Never Another You (12 page)

It was a small town just outside Yorkshire called Gisbon, where Nell recuperated. The home was a secluded Manor house, bordered by hilly green pastures and endless sky. It was an ever changing scene of different colour and mood. With sun and cloud coasting over the fields, turning emerald blades of grass yellow. And it was here where one of the country’s leading specialists, orthopaedic surgeon Doctor Lyle worked.

The Brigadier had been an acquaintance with Doctor Lyle for many years, and his request for an entire wing to be reserved for Nell only, were accommodated gladly. It was a place where only the most prestigious officers came to convalesce. Though, their ailments generally consisted of exhaustion or madness. There were a few, like Nell, who had fought alongside their men and sadly lost limbs.

Nell’s room was much bigger and more opulent than her quarters back in Cambridge. It reminded her very much of her bedroom at the Haughton Estate. Her bed had been specially made with handrails to aid her in and out. There was an en-suite bathroom, which was spacious enough to manoeuvre safely in, with a rubber mat floor to prevent her slipping. The limestone bay window, draped with thick gilt curtains, framed a stunning view of Blacko tower, which overlooked the valley. But still, no matter how wonderful her surroundings, or how well her recovery was progressing, Nell felt like the loneliest soul in existence.

For two months she had been a patient at the Manor. At first her friend Teresa would send the letters she had received from Jack for her. He wrote of his determination, his men, and how he missed Nell. Each letter he would make light-hearted, again trying to lift her spirits. He would tell her of his plans for the future, and it was these hopes and dreams that encouraged Nell greatly. Not without problems mind, she would struggle every day in the gym, using her stone cold prosthetic leg, which would rub and blister her skin. Dr Lyle told her it was like breaking in a new pair of shoes, and no matter how much it pained her, she was to carry on. It was vigorous hard work, and sometimes soul-destroying. But each day she would take more and more steps, thinking of Jack’s return. She wanted him to come home and find her stood on both feet.

However, over time that grit she had, begun to diminish rapidly. Not a word she heard from Jack in four long weeks, and she was worried. Worried that he had come to grave harm. She went over and over his last letter, looking for clues on how serious the conflict was. She knew he couldn’t give details of war operations, in case letters were intercepted by the enemy, but thought she might be able to pick up on his mood. But it was pointless, every one of the seven letters she had, were wrote solely for her benefit. It made her mad. She was angry at him for being so thoughtful.   

Nell sat in a red armchair by her window when one of her therapist, a sweet natured girl called Margaret came through the door. Margaret had the patience of a saint, and was the only one who encouraged Nell in a none-patronising way. She had only just turned twenty-one, and was responsible for helping Nell with her leg.

“Morning Nell,” Margaret said cheerily.

Nell remained quiet, staring out of the window. The last thing she wanted was to bite Margaret’s head off, and she knew if she spoke something would emerge in a temper.

“You have a visitor Nell,” she said. “So we’ll get you booted up, then you can show-off how good you are.”

Nell turned to Margaret, creasing her eyes. No one had visited her since she was admitted there. Perhaps Teresa had come she thought. Maybe she had letters for her from Jack.

Margaret carried Nell’s weighty leg to the chair and knelt down. She examined the large blister that had taken weeks to heal above Nell’s kneecap.

“That’s looking much better.”

Margaret unstrapped the buckles on the rim of the leg and repositioned the padding inside, then slid it carefully over Nell’s stump.

“Who’s here Margaret?” Nell asked.

Margaret pulled on the buckle and glanced up at Nell. “Is that too tight?”

“No it’s fine,” Nell replied in a huff. “Who’s here?”

“Come on, up on your feet.” Margaret placed a frame before Nell, ignoring her impatience. “If you want to find out who has come to visit, you’ll have to get moving won’t you,” she smiled. “Today we tackle the stairs.”

Nell mumbled and blew out. Some days she felt like the rabbit who had to chase a carrot to get anywhere. Placing her hands on the wooden frame, she stood tall and grimaced. Even though she was getting used to her leg, it still irritated her. She peered down at her rolled up trouser leg. Trousers now were her best friend, for they hid what was beneath. 

“I’ll roll that down for you.” Margaret crouched down and straightened out Nell’s trousers for her.

It took over twenty minutes for Nell to descend the three flights of the grand staircase. The final floor was the worst. The pressure on her hip became very painful. It was only through taking her mind off it by looking at the huge oil paintings, and Margaret spurring her on, that she finally made it to the entrance hall.

“Good Morning Nell,” a Colonel Richards greeted, making his way into the parlour.

“Morning,” she replied, looking around for her visitor. “Well?” she asked Margaret.

“Through the library Nell,” she said. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

Nell frowned as Margaret left her alone. Confused, she slowly limped toward the library. When she opened the door, and saw who it was that had come to see her, she wanted to run away. But now, she couldn’t run away from anyone. It was her father. He rose from a tufted brown swivel chair and took off his hat. He smiled weakly as Nell remained in the doorway, her fury warming her cheeks.

“Eleanor, you look so much better,” he held out his hand and gestured her in.

Nell dragged her leg across the burgundy carpet and closed the door. All this time he had not visited her once, and she knew why. He wanted to keep her at a distance from everyone, in the hopes she would forgive him, and forget all about her love for Jack. He wanted her to come to her senses. He had no clue about the letters Jack sent via Teresa. If he did, he would have made sure she never received them.

“Father,” she said coldly.

“How are you feeling?”

“Oh you know, I’m just as right as rain,” she said sarcastically. “Considering.”

The Brigadier remained on his feet, stunned by Nell’s aloofness. “Eleanor, I have brought you a gift.”

Nell turned back to the door. It was impossible for her to talk with him when he treated her like a child. In her eyes, he could not make amends with treasures like he did when she was small. He would buy her dolls and dolls houses to ease his guilt when she was a child. But never would he offer her a hug, and never would he apologise.

“Wait Eleanor.”

She glared over her shoulder, holding the back of a chair for support. “For what, so you can try and justify to yourself using meaningless gifts?”

“She’s in the stables. I thought it would help the healing process,” he said. “Get you back in the saddle.”

Nell shuffled her feet to face him. “Nothing you do could possible help me to heal Father,” she snapped, hitting her chest. “You have torn my soul from me.”

He held down his head. Never had Nell seen him bow his head to no one.

“I’ve given you time to reflect Nell,” he sighed. “I thought me sending you here would give you that time to think rationally about your life.”

Nell reddened. She had never in her life felt so incensed. He really had no concept of what he had done to her.

“You have destroyed my life,” she yelled. “You took everything away from me.”

“Eleanor,” he appealed. “I have only done what I saw best for you.”

“And let me just tell you what that entailed shall I,” Nell laughed negatively. “Years of beatings Father, from the one whom you thought fit for your precious Daughter,” she cried out. “Every night I locked myself away from Alistair until I could take no more. He nearly strangled the life out of me. This is what he has done to your daughter,” Nell hit her prosthetic leg with a bang.

The Brigadier took a step toward his damaged Daughter, as the harsh truth pierced through his unbreakable heart.

“If I’d have known Eleanor…”

“What… you’d have saved me,” she barked. “I could never tell you because my marriage was for your happiness. You never saw me as a Daughter, only a cross to bear,” she wept. “Maybe if I’d have died with Mother, you wouldn’t have been reminded of her so much.”

The Brigadier dropped down into the chair behind him. He rubbed his eyes in an attempt to stop the tears. Guilt consumed his soul, and he knew right then, that he was no better than Alistair for what he had done.

“The night your mother died, I held you in my arms Eleanor. I watched life leave my one true love, then held new life in my hands,” he sniffed. “I’ve never been so conflicted, and that stopped me being a Father to you. I am truly sorry.”

“So I’m to pity you,” Nell snarled. “You took away the one good thing I had, and do you know why, because you couldn’t stand me making my own choices. You replaced love with your requirements and sent Jack to his death,” she yelled, stabbing her finger on the back of the chair. “You made me let him go, twice. But no matter what you do, I will never love anyone as much I love him!”

“Forgive me Eleanor,” he rose from the chair and opened out his arms.

“I will never forgive you.”

Nell turned her back and struggled to the oak door. She didn’t care if see never saw her father again. All she wanted was to recover and leave that place. All she needed was her Jack home, in her arms, safe and well.   

The world’s forces had gathered in France. The German army were now running out locations to hide, falling further back each day. Jack and his squadron had joined ranks with the Canadian military, as they pushed on and made their way through Caen. Each day and night they patrolled and fought in designated areas, and had rounded up over a hundred enemy soldiers. But even though the biggest momentum of the war, was tipping the scales in the favour of the world, the counterattacks were proving tough to overcome. Once fine-looking buildings were now nothing but vast piles of rubble. The people of the city hid or fled, as streets, backstreets, and buildings that were still intact became overrun by soldiers. Caen had become a hellish epicentre of loss for both sides.

Jack and his troops marched beside a Canadian tank, and arrived on the outskirts of the city. The engine rumbled and chains crunched through anything in the tanks path. Jack held his gun to his chest and altered his helmet, which repeatedly slid due to excessive sweat seeping out from his pours. He would often drift away on these patrols, and had to snap himself back into the realms of reality quick. He would think of the time he spent with Nell, fantasizing about the way she felt in his arms. But there wasn’t much time to think of happy thoughts here. Only just yesterday he was nearly shot in the head, because his mind was running away with her. His men laughed and joked, wanting to change his nickname from lucky, to near-miss. Jack simply took it on the chin like always, and told his men to shut up or eat gravel.

Something wasn’t right with the picture Jack was looking at. It was far too quiet and the sky was clear. For months the sky hadn’t revealed a hint of blue over this country. It was always filled with the smoke of war. His eyes scoured the surrounding areas. To his left and right, long wavy grass descended into dry shrubbery. To his back, were the buildings they had left behind. And before him, a long road between two scorched fields. He banged his hand on the tank, four knocks twice, which indicated to those inside to prepare for enemy fire.

Without a word, Jack hand signalled his men to move to the back of the tank. He knew exactly where the attack was going to come from. His ears had picked up an abnormal rustle on a still day in the long grass. So he thought that his men would stand a better chance behind the vehicle. But Jack couldn’t tell the four soldiers on the other side of the tank fast enough, and shots were fired.

The gun on the tank shuddered and spun toward the enemy’s direction. The echoing explosions of imminent death were ear-splitting as Jack’s men opened fire into the undergrowth. Jack ducked, grabbing Private Donavon by the collar; a kid of only eighteen years of age. But Jack didn’t notice Donavon had been shot in the head, until his body fell to the floor deadweight. Jack’s boots skid to a stop in the dry dirt. His heart beat for the fight as he gasped for air. He gazed down at Donavon as the assault continued around him. He watched as the blood trickled from the bullet wound and from his mouth. Jack had seen death. He’d seen horrors unthinkable. But for some reason, this kids eyes, the young lad he had trained and joked with, boiled his blood. He’d had enough of this war, and the god damn evil with no regard for life.

He raced, dodging bullets and flying debris. Without a second thought, he dove into the long grass and landed right on top of a German officer. He knelt on the enemy’s chest and shot him in the head at point-blank range. Another attacker came from his right side, he fired at Jack, but missed. Jack swooped up his rifle and smashed it across the soldiers head, knocking him clean out. With Nazi blood splattered on his face and rage in his eyes, Jack resembled a wild hunting animal. He wiped his cheek with his forearm and stood over the body of the soldier he had hit. He wouldn’t be dead with such a blow, and Jack knew it.

The sound of fire around him alleviated as the counterattack came to an end. Jack yanked the German soldier by the scruff of his neck. He glared and grit his teeth at a man his age as he opened his eyes in fright. He wanted to make him pay, and pay he would.

“Words…. do you have any last words?” Jack shook him hard.

The soldier waved his hands up to surrender and began to pray and sob. But Jack couldn’t feel sorry for this man. Not after seeing Private Donavon’s life abruptly taken in such a sadistic way. An eye for an eye Jack thought.

“No words!” Jack thrust the soldier down to the ground and onto his knees.

The soldier trembled and begged for his life with his fingers clasped upon his head. Jack didn’t listen to the desperate pleas of evil. He took his gun and aimed it right between his eyes.

“Sarge,” Corporal Davis called. “We’re not supposed to shoot prisoners that surrender.”

Jack glared at the pleading Nazi. “And Donavon doesn’t deserve justice?” He kicked dry dirt up into the soldiers face.

“Sarge come on, we’d all love to shoot his frigging head off. But we have to stick to orders.”

Jack wasn’t listening. Every single negative feeling from home to out in the field, overwhelmed him. He grabbed the prisoner’s blonde hair and dragged him kicking and screaming across to Donavon. He gripped at his neck and thrust his face next to Donavon’s body.

“Please… please surrender,” he implored.

“My good friend here didn’t get the chance to surrender did he,” Jack sneered. “You… you bastard!”

Jack slammed the prisoner down to the ground and began to pound his fist on his face. He didn’t want to stop. He punched violently with every ounce of strength he could, until his captive became unrecognisable. He was crazed, unrelenting with his wrath, and had to be dragged away by his men.

“Sarge, you’re going in the tank for your own good!”

Jack fought away from his men and keeled over wheezing. “I’m good, okay,” he barked. “Now tie him up.”

Jack walked away before he lost his mind again. If it wasn’t for his men, he would have killed that soldier in cold blood. He knew he was gradually losing his sanity, and his judgement.

                                                  ***

After the squadron had finished their patrols, and handed over the only prisoner left from the attack to Division 4, at Ouistreham port, Jack needed five minutes to himself. His men carried the body of Private Donavon, and laid him down at the end of long line of brave men that died that very day. There would be more. Jack had seen lines of death that stretched as far as his eye could see. Lifeless bodies that lay out like broken toy soldiers. He couldn’t cope with the sights and smells of carnage any longer. He couldn’t cope with himself.

As he removed his metal helmet, and brushed back his sweat coated hair, a naval jeep pulled up by his side. A warrant officer took off his cap, as Jack’s view was drawn to a fleet of RAF bombers loudly soaring across the sky, like an arranged flock of steel birds.

“Sergeant Montgomery?” the warrant officer asked.

“Yeah.”

“Would you come with me please?”

Jack cocked his brow. He wasn’t a naval officer. He didn’t have to report to a completely different outfit.

“Why?”

“Sergeant, you’ll do well not to ask questions,” the warrant officer said in a firm tone. “A matter has arisen, and your superiors need you in attendance.”

Jack concluded that his commanding officer, Lt Peterson, must be at the port waiting to be debriefed. After every patrol was completed, the Lieutenant required a rundown on losses and areas taken. Usually, Jack would jot down co-ordinates and figures. But on this occasion, his pencil didn’t exit his pocket once.

He grabbed onto the roll bar and jumped into the back of the jeep without further question, preparing excuses as to why he lost his mind.

HMS Rodney bore many scars from battle. But still, he floated at the port like a colossal undeterred grey warrior. Stories of Rodney’s adventures were well known in this war, and Jack felt honoured to climb aboard.

Jack followed the warrant officer up and across the metal gangway. With his helmet under his arm, he marched down the narrow deck as cadets and mid-ship men rushed by him. It seemed as though the ship was being readied to make sail.

Inside, Jack was hit by the humidity as a metallic smell laced his throat. Even as he brushed his hand across the handrail, the warmth could be felt on his fingertips. The ship was a conductor of heat, and Jack hated being hot. He hated his uniform sticking to his skin, irritating with a damp itch.

“Okay Sergeant Montgomery, through there,” the warrant officer nodded his head toward a hatch at the end of a slim passageway, leaving Jack alone.

Jack pursed his lips as he made his way to the door. Not once, in the whole of his years’ service, had he met with his commanding officer on a naval ship. He took hold of the airlock and pushed open the bulky door, dipping his head to step inside.

As he peered up, he came face to face with Brigadier Haughton. Immediately the beat of his heart thundered with force, presuming Nell had fallen ill, or some other terrible feat had become of her.

“Nell?”

“Eleanor is fine,” the Brigadier said coolly. “Now Sergeant, you can go back through that door, come in, and address me as you should.”

Jack’s eyes scowled. Yes, the Brigadier was a high ranking officer, and of course Jack should have followed military procedure. But he hated the man, and thought the only reason he wanted to see him, was so he could send him even further away from Nell. His jaw clamped down and his eyes set in anger on the Brigadier.

“Sergeant?”

Jack grumbled under his breath. He had to follow orders, otherwise he would end up being reprimanded. With a sharp turn, he marched out and back in with his chin high, his thumbs pressed against his fingers, staring right over the shoulder of the Brigadier. He stop with a halt, slamming down his boot to salute his superior.

“Sir. Sergeant Montgomery of the third infantry division, Sir,” Jack stated loudly.

“At ease Sergeant.”

Jack moved his boots shoulder length apart and held his hands behind his back. He wanted to know of Nell. He wanted to hear of her recovery, and how she was in herself. But the only man who could tell him such detail, was a man so intent on keeping them apart.

The Brigadier paced to and fro before a mahogany table full of blueprints and maps, kneading his hands together at his back.

“I’m going to ask you several questions Sergeant, and I expect your answers to be truthful.” He stopped and stared at Jack, only inches from his face, “What are your intentions toward my daughter?”

Jack frowned at the Brigadier in unease. “Sir, my intentions have always been honourable.”

“So, your plan is to marry her?”

Jack smirked, which the Brigadier did not appreciate. “I have already asked her… Sir.”

“You need my permission first Sergeant,” the Brigadier snapped.

“I have been torn away from her enough, thanks to you, sir,” Jack maddened. “So asking for your approval is useless really.”

The Brigadier walked back to the table and silenced for a moment with his back to Jack. He then turned on the spot, taking a drawn out breath.

“Ask me,” he ordered. “Ask me, in a proper manner.”

Jack was not expecting this. He wasn’t good at doing big fancy speeches. In fact the whole conversation was puzzling him greatly. He wondered if the Brigadier had finally lost his marbles.

“Sir?”

“Good god man… if you want to marry my daughter so much, you should have no problem saying a few simple words,” the Brigadier huffed.

“Sir…” Jack cleared his throat. “Sir, with your permission, I’d like to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage?” He cringed from head to foot, hating how his own voice sounded.

“Very well,” the Brigadier said to the point. “But only on the condition you use this.” Out from his pocket he pulled a gold ring set with two tiny diamonds, and held it out to Jack.

Jack took the ring between his thumb and finger, nearly dropping it as the ships horn sounded. His heart raced and brow crumpled at the Brigadier.

“We’re pulling out of port and setting sail for Portsmouth, Sergeant,” he said.

“But Sir, I have to report to my commanding officer,” Jack flustered.

“I have spoken to your commanding officer, and you are now on permitted leave,” he answered sternly. “You have a new assignment Sergeant, and you are to follow my direct orders.”

“Which are?”

“To go and ask for my daughters hand in marriage, and make her happy.”

Without another word, the Brigadier left Jack alone, staring at the gold ring.