The wounded lay, in tents, as busy staff did triage assessment, with a few glances; fractures, slight wounds, gas injuries, nervous-cases, all sorts came here, flowed, in an almost silent stream of torn, bloodied bodies, some even survived. The honey-yellow light of August had dimmed, and the tent smelled of metallic blood, sharp instruments glistened, as someone mumbled softly, moaning.
In one corner was a victim of a gas attack, his skin had swollen gas blisters, all over. A brisk nurse, glanced at the patient and said briefly, "Get a doctor, I suspect gas gangrene, this leg has been bandaged too tight for too long." Another nurse, examined a patient who was limp. The soldier's golden brown hair was stained, and clinically she noted to her passing colleague, "Look at that, in the right eye the doctor apparently suspected blindness, damage around the eye socket, the eye does not respond to light. A glancing shot, the bullet has bounced off something. Let's put a new wrap on it, which has been soaked in saline solution. The soldier is still unconscious from the effects of morphine, as the examination was not urgent, only a couple of hours ago, the most urgent cases were on the agenda, such as that one massive shrapnel injury that died on the table. Soon another load of covalecent patients, and not so serious cases, will leave here, to the hospital, where they will be re-evaluated. We are just the first stopgap, to a flood. Fortunately, first-aid tents and a network of hospital tents are almost everywhere, even in these conditions."
Carl Meredith became aware of the searing, freezing pain that came in waves. His field of vision was blurry. He carefully tried to raise himself up, but he couldn't. Panic rose within him. The scents were wrong. Where were they, his companions? The last memory he had was climbing off the ridge, and then a sudden loud bang, as if a hand grenade had gone off, soil had rained down, and then nothing.
A soothing female voice said calmly, "Soldier, state your military number and unit, and your name please. You are in the hospital, slightly injured, in your right eye, which is unfortunately blinded from a blunt force trauma."
Numb, feeling unreal and bleak, Carl snapped into attention, and mumbled in faint voice, " 1152928235, I'm part of the CEF 2nd Battalion, Private Meredith, we were part of the Amiens offensive, moving towards Fouquescourt, in formation."
Una Meredith had folded Rosemary's heirloom sheets into a large basket in Manse´s garden when she noticed telegram boy wheeling hastily toward Manse. The boy gave a small, grave salute, to Una, as he inquired in an official voice, " Telegram to Mr. Meredith."
Una almost felt her knees give out, as she asked in a voice that, oddly enough, did not tremble, "Can you tell me where the telegram came from?"
The boy glanced at the thin envelope again and shook his head apologetically, "The rules forbid, I can only deliver these. I must continue my rounds, Miss Meredith."
With trembling hands, Una received the thin envelope, and with blurry eyes she almost stumbled into her father's study.
John Meredith was writing. The light highlighted the streaks of gray in his pitch black hair, and in his mild way, he inquired, "Una, what's the matter?"
Speechless, Una just handed the telegram to her father.
Glancing at it, John Meredith's expression changed, closing and deepening. In the blink of an eye, John Meredith was a priest who stood up for others, a pillar of the community. Calmly he said, "Dear Una, go to the kitchen and prepare a pot of tea, tea is a panacea, always, and now is the time anyway."
When the door had closed behind Una, John Meredith closed his eyes, uttering a small desperate prayer, "Please, not my boys, they have lives ahead of them, yet."
Opening his eyes, John's eyes fell on Cecilia's jewelry box, and nervously, John opened it and examined its contents. Jewels and brooches glittered, like the treasures of lost Babylonia, Pompeij, or drowned Atlantis, more as a memorial to what had been lost.
John could almost hear Cecilia say in her warm loving teasing way, "Oh John, our children will be so happy, they will love life. See how interested little Carl's eyes follow the light, and that dragonfly as it flies, how sunny, and blithe Faith is, how precise and steely Una, despite her shyness, not to mention Jerry, how he searches for answers and information a little like you did back in the day."
With one stroke, John Meredith cut open the envelope of the thin, ink-stained telegram and read the brief communication.
This is to inform you, that Private C.K. Meredith, 1152928235, is slightly wounded following in action and is being treated in the hospital.
Flowing tears began to flow down John's narrow cheeks as he, with trembling hands, buried his face in his hands.
Eventually, John Meredith walked into the kitchen and met Una and Rosemary's restless, pained gazes directed at him. John swallowed once roughly, and said, "Carl is slightly wounded, but he is in the hospital, I got the official word. Now we just have to wait, and wait, maybe from Carl himself, there will be a note soon."
Una's dark blue almond-shaped eyes were red-rimmed, but no tears fell, as she nodded once. Rosemary's lips trembled a little and John could hear that she murmured something not Presbyterian under her breath.
There was piano playing in the living room, Bruce happened to be playing strains of Carl's favorite hymn, All Creatures of our God and King.
And that Sunday, after a long time, Glen's church was almost full. Reverend Meredith had preached on a subject close to his heart after being inspired by Jerry's letters, The vision we forget : a layman's reading of the book of the Revelation of St. John the Divine. The choir sang brightly, a selection of hymns: From all that dwell below the skies, For the beauty of the earth, Come, ye Thankful people, come.
Irene Howard and Clive Howard were in their mourning clothes, in Howards pew. Olive Kirke, every now and then looked purposefully in Clive Howard's direction.
After the service was over, several members of the Junior Reds gathered in the yard. Betty Meade, remarked, " Una Meredith seems to be holding on, quite well."
Mary Vance, shot a sharp look in Betty's direction as she replied sharply, " Una, is made sterner stuff than most. She will not buckle under, not now. Especially since Carl is apparently only slightly wounded."
Irene Howard fixed the gauze falling from her hat, with wan mien, she only sniffed, delicately, as she cast a veiled glance at the foot of an oak tree, where her brother stood with Olive Kirke.
Rilla Blythe, Nan and Di Blythe walked up to the Junior Reds. An expectant silence fell over that small group.
Then Minne Clow inquired cautiously, "Has there been any more news?"
Rilla shook her head vigorously.
Nan, looked at the beautiful churchyard glistening in the sunshine and said in a low voice, "It is remarkable that life goes on here, despite the rows new graves, that adorn graveyards here and Lowbridge, that wave of sickness seems to have stopped. Almost daily the dispatch and circular news in the newspapers seems to announce new victories as the enemy retreats like a wave before our troops. Perhaps this really is the beginning of the end."
Irene Howard flinched, hearing Nan's words, and she said in a bitter voice, "Dearest Nan, will you be able to stick to your philosophy if something bad happens to your loved one. War is merciless, there are no guarantees."
Di Blythe took a step forward, Betty Meade, and Mary Vance noticed with interest that the expression in Di's eyes was very cool as she remarked, in sweet tone, "Dearest Irene, none of us need a reminder of the mercilessness of war, as we all here have faced losses. Would you perhaps like us to continue our previous conversation in the company of others?"
A slight patchy blush appeared on Irene's pale face, as she smoothly snapped, " There is no need, dearest Diana."
Slightly amused, Mary Vance murmured in an off-hand way to Nan, "Apparently studying at Redmond has grown your twin's claws. She simply shredded Irene. Cornelia couldn't have done better. Are you lot, coming to help harvest the upper fields, this year?"
Rilla glanced at her hands, which looked very ladylike in their white lace gloves.
Betty Meade made a side-glance towards Upper Glen houses, that were barely visible amid verdant trees, as she remarked, "Mary Vance, I'm not going to wear overalls, they're indecent, even if the cause is quite noble."
Mary Vance, noted, "They are practical, and in these times, everyone has to do their part, and that's what we've done these four years. It's strange to think that four years ago, at the beginning of August, this kind of grimness and bloodyness, didn't exist anywhere but in the old dusty history books."
Nan, smiled as she quoted, Tennyson with a wan smile that was more like a grimace
" Cannon to the right of them,
Cannon to the left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
While horse and Hero fell.
They that had fought so well
Came through the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of hell."
Di sighed lightly. Rilla glanced searchingly in Di's direction, as she murmured, "Walter, loved that poem."
Mary Vance, glanced towards the Manse, where the lace-trimmed window curtains of Una's room fluttered in the wind.
That evening, as the dew wetted the grass, Di sat on an old garden swing that had been moved to the verandah, she looked out into the misty evening. A golden-throated blackbird thrilled with its evening songs. There had been a few letters in the afternoon mail, one of them had been from Dorian. Thoughtfully, Di cut open the shell. Dorian's letters smelled like jasmine.
Gardiner Hall, August 1918.
Thank you for your letters, they have greatly lifted my mood, which has been fluctuating. The atmosphere here at the Hall is, well, better that you don't know. Fortunately, newspaper headlines are announcing wins almost daily, so I'm cautiously optimistic. I have happy news which I have already shared with Sue, but now I will write about it to you too before she has time to write to Nan.
One of my favorite aunt's acquaintances is a journalist, and his magazine needs new talent. I wrote to this person with the result that from September I will be on the editorial board of a magazine called Ourania, gaining practical experience, because I realized that my previous experience is by no means enough to start my own magazine, possibly for years.
So, do you still want to join me on this adventure?
Dorian.
Ps. How is Hermes the turtle?
Di chuckled softly as she folded Dorian's letter into the envelope. Hermes was Jims pet, and Susan's terror, which had almost replaced Susan's previous aversion to Jekyll and Hyde the cat, but not totally. There were sound of slight footsteps, as Nan pressed her chin against Di's shoulder as she inquired, "What did you dream about?"
Di, shook her head and replied lightly, "I just read Dorian's latest letter."
An interested glint lit up Nan's eyes as she said, "Sue has written that Dorian has been diligently spending time in various places lobbying for his project, we'll see how that goes. Apparently they see each other quite often."
Di cast a searching look at her twin as she remarked, "Nanlet, you have a plotting silence, leave them be, please."
Impishly Nan replied, "Leave who?"
The rustling of a letter could be heard from the veranda, as Nan delved into Jerry's letter, it seemed to be quite thick one. With a fond glance, towards Nan, Di crept through the ruined garden of Ingelside, across darkened Glen.
Di stopped, leaning on the handlebars of Walter's bike, and looked around.
A lush maple tree shaded the road, grasshoppers chirped in the yellowish grass and flowers nod with their petals closed. Di, dumped the bike in the grass and bent down at the foot of the tree. There under mossy brick was an old tin cigar box. Di, wiped her hands and slipped folded and sealed notes, from it into her pocket.
Below spread Lowbridge, the lights of that agglomeration of buildings and houses sparkled, twinkled. With resolute expression in her features, Di turned her bike, and started pedaling back in Glen's direction. With the salty night wind ruffling her hair, Di felt a faint sting in her conscience as she remembered Dads edict regarding Lowbridge, but as the summer wore on, Alice and she had rekindled the old way of communication between Walter and Alice, each other, it was full of an aging mystery that had been completely Walter-like in his knightly phase. Those small, thin letters, there weren't many, but they had shown that a dark sadness lingered in the Parker house. Alice's time was spent in housekeeping, trying to keep her father's spirits up, when Dick Parker couldn't bury himself in his work, and playing music.
The reddish road was only a shadowy ribbon before her, as Di curved towards Ingelside, once again she found that she no longer belonged to the Glen, as pleasant as it was to be home.
Anne Blythe, looked up from Phil's letter, as Di, darted into the living room, with a furtive look in her eyes. Steadily, Anne looked at her daughter and said softly, "Di, would you like to talk?" Di, glanced towards Mumsy, who was in her old kimono, her thick silver-streaked red hair in a braid, a steady, kind, trusting look in her eyes that had always brought comfort in childhood evenings.
Di, leaned thoughtfully, against the piano, with a carefree, stretching gesture, and shook her head. Soon quiet, gentle music pulsed in the living room of Ingelside, Ravel, Shéhérazade.
Listening to her daughter's skillful playing, Anne momentarily felt that maybe there was harmony in the world again, despite the total war tearing the whole world apart. When the music had died down, Anne said to the resulting silence, "Di, would you perhaps like to go back to Kingsport for Red Cross duties, you and Nan? I feel you are not happy here. Idleness does not suit you. You work diligently here, but there you may be more for war-effort, and all?"
Suddenly Anne felt Di's cool hands around her shoulders, as impulsively, she murmured, "I'd like to, but what does Dads say about that, that is, about us traveling. Nan might want to stay on, though. Wouldn't it be easier if we stayed here to help, like we've been doing up until now?"
Anne Blythe, chuckled softly as she said, "That was your father's suggestion. You still have responsibilities to the Red Cross of Kingsport, I want you to fulfill them, as we all do our part here as well. Besides, if you and Nan are gone, Rilla's nerves would calm down. She does fret so that you would violate her authority to Junior Reds even though she does an excellent job of hiding them."
Susan's solid flannel clad figure came in carrying a tea tray as she pointedly remarked, "I couldn't sleep. I tried to count sheep, to no avail, as all I could think of was the latest communications from the Battle of Albert and Second Battle of Bapaume, which appeared in the papers yesterday, even if our lads are not in it. Thank God!"