It was about seven o’clock in the morning ten days later.
Over green fields the sun was shining and the birds were singing in the
tops of the tall chestnut trees which were now covered with fragrant
blossoms. These trees stood close about an old mansion which was
enclosed by a high stone wall with no opening save a tall iron gate
connecting with the avenue that led in a straight line to the house.
But although there was a small lodge beside it, the gate stood open.
The old stone house itself was strangely built. It had three towers,
one taller than the rest, commanding a sweeping view of the country
near by. At one side of the building an old stone cloister led to a
small chapel a few hundred yards away. And this morning two girls were
walking quietly up and down this cloister in uniforms not strikingly
unlike those that used long ago to be worn by the young demoiselles of
the ancient “Convent of the Sacred Heart” in northern France. But these
two modern girls belonged to a newer and braver sisterhood, the order
of the Red Cross.
They were Barbara Meade and Nona Davis, but their faces suggested
that years, not days, must have passed over them. Their cheeks were
white, their expressions strained. From Barbara’s eyes and mouth the
suggestion of sudden, spontaneous laughter had disappeared. She looked
a little sick and a little frightened.
Nona was different, although she suggested a piece of marble. The
experiences of the past ten days had brought out the fighting qualities
in this young southern girl. Her golden-brown eyes were steady, she
carried her chin up and her shoulders straight. She looked the daughter
of a soldier.
Now she put her arm across the smaller girl’s shoulder.
“Let us go for a walk,” she suggested. “No one in the hospital wants
our services for a while and breakfast won’t be served for another
hour. It will do you good to get away from the thought of suffering. We
need not go far; besides, the country near here is entirely peaceful.”
Barbara said nothing in reply, but taking her consent for granted, the
two girls left the cloister and went down the avenue to the open gate
and so out into the countryside.
They did not seem to feel like talking a great deal; the endless
chatter that had kept them busy during the trip across had died away.
But the morning was lovely and the countryside so peaceful that the
thought of the scene of battle not far off seemed almost incredible.
They were in the midst of a meadow and orchard country of rolling
level fields. Beyond them, however, was a line of hills and a forest.
But there were no other large houses near, only some small cottages
at the edges of the meadows. These belonged to the French peasants,
and although the men were now in the trenches, still they appeared
thrifty and well kept. For so far, though the enemy watched so near,
this part of the country had escaped the actual warfare. The hospital
was only a bare five miles from the British line of soldiers, yet was
comparatively safe. And for this reason the famous old French school
had been emptied of its pupils and turned over to the Red Cross.
As they left the big gate Nona glanced behind her. From the top of
the tallest tower floated a white flag, the emblem of peace, and yet
bearing upon it a cross of red, symbol of suffering. Then just for
an instant the thought crossed her mind, Would this flag continue to
protect them throughout the war?
But as there was no possible answer to this question she turned once
more to the idea of diverting her companion.
Barbara did not seem to be noticing anything. She was downcast and
wandered along with her eyes fixed upon the ground.
“I do not think you ought to worry so or take your breakdown so
seriously, Barbara,” Nona began. “Why, it might have happened to any
one in the world and only shows how keenly you feel things. Next time
you will be better prepared.”
But the other girl shook her head. “I had no right to come to Europe
to help with the Red Cross nursing if I haven’t nerve enough not to
flunk. Think of it, Nona, the very first time I was called upon to give
assistance of real importance, to faint!” The girl’s voice expressed
the limit of self-contempt. “And this when Eugenia and Lady Mathers
were the two other nurses. I would almost rather have died than have
had it happen. I believe Eugenia had to stop and drag me out of the
surgeon’s way. But she has been very kind since, and after all my brave
talk on the steamer has not yet mentioned my downfall. I suppose I
ought to go home and carry out my threat.”
The tears were sliding down Barbara’s cheeks, but in spite of this Nona
smiled.
“You are the last person in the world to play quitter,” she returned
quietly. “Now look here, Barbara, you and I know that since we arrived
at the hospital we have both been feeling that perhaps we were not
wanted and that all our efforts and dreams of helping are going to
amount to little.” She stopped and for a moment laid both hands on her
friend’s shoulders. “Well, let’s you and I show people differently.
I haven’t had much experience and so I am perfectly willing to help
in any way I can be useful until I learn more. You know you went to
pieces the other day, not because you did not have courage to help, but
because you have been seeing so many horrors all at once and you have
not yet gotten used to them. That poor fellow----”
But Barbara’s eyes were imploring her friend to silence. “Let’s don’t
talk about him any more,” she begged. “I was used up, there had been
so many others and then this soldier somehow reminded me of some one I
knew.”
Barbara drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders. It may be that
the thought of the some one had given her new resolution. “Of course,
you know I mean to keep on trying,” she added finally.
Then taking off her nurse’s cap and flinging back her head, the girl
called to Nona, “Catch up with me if you like; I am going to run. It
always makes me feel better when I’ve been having the blues.” And the
next instant she had turned off from the road along which they had been
walking and was flying across one of the meadows as swiftly as a child
chasing butterflies.
Just at first Nona attempted running after her. She too wanted to feel
the blood racing in her veins and the wind fanning her cheeks. But her
companion’s flight was too swift. Nona slowed down and followed more
quietly.
What an odd girl Barbara Meade was and what a queer combination of
childishness and cleverness! Assuredly she had not succeeded in making
herself popular at the hospital to which they had lately come. Probably
Nona understood more of the situation than Barbara. Already for some
reason there had been talk of asking the younger girl to go back to
London, if not to her own home. Nona wondered if this were due to
Barbara’s appearance or her manner. Surely her single failure should
not have counted so seriously against her, unless there were other
reasons. Nevertheless, she herself believed in her and meant to stand
by until Barbara had her chance.
Barbara had ceased running now, and as Nona approached her dropped down
on her knees. She had come to the end of the meadow down the slope of a
hill and everywhere around the earth was covered with violets.
In a few moments her hands were full of them. “We will take these back
to the hospital,” she said as cheerfully as though she never had a
moment of depression. “I have promised to read to two of the soldiers
who are better. They say it amuses them, I have such a funny American
voice.”
The next minute she was up and off again, this time with her arm linked
inside Nona’s. “There is such a dear little French house over there.
Let’s go and see who lives in it now that we are so near.”
Nona glanced at her watch. It was a man’s watch and had once belonged
to her father.
“I have a delightful scheme. It isn’t yet eight o’clock and neither
you nor I have to go on duty until ten. Ever since we arrived I have
wanted to see inside one of these little French huts. So if the people
who live in this one are friendly let’s ask them to give us coffee and
rolls. I can talk to them in French and explain where we come from,
then later perhaps we can walk on a little further.”
The girls were now within ten yards of the cottage. No one was
outdoors, yet there were noises on the inside and through the one
small stone chimney the smoke poured out into the air, bringing with
it a delicious odor of coffee. Nevertheless, the two girls hesitated.
They had been told that the French peasants were always courteous to
strangers, and yet it might be difficult to explain their errand.
But they were spared the trouble, for at this instant the heavy wooden
door was pushed open and a woman stepped out into the yard.
But after the first glance the two girls stared, not at the woman, but
at each other.
“It can’t be,” Barbara murmured weakly. “I am not seeing things
straight.”
“Unfortunately, I’m afraid you are,” Nona answered, and keeping tight
hold of Barbara drew her forward.
“Good morning, Mrs. Curtis,” she exclaimed. “I was under the impression
that you were in Paris. It seems more than strange for us to run across
each other again and you so near the hospital where we have been
located.”
At Nona’s words Mrs. Curtis at once came forward and held out both
hands. She was wearing a kimono and did not look attractive, but she
smiled so kindly that at least Barbara relented.
“I don’t wonder at your surprise,” she returned immediately. “Only I
happen to have the advantage of already knowing what had become of you
four girls. But my being near is not so strange as you may think. I
told you my son wanted to see what is taking place inside the British
trenches. We had to go to Paris for certain papers we could not get
in London. But the firing line at present is only a few miles from
here, as you know. So, as I wanted to be reasonably near and still
in no danger, my son and I looked about to find some place where I
could live. There is only an old woman here and a half-witted son. The
father and sons are at the front, of course. But I don’t mind being
uncomfortable, and then knowing the hospital was so near was such a
comfort both to my son and me.”
Mrs. Curtis had not ceased talking an instant and seemed to expect no
reply. “Won’t you come in and have coffee with me now?” she urged.
“The house is clean as a pin and I’ve a letter from my son to Mildred
Thornton I should be so much obliged if you would take to her. I was
going to walk over with it myself some time today, but I did not know
whether an outsider would be allowed to enter the hospital. One can’t
guess what the restrictions may be in these war times.”
She led the way and both girls followed, Barbara because she very much
wanted the coffee and to see inside the little French house. She was
annoyed at the thought of Brooks Curtis writing to Mildred so soon,
but it was scarcely any business of hers. In any case, she did not see
how she could prevent it, since Mrs. Curtis would undoubtedly deliver
her son’s letter unless one of them did.
Nona, however, had no such feeling. She simply had a half-conscious
prejudice against breaking bread with a woman whom she neither liked
nor trusted. But then she had no real reason for her point of view and
had promised herself to rise above it.
Of course, it might be only a coincidence, Mrs. Curtis’ evident
intention to attach herself to them. But after all, what possible
reason could she have except the desire for a little friendly intimacy?
Naturally she must be lonely with her son away on his newspaper work.