The Vicar of St. Dunstan's Ep. 23

"I love strawberries, especially the tiny ones. They're the best."

"Really?"

"Oh yes. In fact, I'm in the mood for a strawberry right now."

"You keep your clothes on, Major!"

"Of course, of course." Coming around slowly from behind the table, he grasped her right foot and ankle, giving her instep a gentle kiss. Another followed slightly higher and another. He ascended her calf and lingered behind her knee, licking her tender soft skin, then worked his way upward.

"What are you doing to me?" she murmured.

"Nothing that's going to destroy your honor, love. I'm just going after a strawberry like you went after a worm." Climbing higher, he found her salty strawberry patch and savored her taste for several moments. Barbara didn't know what was happening to her, as new sensations ran through her body, but she couldn't push him away as he tuned her soul to new frequencies. Her body became slick with sweat, and she trembled, frightened and eager to see what happened next.

Her hips suddenly shot up, her pelvis pushing hard back at his mouth, her nipples like rubber buds that his fingers sought to squeeze. A high pitched siren song came from the back of her throat as a wave of pleasure she had never known before washed over her, followed by another and another. At last, she could take it no longer, pushing his head away, as she rode the cyclone from the heavens back down to earth.

S. J. knelt over her, his brow and hair wet with sweat and his undershirt soaked, smiling like a Cheshire cat. "Well? What do you think?"

Smiling up at him, she replied: "Thinking is the last thing I want to do right now. Where did you learn to do that? You've done this before?"

"No, on my honor, not. But I got a few pointers from Parkie. That's how he keeps his virgin lady back in Blighty loyal to him alone."

"Well, I think I need to repay your kindness, S. J." Unbuttoning his fly rapidly, she sought the turtlenecked worm she savored so sweetly before, and treated it more eagerly until it gave up its liqueur of passion. He lay beside her partially dressed, when she suddenly sat up and took the sheet he'd been working on from the writing table. A moment's glance and it was in S. J.'s face.

"Is this what you call Drawing? Is this what you call Art?" The figure was a rude stick figure, with awkward, fuzzy lines that betrayal the artist's lack of control over his medium.

He tore the paper away and put his hands on her breasts. "No. This is what I would call Art."

After that evening, strawberries and worms were the staple of their diet.

Early Tuesday morning, she was back on duty when Major Parkhurst caught her attention. She went over to him and sat on the bed. "Evening, Lady. How's tricks?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"How's my mate the General. Still recovering well?"

"The General?"

"You know, Major Stonewall Jackson McCoy of Kentucky. Stoney. The man who adores you."

"He's doing all right, Major. Hates his new billet, but other than that."

"Ah, you kids must not be getting enough privacy."

"That was uncalled for Major."

He patted her hand. "I don't mean anything by it. I owe him my life, and since he loves you, you have my undying loyalty as well, as long as you don't break his heart."

"I could never do that. Not for the whole world."

"I know. Now, he's seeing you every day, right?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"When my mate Stoney sets his sights on something, he's absolutely relentless in his pursuit. You've been more relaxed as well, so he must be taking care of you. Does he bring you flowers?"

"He usually has a red rose, when he can get one. I heard it's tough to do around here."

"Yes, it is. Do you go back to his billet with him?"

"That's not a proper question for a gentleman to ask a young lady."

"We've both been here three years, there's no way we can ever be young again, is there?"

She looked down at the floor. "No, I guess there isn't any way we can ever be young again. No, I've never seen his billet and he's never seen mine. We go opposite directions when we part: he goes on duty and I go off to sleep as I can."

"Sleeping in the daytime has to be tough."

"Yes, but I manage enough."

"The appearance of your eyelids would argue otherwise, but I'll let it pass. Tell you what, Easter is a month or so away, the last day of March. Why don't you and the General come up to my parent's house in Sussex, that's not too far away. We can be there and back in no time flat."

"I don't think I can. Lots to do here, and I'm not sure I can get leave."

"You've got accumulated leave going back three years; I asked your superior. My uncle Barkie is a General; he can pull strings and get you leave any time you want."

"It's not that."

"Oh?"

"My father is a stable master and my mother a maid. It wouldn't be proper for me to be a guest on your parent's estate: you're aristocracy, I'm gentry. Surely you understand, I'm not your equal."

Major Parkhurst took her hand. "Look, my Dad was in the First Boer War, career officer and he met my Mum while she was a nurse in South Africa. You'll have lots to talk about with them. The War has changed a lot of things, Barbara Jenkins, and whether we're ready for it or not, we're going to be part of a different world when this damn war's over. At the Front, we take what entertainment or pleasure we can, for who knows when somebody's going to find that bullet with his name on it, and we don't fuss with seating arrangements. The Boche are going to make a push this Spring, they've got to. We could still lose everything. We need to take what goodness we can from life while we can. Please, come to Sussex with Stoney and I." He paused with a mischievous look on his face. "You know you want to, just to be with him if nothing else.

Another patient was restless and needed attention, so Nurse Jenkins didn't answer him right away. After about twenty minutes, she returned to Parkhurst's cot and found him still awake. "All right, I'll consider it. Only to be with S. J., only to be with him." She went back to her desk and her sewing and Major Parkhurst fell asleep with a smile on his face.

A week later, Major Charles Parkhurst was released from hospital, and went home to finish his recuperation. S. J. McCoy and Barbara Jenkins continued to meet daily and deepened their relationship, walking hand in hand by the Seine on late Saturday afternoons. They talked about many things, but not about their future; Barbara had a difficult time imagining one beyond a War with no end in sight.

"How did you take up quilting?" he asked out of the blue one Saturday evening.

She thought for a moment. "I've always quilted, every since I can remember. My mother's family have done it as far back as I know; my mother still uses a quilt her grandmother made her. Lots of quilters in the North Country."

"My Maw quilts as well, and all my sisters. My sister Becky won first prize at the Pike County Fair a couple of years ago; wish I could have seen it. My people came from a part of Scotland close to the North Country originally, just over the border from your people, until King James invited them to live in Northern Ireland. Then, many of us went to America."

"Your people are famous for the patterns, aren't they?"

"Yes, very creative, very proud. When I use my Maw's quilt up at the Front, I can still feel her love all around me."

She hugged his arm tightly. "You must show it to me sometime."

Two days before their departure, the Germans broke through the British Fifth Army in the Kaiserslacht offensive, but neither McCoy or Parkhurst were cleared for combat duty, so they were permitted to travel across the Channel to England and the Parkhurst estate in Sussex. Charles met them at the door and gave them both huge bear hugs in greeting.

"Welcome, welcome, my dear friends," he enthused. "Let the cares of the world pass you by while you shelter within these ancient walls."

"Parkie, Parkie, it's been too long," Stoney replied in similar humor. "What's on the agenda?"

"Well, first you go to your rooms, get settled and freshen up. We'll take tea when you're ready, then shoot some billiards until suppertime. After supper, it's brandy and cigars in the smoke room, and at daybreak tomorrow, a foxhunt. Mummy is anxious to meet you, Miss Jenkins, as is my fiancee Lydia."

"I see you've got everything in order, Major Parkhurst," Stoney replied .

"No, no, no, no ranks or titles here, this is Liberty Hall, my dear Stoney. Make yourself at home, and relax for once. The Boche are a world away."

Nurse Barbara Jenkins couldn't believe the opulence of her quarters: it didn't feel right. She changed into a plain blue dress and dark sweater. S. J. McCoy came bursting through the door, wearing a riding clothes as soon as she let him in. "My dearest Barbara, we've died and gone to heaven." He embraced her and lifted her up to swing her around in circles until her head spun. Kissing her hard, he held her close for another long time.

"Patience, S. J. We have all weekend."

"I can't wait, sweetheart. I must have you."

"No, no, no. Not until we're married. We've got to be married. I'm sorry but that's how I was raised."

He looked at her face for a few somber moments, and said: "Back home, the preacher doesn't make his rounds very often, sometimes for years. When two young people in the backwoods want to get hitched, they make an agreement before witnesses and live as husband and wife until the preacher can come around and they do the wedding right. Sometimes, they have their kids act as ringbearers and flower girls."

"You can't pretend there's no clergy around here," she said.

"No, but getting married is three weeks of paperwork with the American Embassy, and we don't know whether we have three weeks. Parkie and I could get called back to the front any day if things get too bad, on convalescent leave or not, and you could be sent to a frontline hospital, where you could be in danger, too. Last I heard, the Boche were using new tactics, and we hadn't stopped them yet. When we get back to France, we might never see one another again."

"Just a small detail, dear, one that I am reluctant to bring to your attention," she said seriously with a hint of a smile on her face. "You've never asked me to marry you." There was a long pause as they looked at one another; he was genuinely confused and she was unflappable in her determination. "

Then he got down to one knee and took her right hand in his two. "Barbara Ann Jenkins, will you marry me?"

She sobbed and cried a moment. It was a moment she never thought would happen: all her life she had been told she looked too young, was too plain, too ordinary to find the right young man. Three years of struggle in the ward keeping wounded soldiers alive had almost eradicated any sense of what love and happiness meant from her consciousness. Then this charming man had broken through her crusty exterior, taken her places she'd never been before. There was only one answer.

"Yes, Stonewall Jackson McCoy. I will marry you. I don't know what I'm doing, where we'll live, or what kind of world we'll be living in, but I will marry you."

After a long kiss, he bolted from the room and tore down the hall, whooping and hollering, while she sat in a nearby chair dumbfounded. She looked out the window at the newly greening countryside, and the flowers starting to bud. A bird began to sing, the first one she truly listened to since August 1914. The promise of spring caught her heart as it never had before, now she was a woman in love and the whole world a garden of what might be.

Footsteps pounding down the corridor presaged the door being flung open. The two Canadian officers entered the room, closely followed by Charles' fiancee, Lydia Chalmers. "Congratulations, Nurse Jenkins, congratulations," Charles said. "May I kiss the bride?"

"You may not, Charles," Lydia cut in, and pointed at herself. "The only bride you're permitted to kiss until we're officially bound in matrimony is me. Pleasure to meet you, Barbara, and welcome back to England."

"The pleasure is mine," Barbara replied, and extended her hand. Lydia took it cordially, with a sincere smile of welcome. "What's all this then?"

"I've just talked Parkie and Lydia into a Pike County Kentucky wedding," S. J. said enthusiastically. "They're going to make their promise in front of us, here and now."

"Why? Aren't you getting ahead of yourselves?" Barbara asked.

"No, we've been engaged for a year now, " Charles said. "Lydia's parents won't let us get married until the War is over, but we can't wait. Who knows what tomorrow may bring, and we want to make our vows before God right now. Stoney has the right idea to revive this ancient tradition, and I for one and glad to bring it to England."

"I'm in agreement for once," Lydia added. "My parents are crazy, but there's no way I can defy them directly and stay on good terms: I'd like to remain in the Will. The same is true for Charles, so this is a splendid idea." She turned and kissed his cheek, leaning up on her tip toes. Lydia was a slender, medium height young woman, with blue eyes, red hair and wore a long, lace dress with matching hat. Charles was wearing a suit, white shirt and tie.

S. J. turned to Barbara. "I know you're impulsive once in a while Barbara, and you know we're meant for each other. Let's witness Parkie and Lydia's vows and they can do the same for us. We'll be married Kentucky style, and after we give the Kaiser the thrashing he deserves, we'll meet at the altar in front of a church full of people and do the whole thing up right. What do you say?"

Barbara's head was spinning, but the light in S. J. 's eyes and the enthusiasm Charles and Lydia had for each other was contagious, so there in Lydia's guest room with the fireplace blazing, the sun shining through the crystal windows and a portrait Albert and Victoria smiling down on them, they exchanged their vows of eternal fidelity to one another, with only God as their witness.

The formal dinner that evening was more entertaining than Stoney and Barbara could have imagined. Colonel Alfred Parkhurst was a jovial, plump man in his early seventies, with a salt and pepper mustache, goatee and long sideburns, who spoke animatedly about his adventures in Her Majesty's Service throughout the Empire. Mrs. Parkhurst, a matronly middle aged woman, was an excellent foil to the Colonel's jocularity, providing the occasional acerbic barb to deflate his pompous tendency. It was a long practiced repartee built on the bedrock of decades of intimacy and laced with obvious affection. After dinner, the men retired to the game room for billiards, brandy and cigars, while the women took tea in a sitting room.

Barbara, Lydia, and Mrs. Parkhurst settled into the chairs with their cups, which the older woman spiked with from a flask of brandy after the servants withdrew. After a few moments innocent conversation, Mrs. Parkhurst went straight to the point: "I understand that you're uncomfortable with us, Miss Jenkins."

Barbara almost choked on her tea. "Well, Mrs. Parkhurst, this is a situation unique in my experience so far."

"Where are you from, Miss Jenkins?"

"The North Country. Near York."

"Where did your parents work?"

Barbara took a deep breath. "My father was a stable master for the Duke of York, my mother was a maid."

"Are their professions a source of shame for you?"

"No, of course not." She took a nervous sip from her cup and waited in the suddenly silence.. Finally, she gave in. "Yes, yes, it was," she whispered harshly

"How so?"

Barbara took another long sip of brandy-laced tea. "My parents worked hard every day of their lives, put in long hours on behalf of the House and the Royal family, and they received no recognition for it. No word of thanks, no consideration for time off to attend family needs, no support when there was trouble in the family. They lost two little boys to tuberculosis, and the concern the betters showed them was whether the royals had been exposed."

"I see. How dreadful their masters were; I am ashamed of them. Is there anything else?"

"Well, I was blessed with a small frame and childish appearance, so none of the upper class boys were interested in me. But I saw all the maids who fell for the young men in their teens, yearning to move up in the world, idolizing the beautiful young men of unlimited promise, counting on them to make respectable women of them and take them away from servitude. Every time, the upper class twits led them on to take their honor and then dumped them coldly. One of them died in an illegal abortion, another committed suicide, and several lives were ruined. Lovely, innocent young maids turned prematurely into ugly, grim harridans."

"How terrible," Lydia cut in. "I've overheard my brothers talking about seducing the maids, but I never thought of it from the maid's perspective."

"So I talked my parents into sending me to nursing school, to get away from the House before one lad with an odd taste targeted me," Barbara continued. "The Duke got me a position at a private hospital in York, and in 1914, I signed up to tend our boys in France and I've been there every since."

"Well, my dear," Mrs. Parkhurst began, "you're not the only one to fall in love with a patient."

"Really, Mrs. Parkhurst?" Lydia asked incredulously.

"Yes, Lydia," she replied, "you would be surprised how many upper class women began their lives away from the aristocracy. I was an orphan in Cape Town growing up, didn't know who my parents were. Through hard work and patience, I earned a spot in a local nursing school and when the First Boer War began, I found myself in a field hospital close to the action."

"You met Colonel Parkhurst as a patient?" Barbara asked.

"Yes, he was struck down at the Battle of Laing's Nek in January 1881, and I tended him during the night shift. He was the kindest man I've ever met, and shortly there was nothing I wouldn't do for him. He'd been married before, unhappily, and his wife had just died in a ferry accident. It didn't matter that he was fifteen years older than I, or that he was from a prominent family, he captured my heart and before he returned home we were married."

"Have you ever regretted it?"

"There are always regrets, but the joys were far, far more than I could have ever hoped for. We lived in South Africa, Egypt, India, Australia, all with a family of four rambunctious boys that appeared fairly early on. If you're with the one you love, anyplace you live is paradise."

"Ah, that is so sweet, Mrs. Parkhurst," Lydia said. "Such an inspiration."

"That's a wonderful picture," Barbara said, pointing at a family portrait on the wall. She recognized the Parkhursts and Charles in his Canadian uniform standing with his three brothers in British Cavalry tunics behind their parents. "How old is it?"

"It was three years ago, Miss Jenkins," Mrs. Parkhurst said, wiping a tear from her eye. "In the wake of 4 August, my three boys got their commissions and prepared for action in France. Charles was supervising our ranch in Saskatchewan, so he made a long journey to Toronto to join the Canadians: he was always impulsive and couldn't wait to get home to sign on. They happened to be here at the same time after they finished training, so we sat for the portrait in London.

"As one ages, various aches and pains begin, and sorrow over the loss of loved ones challenges us as we struggle to carry on. Colonel Parkhurst had a mild stroke a year and a half ago, fortunately with a full recovery, and I have pains that are clearly the onset of Arthritis. We lost young Alfred at Loos, Stephen fell in the first assault at the Somme, and Joseph died of pneumonia after being severely wounded at Arras last year."