You Promised

Chapter Nineteen

I walk into the kitchen. John is sitting at the table. He sees me come in and holds up a letter. It's from France. I rip open the envelope. Every time I get one of these letters I wonder if it's from Adam or from his general, McCain is his name, telling me that Adam is injured or worse, dead. My heart pounds in my ears like a drum roll. I release the breath I didn't know I was holding when I recognise Adam's writing. There is something strange however. His script is messier, much more untidy than usual. As I open the letter, mud and dirt falls from it. I brush it clean and see a slight crinkle in parts of the paper. As though water had been dropped on it, or if I dare to think of it, tears.

My dearest Ami,
I wish I had good news. Everything is bleak here. One day blurs into the next. Week into week, month into month. The sky is a dark grey that can be hard to tell from the ground. The only thing that keeps me going is the thought of you. You are the only thing in this world that stops me from jumping in front of the bombs. Forgive me darling, that was morbid.
As I write, we are being bombed again. The ground shakes. I can hear the explosions Ami even when I'm asleep. They haunt me night and day. A young solider I met has said he's going to write a poem about this war. He says that it will make the Generals listen. It's funny to think that someone still believes that we have any hope.
Ami, please don't ever stop these letters. They are a beacon of hope to me from one attack to the next defence. I love and miss you so much. Some of the other men have nothing, no one to miss no one to love or fight for. I am fighting for you.
Yours forever,
Adam
Xxx

I slowly go upstairs to my room. I sit in my chair and sigh. I can almost picture Adam, sitting crouched in a bunker, in Somewhere in France. The earth tumbling around him. The shouts and screams of the other men. The blood...I shake myself out of my nightmare.
Jenny stomps about upstairs in her room in the recently converted attic. She is seven months pregnant now and we are still trying to decide what to do with her. Father has secretly voted to simply send her back to London on her own. John and I think she should go away for a while then the baby should be raised as our little sibling. Mother has no suggestion other than humming and shaking her head at any suggestion that includes her beloved Jenny going away.
Today is Sunday which means mass. I dress in my best gown and head downstairs. It's going to be Jenny's first mass so we aren't sure what our village will think of her. I grab a parasol from the door and go to wait outside. The flowers are blooming in rainbows of colours. The birds sing in the hedgerows and the breeze makes the branches swing softly. John tumbles out of the house and almost trips over a flowerpot. He is wearing some sort of striped jacket. It is red, black and cream.
'John, you look ridiculous!' I say laughing at him.
He grins at me before explaining. 'I hate dressing up and Mother said to dress well!'
'And this is well?' I ask incredulously.
'Well.' He shrugs. 'She won't make me dress this way again, now will she?'
Mother and Father then come out of the house. Mother sees John's jacket and winces. John holds his arms out and spins in a circle. Mother hits him in the arm and he roars laughing. We hop into the trap that is waiting and head off. The horse clops down the drive and the gravel crunches under her hooves.
Jenny hasn't joined us. It's probably for the best. The village will just have to wait. We speed through the houses and streets. At some point the gravel turns into pavement which makes the cart jump up and down. I close my eyes and let the shadows dance across my eyelids. The cart pulls to a stop outside the church.
The church looms over a small, local graveyard. The tombstones with some freshly dug graves in front, from the returned soldiers. We walk along the path which is adorned with white petals from the last funerals. I glance around and see Mr and Mrs Green with Lily further up the path chatting to Dr Watts and his wife Winnie. They smile at me as I walk inside. The air changes, it becomes more stuffy and tense. The condensed atmosphere is partly due to the hanging smell of frankincense in the air. There are small windows that allow small rectangles of light to hit the floor, blinding the unfortunate people in those seats. We move to sit up in one of the front benches. The giant stained glass window at the top of the church illuminates Fr. Franks as he turns away from us to begin the mass.
He begins to speak. He is quiet, but the congregation has learned the responses by heart.
'Amen.' We chant monotonously.
The mass passes in a blur. We stand. We sit. We get communion. At the end, we walk outside. Lily skips over to me and grasps my hand. I smile at her and then continue socialising. Some people ask about Jenny and we say our pre-rehearsed lines.
'She's still in London. We haven't heard from her.'
The people give us sympathetic looks and quickly change the topic. We mingle outside for about 30 minutes, until Anna flies through the crowd towards me. Her eyes are wild as she lunges for my hand.
'Ami.' She rasps at me pulling me towards the gate. 'It's Jayne's mother.' My heart lurches. Mrs. Hartly. My boss from the bakery.
'Is she ok?' I ask, racing from the graveyard with Anna. Anna doesn't reply. We gallop down the street until we reach the hospital. It's an old building that was once strong and beautiful but is now cluttered with tents and make-shift cabins to house the injured soldiers. Hundreds of extra nurses have also moved in to look after the men.
Anna and I twist and turn around the obstacles and tear through the front door. Anna knows where she is going so I fall into step behind her. We race past doors of young men and older citizens. Eventually, we reach the closed door. Anna steps aside to let me in first. My hand hovers in front of the door. A part of me wants to go in but the rest of me is terrified as to what I'll see. I reach for the handle and pull it open. I slowly walk around the door.
Mrs. Hartly is sitting up in the bed. The walls are whitewashed. The bed sheets are blanched so that the entire room is white. But nothing is as pale as Mrs Margaret Hartly's face. Her eyes are sunken and her cheeks are flushed. Jayne sits at her mothers beside, holding her hand. She sees me and walks over to me. Her eyes glisten with tears as she hugs me.
'How is she?' I ask into her ear.
She pulls away from me but holds my arms. 'How does she look?' She replies dryly.
Awful I think but I don't want to say. She sees my doubtful look and sighs. She walks back to her mother. She sits beside her and collapses exhausted back into the chair.
At that moment, when everything was still the moment freezes. We stay that way for a while. Each in our own world.
Suddenly, the door opens and a voice breaks into our minds.
'Hey there!' A cheerful voice chirps. We all look to the door as a young nurse comes in. She has tanned skin that contrasts sharply with our, paler skin. Her eyes are chestnut brown and seem to hold an intelligence far beyond her years. She has long brown hair that falls straight down her back, except for a small curl beside her face. She is tall, with slim hands and a beaming smile. I take an instant like to this young woman.
'How are you fine folks doing?' She says. Her accent is foreign, American, I think. She glides over beside the bed and says to Mrs. Hartly. 'What are you doing inside today? You look as though you should be outside having fun!' Mrs. Hartly smiles and waves the comment away.
'The jokes on you Dolly. You have to stay inside to look after me!' Mrs. Hartly responds laughing. Dolly smiles at her then checks a clipboard lying on a table. Jayne paces around the room as Dolly does check after check.
Soon, the door is almost flung off its hinges and in runs Hazel. Her hair is bouncing about her face which seems as though it can't decide between fury and sympathy.
'Whose wonderful idea was it not to tell me?' She says, disentangling twigs from her hair. I roll my eyes and continue to look after Jayne's mother. Anna laughs and pulls Hazel aside to explain what's happened.
I sit beside Mrs. Hartly and stroke her wrist. She closes her eyes and sinks back into her bank of soft pillows. Soon, she is snoring gently. Jayne pulls me up and we slowly exit the room. She is leaning heavily on my arm and we all flock around her, offering our support and affection should she need it. She is almost as sickly pale as her mother. Her blonde hair making her even paler than she should be. She shakes her head, indicating that she wants to be alone. She makes her graceful way down the hall, her hand lingering on the chairs and desks that adorn the hallway.
We watch her, our concern growing as she slows and inhales deeply. I look at Anna and Hazel. Anna's deep blue eyes swimming with concern for her friend. Hazel seems to be studying Jayne when suddenly, her eyes light up and she scampers down the hall after Jayne. Anna and I look stunned at one another as Hazel catches up to Jayne and starts speaking in hushed tones to her. Jayne smiles wearily at her and pats her shoulder. Anna and I turn to leave and we make our way out onto the street.
The day is still warm and golden but the very air seems colder. We walk, arm in arm down the street. Anna is shaking silently. I hold her hand and she gazes gratefully at me. We struggle down the dusty road together and when we reach my house, I invite her in. She slips in the door and we remove our coats and scarves. I shout upstairs to see if my family are home after mass, but I am greeted with silence.
Silence that lasts only until my brother stumbles from the garage and onto the floor. He staggers to his feet and his eyes light on my companion. His gaze droops as he recognises that she isn't Hazel. He nods his hello then he struts to his room. Anna and I go into the smoky kitchen which signifies that my father is home.
'Father?' I say, hoping that he will get the message and go to his beloved study. 'If you want I can bring some tea to your study?'
Being the top-of-the-range father that he is, he picks up the ever-present newspaper and heads for the library. Anna and I scoot to the couch and curl up around our steaming cups of tea. We sit in silence for a moment until Anna breaks the silence.
'Will you come?' She asks, then seeing my confused expression adds 'To my art show. It's in London in two days. I sent you a letter but given how these days priorities are given to war letters...' She trails off, remembering that I would always prefer war letters to get priority.
I lean over to her and take her hand. 'Of course I'll be there. I wouldn't miss it for the world. Are the other girls going?'
She tucks her shining hair behind her ears. 'Yes. Hazel and Jayne, if she can come that is.'
We go silent for a while, and listen to the stream, chuckling over the stones outside the window.
'I wonder what Hazel was saying to Jayne earlier.' I comment, breaking the silence. Before she has a chance to reply, my mother shuffles into the kitchen and offers Anna to stay for supper.
'If it's not too much trouble.' Anna says in her usual polite tone.
'Oh stop it Anna.' I say in mock irritation. 'You are always trouble and you know it.'
She beams and is recruited to help lay the table. John, as usual, smells the food and appears to eat. We sit around the table and dig into the delicious meal that my mother has prepared. Anna eats, but knowing her as I have for years, I know she is mentally making note of how much she is eating and whether she will have to run home or not to burn off the food. Mother has graced us with a meal of chicken and mashed potatoes with creamed leeks. It's good and well received by all.
After dinner, and copious cups of tea, Anna chooses to depart and I walk her down the street. We hug our goodbyes and I turn for home. I walk along the stream carrying my shoes in my hand, kicking the swirling leaves at my feet. I look at the sky and the trees. The leaves spin around me and I close my eyes and twirl amongst them. Some stay in my hair and I continue crunching them beneath my bare feet. I pull the leaves from my hair as I open the back door and creep to my room. I pull back the covers and slide under the sheets, for another restless night.