8.5
The sun was nearing the sea when Diana returned to her cabin. Outside, Subaltern Willbourn was supervising unloading of the final lighter, these latter boats remaining longer as HSC's, basket-cases and stretchers were hauled aboard. She removed her nurses uniform, retrieved and dressed in the armour she had hidden weeks before; over that donned the London suit that had served her so readily; and finally the coat given her by Major Woodbridge. Into one pocket she slipped the Christmas pendant, still boxed. Faithfully accounting for every piece of 'kit' that was provided her by the ships store, each carefully folded and placed on her bed in the order in which it was received; for a moment she considered carrying these, personally, to the storeroom window and returning them as she had promised; but quickly realized she couldn't venture possible encounters with other shipmates; questions asked; or curious glances. She hoped Mr. Tilley, the store clerk, would understand. Already she had slipped into the kitchen to gather something she would not be able to again obtain once she left the ship; any further exposure would be unnecessary risk.
All that remained was the dress. Diana could not believe there would ever be a time she would wear it again; unsuitable on Themyscira and unlikely she would attend any future parties within the world of men (although within a matter of weeks she had oddly found herself present at two celebrations); the dress would only be an unnecessary something to take for no purpose. Yet the wonderful red, violet and golden gown Abigail had presented to her; made of her own clothing, with her own hands, a gesture of friendship and affection; a symbol of all that had grown between them. Diana would be forced to leave all else; even Abigail, herself, behind. Could she also abandon the token that bound them? She hold the gown up to her body, feeling once again the silk brush against her skin, treasuring the faint scents guarded within the fabric: Cinnamon and cloves and candles...ginger cookies, orange and pine and laughter...lavender and peppermint...
"No. Such thoughts will not help me fulfill my duty". She replaced the dress to the closet, turned to leave...and stopped in mid-step. Twirling about on one heel, she reached forward, purposefully removing the gown from from its hanger, carefully folding it so as not to damage any of the trim and beading; and delicately placed it in her satchel beside her few other possessions. Loading of the wounded must, by now, be almost complete. It was time for the most difficult part of the journey.
Diana took one last look at her room, empty now of anything she could call her own other than memories. Her hand hesitated on the door handle as she remembered the first time she'd opened that door, Abigail stood on the other side. Now this same door would be the first step in saying goodbye. Resolutely, she turned the handle and pulled the door forward. Abigail stood before her, arm raised and hand clasped in mid-air.
"Diana! I was just about to knock! Mae told me she'd seen you come down to your room – is everything OK?"
"I was on my way to talk with you. Come in; soon there will be no time."
"Oh, I'm not on duty for another twenty minutes. Have all the lighters finished? Did you have enough sailing for one day?"
"That is not the time I am speaking of. My journey is not over."
Abigail sat on the edge of Diana's bed, only then noticing she shared the space with piles of carefully folded clothes; the uniform which her friend should be wearing now replaced by a practical grey suit.
"Diana, are you gong ashore? Why are you dressed...and your uniforms all on your bed...were you transferred? Are you going to France – or back to London! I'll talk to Matron – I'll talk to Colonel Hawkins! We can go together!"
"I do not know when I will be returning to London."
"But when the ship sails back with all the wounded..."
"I will not be with you, then."
"Did something happen? Did you resign? Does that explain your...some of the things I saw?"
"Abigail, for some the war is not over."
"I know, we all have our memories...and our wounds. But there's no more fighting and Captain Bowerman will be careful of any mines and there's no submarines or anything that can hurt us. You taught me that, Diana."
"It is difficult to explain...but some of my actions in the past formed consequences which are not yet resolved...there is suffering I can stop, pain I can lessen...those that still need to be saved."
"Diana, we're saving men every day! I don't understand!"
Through a deep exhale, Diana lowered herself on one knee and took her friends hands into her own.
"Abigail, I am not a nurse. I did not sail to Cyprus to accompany the wounded back to London. My duty lies elsewhere, and this voyage is only a small part. I am leaving the ship here, and must continue my journey where others cannot go."
"You mean you were...lying?!"
The familiarity of her own words strikes Diana as a blow stronger than any she has received in battle.
"I did not intend to mislead anyone. Each person saw in me what they wanted to see."
"And what did I see, Diana? I thought I saw someone who cared about me and it didn't matter if I was smart or brave or strong or even pretty." She gazed at their interconnected hands and slightly tightened her grip. "I thought we were together."
"I do care. And you are all those things, and more. That is why you must remain onboard and complete the journey. I've watched your compassion for the men, how you treat each one with understanding, how you give of yourself so that others can have hope. And how they look at you in peace. You are their salvation. They need you. My purpose is along another path. And that is why we cannot remain together."
"There's nothing I do that any other nurse couldn't...I don't mean to them what you mean to me. I'd go with you Diana. If you just wanted me."
"I do not want to be without you, Abigail. But it is these same desires that have already harmed others. The journey is too dangerous and unknown. I have once lost a part of my heart. I will not lose another."
Diana leans forward and feels the caress of Abigail's hair on her cheek. She smells of lavender and peppermint and now...something more. Softly whispering into her friends ear:
"Μαζί κάποτε, δεν θα είμαστε ποτέ χώρια";
Diana gently kisses her. And leaves.
