down the steps to the waiting taxi, she turned back to see her aunt, the reverend mother of the convent of Our Lady of Mercy, watching her go. Her final words still rang in Adelaide’s ears. “Remember, my dearest girl, that though we may see very little of each other, you are very dear to me and will be in my prayers. Write to me, Adelaide, and tell me of your life. Let me know when Freddie has grandchildren.”

Adelaide had laughed at that. “That’s a long way off, I’m afraid,” she said.

“Even so, keep in touch so that I have news of you and can pass it on to Sister St Bruno.”

As the taxi drew away Adelaide found she had tears in her eyes. She dashed them away. How stupid to cry, she thought. I’ve found a new family. That’s nothing to cry about!

All day long there had been the distant sound of aeroplanes, the thunder of artillery and the rattle of machine guns from the advancing armies of the Reich combined with the last desperate efforts of the allied armies to hold them at bay.

The sound of gunfire reverberated across the countryside, and on every road there were retreating troops, ambulances carrying the wounded, and adding to the confusion of the retreat were the civilian refugees. These straggled along the roads, a slow-moving stream of humanity heading westward, pushing their worldly goods in prams, wheelbarrows and handcarts. Mothers wheeled small children perched on the saddles and crossbars of ancient bicycles; older children carried babies or led their younger brothers and sisters by the hand as they struggled along the road. The very old and the very young, the most vulnerable, trudging together in the vain hope of outrunning the invading Germans. The air was alive with Heinkels, harrying those in retreat, so that the retreating soldiers and the fleeing refugees continually had to dive in panic for the scant cover of hedge or ditch at the roadside. With no opposition, the planes screamed out of the sky, their machine guns strafing the columns winding slowly along the roads, tracer ripping through civilians and military alike.