Tabitha (30 page)

Now that the United States has entered the war, we have a
mandate from the president to work in Europe. We invite you to join our ranks
in France.

“No,” Tabitha spoke aloud.

Then she pondered her decision.
No, I cannot abandon my
VADs or the nursing sisters. I must stay here at Colchester
.
It is where
God himself placed me.

Her heart added,
These were the last places I saw Mason.
No, I cannot leave. I cannot leave . . . him
.

~~~

“I should like to send you on a small assignment,” Matron
Stiles announced to Tabitha in early October. “The children of St. Martin’s
Orphanage need inoculations and screenings. You will leave tomorrow and return
in two days.”

Tabitha’s eyes narrowed and her old anger threatened to
surface. “Why would you send
me
, Matron? Any trained VAD can perform this
task.”

“Because you need to go, Nurse Hale.” Matron Stiles’ tone
brooked no further argument.

And then Tabitha saw it, a tender, caring tightness about
Matron’s mouth.

Tabitha stared at the floor. “Very well, Matron.”

That evening she packed a small bag with a nightgown and a
clean uniform. In the morning she drew the supplies she needed and trudged to
the bus stop. As the bus trundled along, the changing scenery, the grass and
trees, the little cottages as the bus left Colchester proper, began to speak to
Tabitha’s frozen heart.

She remembered Boxing Day, the first time she had taken this
same route—with Mason in Sister Alistair’s motorcar.

It was cold that day
, she recalled,
when Mason and
I brought Christmas presents and candy to the children
.
But the last
time we came, the sun was fighting through the mist and warming ditch banks
covered in cockle shells. Tulips nodded in pots by front doors and roses
climbed upon trellises
.

Something peaceful and right wrapped itself around her as
the bus chugged ahead.

When she knocked on the weathered old orphanage door, Sister
Mary Angela
gave her a warm welcome.
“Please! Come in. Matron told us to expect you.”

In the morning, the children queued up for their exams, and
Tabitha recognized many of them from past visits.

“Where’s that man?” one boy asked. He was eager, expectant.

The sister shushed him, and Tabitha, while grateful that she
did not have to explain, could not miss the hurt on the boy’s face.

He knows,
she sighed.
He knows how dads and mums
go away and never come home.

Tabitha released the child she had just examined, and a tiny
girl with fiery red hair stepped forward. The child edged up to Tabitha, placed
her hands on Tabitha’s knees, and stared at her with wide, expressive eyes.

“You m’ mum?” she demanded.

“I beg your pardon?” And then Tabitha saw her, truly saw
her. The tot was, perhaps, age four. Her wild, curling locks were nearly the
same shade as Tabitha’s hair.

“Said, you m’ mum?” the girl insisted. She pointed at
Tabitha’s hair and reached to touch it. The hand she stretched out had been
badly burned. Two of the fingers were bent; the scarred skin stretched taut
over them was marbled red and white.

O dear Lord
, Tabitha mourned.
So much hurt and
pain in this world.

She pulled the child up onto her lap and the girl instantly
sank against her breast.

“Smells good, it do,” she announced.

“This is Sally, Nurse Hale,” a nun whispered.

“Hello, Sally. May I look at your face?” Tabitha helped her
to sit farther out on her knees so that Tabitha could examine her. Tabitha
looked in Sally’s ears, eyes, nose, and mouth.

Sally’s blue eyes studied Tabitha in return. “You m’ mum?”
she asked the third time.

Tabitha shook her head. “No, darling. I am not. But your
hair is a lovely color. Very like mine, do you not think?”

“Nay,” Sally disagreed, shaking her head. “M’ hair’s nasty.”

Tabitha flinched. “What? Who says so?”

“They all says so,” Sally sighed.

“The other children?”

“Yah. Ev’ryone. They calls me Red.”

A font of ire burbled up inside Tabitha and, against her
will, her heart went out to the child. “Tell me, Sally. Do you think
my
hair is nasty?”

Sally considered Tabitha’s question and then shook her head
no. “Nay. Youse pretty.”

“Well, so are you, Sally. Your hair is like mine, so you are
pretty, too.”

Sally watched Tabitha as if judging her words. Then she
leaned into Tabitha and wrapped her arms about Tabitha’s neck. “I likes you.”

As Tabitha hugged her back, her heart shucked off a sheet of
ice.

This is good, Lord. Matron was right. I needed to come
back here. Thank you for making her send me here.

After that, Tabitha spent every Sunday afternoon at St.
Martin’s Orphanage. Since the buses did not run on Sundays, she begged the use
of Sister Alistair’s motorcar.

Sister Alistair did not object: Petrol was dear and costly,
so she rarely drove. Tabitha was happy to pay for the fuel out of the ample
funds Banks had forwarded to her.

~~~

Another Christmas neared, and with it the end of 1917. Tabitha
wrote home to Palmer House.

Dear Miss Rose,

Perhaps my heart is beginning to mend. I know, at least,
that it is still alive and not a dead, insensible stone as it had felt before.

I have returned to the orphanage Mason and I visited
regularly. We had hoped to adopt two or more of the children when the war
ended. The children! I care so deeply for these children. How I live and
breathe and go on each day is still a mystery to me, but when I visit St.
Martin’s, I know I am alive. And I know that I live to serve my Jesus through
two important causes, nursing and these children.

These little ones have suffered more than I have. Still,
each Sunday they come running to greet me, their faces alight and merry. They
think I come bearing treats and fun, and I do, of course. However, each week I
also bear a heavy heart when I come to them. And yet, after each visit, I
return home lighter. The children have no idea of the gift they give to me.

I am determined that the money Mason left to me will be
well used for Jesus’ sake when this war is done. I may not have a solid plan as
yet, but I have, at least, sent my own will and testament to Banks. Should
anything befall me, Mason’s wealth will be distributed as I have directed. I
know he would be pleased.

~~**~~

Tabitha waited for Matron or Sister Alistair to speak,
wondering why she had been sent for.

Matron consulted the report on her desk before she answered
Tabitha’s question. “A contagion has reared its head on the Continent, Nurse
Hale,” she began. “It appears to be quite serious.”

Tabitha noted the solemn set of the two nurses’ expressions.
“You are concerned, then?”

“We are, yes. The newspapers are calling it the Spanish
Influenza, as though it began in Spain or is contained there.” Matron frowned.
“That story is likely not true. Last week Dame Becher,
QAIMNS Matron-in-Chief,
received
a letter from the matron of the army hospital near Étaples, France. It was a
letter that the matron was able to send by hand, thus, ah, bypassing army
censors. What her letter describes is . . . quite disturbing.”

Matron stared at Tabitha. “I may as well tell you that the
matron of whom we speak is Sister McDonald. You know her well. You know her
nursing skills and professionalism. Sister McDonald’s letter insists that the
infection began at the troop staging center near Étaples. This center adjoins
the army hospital of which she is nursing matron.

“As soon as affected solders were admitted to the hospital,
the entire facility fell to it, overwhelming their capacity to handle the
outbreak. The subsequent mortality rate was high.
Very
high. From
Étaples, it spread to troops in the field and other outposts. To other Allied
Forces.”

Matron sighed. “We are now hearing of similar cases here in
England. Should this influenza get out into the general population? The effects
could be devastating.”

“What is to be done?” Tabitha asked.

Matron nodded at Sister Alistair, who shifted on her feet
and spoke.

“I shall be leaving for France within the week, Nurse Hale.
If we are to prevent an all-out epidemic among our soldiers, we must put in
place the severe measures needed to curtail the disease’s spread. We need
nurses who understand such things, who have appropriate training.”

“Y-you are referring to my training in infectious diseases,”
Tabitha whispered.

“Yes, Nurse Hale. Although I cannot compel you, I am asking
you to come with me. If you agree, we will take a small band of your best VADs
with us. You will have three days to impress upon them the preventive sanctions
we must practice, teach, and put into place. The powers-that-be have given us
the authority, the extreme latitude required to contain the contagion.”

“Three days! But-but what of the VAD classes? The ongoing
training of new volunteers?”

Matron fixed Tabitha with a serious eye. “Who is your most
outstanding proctor, Nurse Hale?”

Tabitha sighed and wiped a hand across her brow in
distraction. “VAD Darby, Matron.”

“She will assume your teaching and monitoring duties.”
Catching Tabitha before she could object, the older woman added, “We cannot
emphasize enough the importance of this mission. Darby must rise to the
occasion like the rest of us. Because you have trained her, I am confident that
she will.”

“Yes, Matron.” Tabitha blinked, sorting through the many
details she would need set in order.

Matron and Sister Alistair exchanged glances. “Do you accept
our assignment, Nurse Hale?”

Tabitha straightened and squared her shoulders. “Yes, of
course, Matron. I will go.”

“Very good.” Matron stood and came around her desk to face
Tabitha.

“I have been authorized by Dame Becher herself to offer you
this symbol of our fellowship, Nurse Hale. You cannot wear the uniform of the
QAIMNS nor can the
British Army command you as it can command us. You will still, outside this
office, be known as Nurse Hale. However, this badge will mark you as the
outstanding nursing sister you are and will garner you the respect you have
earned.”

Sister Alistair moved to Matron’s side and snapped opened a
small velvet box. Matron removed from the box a medal suspended by a striped
ribbon.

Tabitha knew the distinctive medal—how could she not? It was
a cross set within an oval, a stylized “A” set upon the cross. Inscribed on the
oval band surrounding the cross were the words,
Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing
Service
.

The medal was
worn proudly by every nursing sister of the
QAIMNS.

Tabitha trembled as Matron pinned the medal to the right
strap of her VAD uniform apron. “In recognition of the selfless service you
have rendered to England, I, Matron Edwynna Stiles, by the authority of Dame
Flora Becher, Matron-in-Chief
QAIMNS/QARANC,
bestow upon you the
medal of
Queen Alexandra’s Imperial
Military Nursing Service.”

Tears streamed from Tabitha’s eyes. “You honor me,” she
sniffled.

“You honor your vocation, Sister Hale. You honor us.”

“Yer want me—
wot
? Yer jokin’, Nurse Hale, yeah? I
know nuffing of nursing loike you do!” Darby’s eyes were wide. She had reverted
to the broad accents of her home, and she clutched at her apron as though it
were on fire.

“Do you not know every skill I have taught the VADs?”
Tabitha demanded. “Have you not proctored and overseen every class I have
taught? Is there anything we expect of a well-trained VAD that you do not know
and practice yourself?”

“No, but . . .
cor
! I-I-I’m not
you
!”

Tabitha mouth curved into a smile, a bit of sadness tinging
that curve. “No, dear Ellen, you are your own self: You are a well-trained and
disciplined VAD. When you are in the wards, you are a consummate professional.
Now, in your new role as Head VAD, you must be a professional at all
times,
not only when you are in the wards. And I assure you, if you will lead and not
give in to fear, the VADs will follow.”

Tabitha fumbled for her armband and tugged it off. “You must
put this on. For the next three days, you will be my shadow, and this band will
announce your new status. Where I go, you will go. Everything I do, you will
emulate.”

She twitched the band into place above Darby’s oversleeve.
“And when I leave, you will carry on. I have confidence that you will do a
smashing job . . .
Nurse Darby
.”

Darby’s complexion had taken on a green tinge, but she
pointed with her chin. “You-you’re wearin’ the QAIMNS medal.”

“Stranger things have happened in war, I hear,” Tabitha
shrugged. “It is, however, the greatest and most singular honor of my life.”

The next days were a whirlwind of activity. Tabitha taught
the VADs everything she knew for containing the influenza.

Matron had Miss Thompson dog her footsteps, taking notes and
staying up late into the night to type the procedures.

Darby attended Tabitha the way a drill sergeant attends a
commander, correcting in a low, authoritative growl any VAD who failed to learn
and do so quickly enough.

Tabitha spent her last evenings writing letters home to her
parents, Palmer House, Claire, and Banks explaining her new assignment. She
packed and repacked her bag, not entirely certain what she would require in the
field.

The VAD in the supply office added to what Tabitha had
packed: a sewing packet, candles and matches, heavy stockings and rubber boots,
a rain slicker, and extra uniforms.

“Got t’ have th’ right kit, Nurse Hale, wot?” she assured
Tabitha. “Tis bloody spring, an’ th’ Frenchys’ roads an’ fields will run wi’
mud.”

At the end of the week, Sister Alistair, Tabitha, and five
VADs—all strong, healthy, well-trained and disciplined women—lined up beside
the bus taking them to their departure port. Much of the hospital staff and
many ambulatory patients turned out to send them off.

“We hope to hear from you soon, Sister,” Matron spoke to
Sister Alistair. She nodded to Tabitha and the other VADs. “Colchester is proud
of you, ladies. We send you on now, in the grace of God.”

Their ship sat in port, a great hulking mass of iron painted
the color of an angry gray sea. The ship looked all the more ominous for the
rain streaming from a gunmetal sky.

German U-boats still plagued the shipping lanes, sinking
with impunity any vessel they could. Thankfully, this journey across the
Channel would be one of hours rather than days, and other vessels, including
armed naval ships, would travel with them through the thick of the German
threat.

Still, Tabitha was not the only woman in their party to
swallow anxious nerves. As she climbed the gangplank, she recited lines from
Isaiah 43.

Fear
not: for I have redeemed thee,
I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine.
When thou passest through the waters,
I will be with thee;
and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee:
when thou walkest through the fire,
thou shalt not be burned;
neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.

Tabitha and Sister Alistair, clad in their rain slickers,
stood together at the rails but alone in their own thoughts. Their VADs
clustered together in a tense knot not far from them.

Tabitha forced her face into calm, stoic lines.
I will
not be afraid, Lord, for I know you are with me,
she prayed.
You are my
Refuge, O God. Therefore I will not fear.

Then the ship’s engines growled and the ship eased away from
the docks. It steamed from port down river and into the open sea where it took
up station among a convoy of ships crossing over to the coast of France. The
waves of the Channel ran high that day; they pitched the ship—and its
passengers’ stomachs—in a fitful, unpredictable cadence.

Hours later, under a clearing sky, their ship broke off from
under the watchful guns of several destroyers and made for the calm of a French
port. Tabitha and Sister Alistair exchanged relieved glances when the ship’s
hands ran the gangplank onto the docks.

A booming voice hailed them when their feet touched the
dock’s steady planks. “Sister Alistair? I am Sergeant Franklin.” He saluted. “I
have orders to escort you and your aides during your posting in France. If you
will come with me, please?”

The stocky army sergeant’s roughened face and short,
salt-and-pepper hair showed him to be middle-aged, likely in his mid-forties.
He gestured toward a dull green canvas-covered truck. “This will be your
conveyance and here is your driver,” he said by way of introduction. “I and
another soldier will lead you in the vehicle just ahead.” He pointed to an open
passenger car painted the same dull green as their truck.

Handing a sealed packet to Sister Alistair, the sergeant
added, “These are your orders, Sister, and our itinerary. We shall leave as
soon as you are ready and spend the night at an outpost a few miles east of
here.”

Sister Alistair stepped aside to peruse her orders. When she
had read them once, she motioned Tabitha to her side. “Please read these
through, Nurse Hale.”

Tabitha did so. “We shall be busy, Sister.”

“Indeed. Well, let us be off.”

Armed with the authority they needed to execute their
orders, Sister Alistair, Tabitha, and their VADs climbed into the back of the
truck and sat upon the hard benches on either side of it. Their driver handed
in their bags, tied the canvas closed, and followed the passenger vehicle ahead
of them down the road and into the murky spring dusk.

They stopped well after dark at a supply outpost. That night
they slept in two tents set aside for them. Sister Alistair insisted that
Tabitha share her tent while the VADs shared the other.

“I wish you to grow accustomed to this arrangement, Nurse
Hale,” Sister Alistair informed Tabitha. “Yours is a leadership role in our
mission, and I want it understood as such at each hospital or clearing station
we reach. You will act on our orders with authority—subject only to me.”

“Yes, Sister,” Tabitha answered, but her eyes were open wide
as she tossed and turned upon the unfamiliar cot. Though she stared into the
tent’s darkness, she saw her open hand and a puzzle piece resting in its palm.
An edge piece. A corner.

Oh, Mason,
she thought.
Who could have foreseen my
life taking this curious turn? Only our great God.

Early the following morning, their two-vehicle caravan began
its journey. Sister Alistair’s orders were for their nursing troop to visit as
many British and Allied Forces camps and outposts as they could reach. They
were ordered to train the resident medical and volunteer staff in proper
quarantine and preventive methods so as to curtail the spread of the influenza
that was beginning to ravage the armies on both sides of the war.

When their convoy arrived at the first outpost, Sister
Alistair presented her orders and requested that the commandant or senior
officer call the remaining officers and medical staff together. Sister Alistair
described the course of influenza, how it was often most fatal to the very
young, the elderly, and the infirm—such as those who were already wounded.

Tabitha outlined quarantine procedures. “If the infection
takes hold in the wounded wards, those patients will likely die, despite our
best efforts,” Tabitha informed the medical staff. “Therefore, separate wards
for the infected and wounded must be established now. These wards must be
erected safe distances from each other. At the first sign of infection, the
symptomatic patient must be removed to the quarantine zone.

“And you must enforce strict boundaries between those who
are nursing the infected and those who are nursing the wounded. Doctors,
nurses, VADs, and orderlies nursing in the influenza wards are not to approach
the non-infected zones or any non-infected part of camp,” Tabitha decreed.
“They must even eat and sleep in separate quarters.”