Tabitha (33 page)

The flow of prisoners returning from captivity in Germany and
Switzerland had been steady for weeks. Then the nurses working the hospital
wards noticed that beds were emptying and not refilling. The examination lines
were shortening; tent wards were clearing.

“We are comin’ t’ the end of it, Nurse Hale,” MacTavish
sighed. Her voice held a hint of awe.

“Yes. It has to end sometime, does it not?” Tabitha
murmured.

The third week of December, Matron Merriman and the hospital
commandant ordered that the two sides of the hospital be consolidated and
unused cots and tents be broken down. It was the first step toward dismantling
the hospital.

The head nurse called her staff, Tabitha included, together
after dinner to give them news. “Ladies, our work here in Europe is nearly
done. Some of us will have the opportunity to go home soon, perhaps by
Christmas.”

The worn face of the head nurse smiled for the first time in
many days. “We shall require a number of volunteers to accompany and see to the
needs of the remaining wounded soldiers on their way back to England.”

The gathered nurses dissolved into excited babble.

“Quiet, ladies, if you please,” Matron Merriman
remonstrated. “I have more and important information to give you.”

When the nurses quieted, she continued. “Many of you will be
discharged from service to the Army soon. However, while we may not need you
here, we do need you, at home and elsewhere. The pandemic is still raging
across the world, in England and across Europe, in America and Canada, in
Australia. Red Cross Headquarters has asked for nurses to meet this need.
Please consider volunteering for an assignment back home.”

“In any event,” she said, smiling larger, “We anticipate
dismantling this field hospital within thirty days.”

She looked over her weary but work-hardened staff. “You have
comported yourselves in the most honorable and professional manner I could have
asked for,” she whispered. “I know we have miles yet to go, but I could not
speak to you this night without telling you how very, very proud I am of all of
you. Years from now, no one will believe all we have done, the lives we have
saved . . . the sacrifices we have made.”

Suddenly Tabitha felt too warm and the room felt too close.
Other nurses around her must have felt the same. Throats tightened, eyes
misted, and feet shuffled as they received such high praise from their
superior.

“Thank you. That is all.” Matron Merriman nodded, turned,
and left the tent.

“I have seen nothin’ of Europe other than these stations and
hospitals,” MacTavish grumbled after Tabitha had conveyed the news to the VADs.
“I should like t’ see somethin’ other than blood an’ death afore going back to
m’ da’s farm. P’raps the Red Cross would take me on in a convalescin’ center
for a wee bit. I should like t’ see some of th’ grand cities of the Continent,
I would.”

Tabitha shrugged. “Somehow I doubt many of the ‘grand
cities’ will much resemble what they were before the war.”

“Well, I will stay, if I am ’cepted,” MacTavish said
stubbornly. Then she asked, “What will you do when it comes time t’ leave,
Nurse Hale?”

“I had thought to help the American Red Cross manage the
pandemic in the States,” Tabitha answered, “but I believe I shall return to
England instead.”

“Why, whatever for?”

“I hope to rent a cottage or a house in Colchester, near St.
Martin’s.”

MacTavish was surprised again. “St Martin’s Orphanage, is
it?”

Tabitha nodded. “I wish to spend time with a little girl
named Sally. See if we suit each other.”

“You want t’ adopt? But . . . aren’t you
bein’ a single woman?”

Tabitha’s smile was wan. “Actually, I am a widow, but my
husband left me with the means to raise a child on my own.”

MacTavish’s eyes widened. “I-I’m that sorry. I dinna know.”

“Look lively, ladies,” one of the new orderlies called.
“Stragglers come in t’ camp. We’re a-cleanin’ them up now.”

Tabitha and MacTavish straightened their shoulders and
raised their chins, their response automatic after the many crises through
which they had served.

“Shall I fetch Dr. Clemente?” MacTavish offered.

“Yes. And I will set up the exam trays.”

It was after dark, but the hospital—and all its staff—were
accustomed to functioning whenever the need arose. Tabitha lit lanterns in the
exam tent and set about preparing the implements, bandages, salves, and
medicines they might need. She also set out the medical charts Margot would
fill as the soldiers were treated.

Thirty minutes later they had received five new patients and
Margot reported that they only had three to go.

“Thank you, miss,” Dr. Clemente murmured. “Go ahead and
start their charts.”

“Yes, doctor,” Margot answered.

Tabitha was carrying a tray of clean bandages to the table
when she heard Margot ask from just beyond the tent flap, “Your surname,
please?”

“Carpenter,” was the low, sluggish reply.

“First name?”

The response was slow in coming, as though the man had to
think upon his answer.

“Mason. Middle initial A.”

The tray Tabitha held tipped; the rolled bandages toppled
and slid onto the dirt floor.

“Nurse Hale!” MacTavish hissed. “Have a care!”

But Tabitha did
not
care. She dropped the empty tray
on the table and stumbled toward the tent entrance.

“Mason? Mason?” She stood panting, staring up at the
soldier. In the faint lantern light from within the tent, he was a ghost of the
man he’d been.

But she knew him.

She clutched his arm and tugged on it. “Mason, my love. It
is Tabitha. Please look at me!”

Glazed eyes rotated toward her. “Tabs?” He stared and
blinked, uncertain.

“Yes! Oh, yes! But-but, Mason! They told me you were dead!”

Carpenter raised one hand to Tabitha’s cheek and touched it,
as though he could not believe his senses. “I have prayed . . .
for this day.”

Those around them stilled as they grasped the momentous
event unfolding before them.

“I-I thought I would never see you again—not until heaven!”
Tabitha sobbed.

“Oh, Tabs, my darling. I am happy to disappoint you.” And
Carpenter folded her into his weak arms.

~~**~~

“Nurse Hale, you have requested to accompany Mr. Carpenter
back to England. Is that correct?” Matron Merriman looked over her spectacles
at Tabitha.

“Yes, Matron. Mr. Carpenter is my husband. We live in the
States, but we shall return first to England. The British Army has said it will
care for him until he is stronger, and Matron Stiles has agreed to receive him
at Colchester Hospital. When he is discharged, we shall stay on a bit longer.”

“Do you have family in England?”

“No, Matron. But . . . there is a little
girl, an orphan. We have hopes to take her home with us.”

“Oh? Very commendable. And may I ask where your home is?”

“Denver, Colorado, Matron.”

The senior nurse nodded and glanced down at Tabitha’s
request. “Mr. Carpenter was a volunteer instructor for the RFC, was he not? Up
in York? And yet this report says his plane was shot down over the sea not far
off the shore of Belgium?”

Her tone was serious, perhaps severe, but her eyes were not.
In fact, Tabitha thought they glistened a little.

“Two German
Fokkers
attacked their flight school.
They went after inexperienced pilots in their trainer aeroplanes. The trainers
had no guns. The young men were defenseless. Mr. Carpenter went up in an RFC
fighter and shot down one of the German aeroplanes. Two more German fighters
dropped down on him, so he led them out to sea—away from the base.”

Tabitha knew the account by heart; she had memorized Cliff’s
words over many tear-filled nights. “He flew down the length of England, over
Norwich and out over the sea. Toward the coast of Belgium.

“Other RFC pilots, his students, went up in fighters and
followed him and the Germans. They managed to shoot down the enemy
aeroplanes . . . but not before the Germans had shot him down.”

The Germans shot him down.

The Germans shot him down.

“He was reported killed in action,” Matron stated.

“Yes, Matron. The students saw his plane go into the water.”

Tabitha looked up, mouthing the new, unfamiliar ending.
“H-he tells me that when our planes shot down the German fighters, a German
ship saw them go into the water. The ship raced to rescue them—quite near the
spot Mr. Carpenter went into the sea.”

Tabitha drew a cleansing breath. “They did not find their
downed pilots, but they found Mr. Carpenter floating on a bit of wreckage.”

Tabitha saw that she was right about the older woman. A
moist sheen glimmered on Matron Merriman’s eyes, and Tabitha’s eyes watered in
response.

“How long ago was he reported KIA?”

Tabitha swallowed the lump that kept creeping into her
throat. “A year and a half, Matron. He has been in a prison camp all that
time.”

“You must feel that he has risen from the grave.” Matron
Merriman was now staring at a framed photograph on her desk.

“Only Jesus has ever done that, Matron,” Tabitha whispered,
“but yes, it feels as though Mr. Carpenter has come back from the dead. He was
dead to me for so long! Even though I knew I would see him in heaven . . .
later, I am grateful beyond words to the God of grace who has seen fit to
return my husband to me.”

Matron Merriman studied Tabitha for a minute. She cleared
her own throat. “Thank you for reminding me that Jesus
did
overcome the
grave, Nurse Hale.”

She lifted the frame on her desk and, with one finger,
touched the face in the photograph. “I, too, belong to the God of grace, as
does my beloved husband. He was shot down over Germany. I will have to wait a
little longer, but I will see him again.”

The matron again cleared her throat and returned the frame
to its place on her desk. She studied Tabitha a moment longer and tipped her
head toward the medal and ribbon hanging from the apron strap of Tabitha’s VAD
uniform.

“I heard about you, you know, when you, Matron Alistair, and
your VADs came over. We all heard about the fiery, red-haired American who wore
the QAIMNS medal on a VAD uniform and commanded a squad of expertly trained
volunteers. I will remember to tell my grandchildren about you.”

Matron opened a desk drawer and, with two fingers, lifted a
wad of dirty cloth from it. “One of the VADs found this. It’s a bit worse for
the wear, but I wonder . . . could it be yours?”

She held it out to Tabitha.

Tabitha frowned as she received the filthy scrap from
Matron.

It was a very dirty hanky. She fumbled with a pin and
unfolded it. A corner puzzle piece, warped and split from moisture, fell into
her hand.

“Oh!” Awe swept over Tabitha’s heart.

I call some to be the frame for the work, to make the vision
plain. Those whom I call to frame the work are vital to my plans
, the voice
spoke.
They lead so that others may follow.

“Th-thank you, Matron. It
is
mine.” She forced back
the tears that came so easily lately.

Amen, Lord. I will always say ‘amen’ to your call upon my
life.

When Tabitha continued to stare at the object in her hand,
Matron Merriman smiled to herself.

“Well, then.” She stamped Tabitha’s request and handed it
back to her. “I wish you God speed. You have served my country—and our
Savior—with distinction. Well done, Nurse
Carpenter
.”

Tabitha struggled for composure as she stood.

“Thank you, Matron.”

The
End

~~**~~

Look for
All God’s Promises,
A Prairie Heritage, Book 7,
Spring 2016

and
Stealth Power,
Nanostealth, Book 2,
Fall 2016

One family . . . steeped in the love and
grace of God, indomitable in their faith, tried and tested in the fires of
life, passing forward a legacy to change their world. The compelling saga of
family, faith, and great courage.

Book 1:
A Rose Blooms Twice
(A free eBook available from most online book retailers.)

Book 2:
Wild Heart on the Prairie
(A free eBook available from most online book retailers.)

Book 3:
Joy on This Mountain

Book 4:
The Captive Within

Book 5:
Stolen

Book 6:
Lost Are Found

Book 7:
All God’s
Promises
, spring 2016