Calling the Stork

By SouthernCrossfire

Summary: In a world at war, can true love blossom and endure?

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Author's Note:

This period romance set in the early 20th century tells a young woman's story in her own words as she sets out in the world during dark and uncertain times.

The story focuses more on the character, her feelings, and those around her, rather than the eroticism, though that, too, comes into play as the story progresses. It's a long story, over 32,000 words, so if you're looking for lots of encounters described in graphic detail, please look elsewhere, but if you seek tender romance, with hope, heartbreak, a touch of sex appropriate to the period, and perhaps even a few tears, I hope you'll agree when done that you found them here.

Finally, this story stands alone but some fans may recognize parallels to and even a few brief outtakes from two of my previous, related stories. Please see the Endnotes for details.

Finally, your response is very important to me so please let me know your thoughts with your votes, favorites, and comments. Thank you!

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Friday, July 20, 1917

The trip has been so boring, with only the fears of storms and German U-boats to break the monotony. Of course, I was quite sick for the first three days until hunger and exhaustion set in and my body began to accommodate whatever nature and the U.S.S. Sherman, our transport vessel, could throw at us. I was able to keep something down this morning, so I have hope that--

***

Saturday, July 21, 1917

Writing while the ship is moving is tough. I barely made it to the side yesterday before I threw up. With the wind blowing as it is, I hope it didn't spatter anyone on a deck below.

Marcella, one of the other nurses, suggested that I keep a journal to take my mind off the nausea and she gave me her spare volume since she said she hasn't even filled a page after almost a month of trying, leading me to question the veracity of her advice. Yesterday was my first failed attempt at recording our journey before it--no, not again--

***

Thursday, August 2nd

No more writing on ships. Never again.

That said, and with good reason, we finally arrived in England last week and it was quite hot compared to what we'd been led to expect. After disembarking, we stood in line for hours to check in before being sent by train to a base somewhere southeast of London where we met Captain Wilbur Durnell. He's in charge of our nursing group, which the army seems to insist on calling a detachment. Lots of things the army does are pretty funny or outright odd though, and Captain Durnell agrees, saying a junior lieutenant should have been assigned to watch us instead of a real officer like him.

Out of our original 30 nurses, there are only six of us in our "detachment" that are being assigned together. I was in nursing school with Christy Herbert and Vivian Winfree but I've only met the other three in recent days and don't know them well. Jane Franks, Cynthia Reinhart, and Deborah Woodsen are all older and have more experience than the three of us, but they're very quiet and Christy, who's always been a little loud and rather brash, seems to take charge and be our leader whether the rest of us like it or not.

I said goodbye to Marcella before she and her group moved on. She couldn't tell me where they were going (if she even knew), but I thanked her for our brief friendship and this book. She was a sweet lady and I'll miss her. Perhaps our paths will cross again.

Later today, Captain Durnell told us that there's been a change in our detachment's orders, that we aren't going to France after all. Instead, we have been assigned to a facility somewhere in England. They haven't told us where yet, but we're all upset that we aren't going to the front in France or Belgium where our boys need us.

The captain countered, saying there aren't many Americans here yet and that they fight harder when they know they'll be cared for at home if they're wounded. The frightful casualty figures we see in the newspapers make me wonder about that, what with all the poor men who die on the battlefield or are so badly wounded they never make it back here.

***

Friday, August 3rd

The army is so confounding and confusing!

It turned out that Captain Durnell hasn't actually received our new assignment yet, just that we were getting one somewhere here in the U.K. rather than on the continent. In addition, he doesn't even expect it until Monday, so we asked about a weekend pass to allow us to see London.

Captain Durnell, as fussy as one of the British officers we would actually expect to be that way, denied our request, saying it wouldn't be appropriate for young American women to be wandering around London alone. Instead, we've been assigned to a temporary barracks and told to stay there until our orders arrive. Other than the heat, there's not even anything happening worth writing in this journal; however, Marcella said the book was for recording things that happened, but she didn't say when it had to happen.

~~~

I was born in the sweltering heat of that summer of 1897. With me being Ma's first delivery and it being mid July, she struggled with my birth for hours on end, making the midwife question whether either of us would survive.

The second midwife, when she arrived, was of the same opinion.

Pa had little money, having only recently started work at the Stetson hat factory, but he sent for the doctor anyway.

"My Kayleigh has to make it, and if these birthin' witches don't think they can do it, she and our baby needs someone better. Get that doctor and I'll pay him what he asks," Pa told his cousin, Sean, and their friend, Padrick.

Being the baby in question, I didn't know any of this at the time, of course, but Sean was killed in a big brawl a few years later and I learned a few details of my birth when Padrick recalled the events of that evening during Sean's wake and more from talking to Ma when I was much older.

"See, the doctor, a tiny little fellow, refused to come when Sean asked him," Padrick told the crowd. "Now, Sean was a big man as yee all know, and he stood more'n a foot taller than the pipsqueak sawbones. He'd had me bring a burlap bag to carry the doc's kit that he might need for birthin' Kayleigh, but when the doc refused to come along, Sean roared, 'Padrick, gimme the sack!'"

Padrick held up his hand to quiet the crowd and then went on. "I dinna know what he was'a doin, but Sean shook that bag out with a big loud pop, making it crack like a whip, and then held it up in front'a that doc, eye'n just so, measur'in like, afore he nodded. 'Whatcha think, Padrick? Will'e fit?'"

Everyone at the wake roared in laughter with many pints raised in Sean's honor, but Padrick wasn't quite through. He held up his hand and got everyone to calm down and he continued the story at barely more than a whisper so people had to strain to hear him.

"When the doc realized what was a'gonna happen, he shouted, 'Wait! I'll come if you promise me you won't hurt me or put me in the bag.'

"Ole Sean bent down and looked that little doctor right in the eyes. 'See how easy dat was, doc? That's what I fookin' asked ya' in da first place!'"

Everyone roared again except for Ma, who would have clapped her hands over my tender ears to keep me from hearing such words, except she was about eight months pregnant with my little sister, and couldn't get up out of her seat without help. With Pa holding me and laughing as hard as the rest, I'm sure my dimples were putting on a show as I grinned.

***

Monday, August 6th

It's still hot and there's still no more news on our orders so Captain Durnell had us go on a walk today and do some of what he called calisthenics (I hope I'm spelling it right), telling us we need exercise. Everyone complained of the heat except for Deborah, who is from Charleston, South Carolina, where she said it often gets even hotter, but even she joined us in complaining about having to walk in it.

We passed through the nearby village while on our walk, leading Christy and Vivian to spend most of the day talking about sneaking out this evening to go to the pub for a brew. They spent a lot of time talking about alcohol and men, which was probably the reason they were always in trouble with Mrs. Cruickshank when we were in school back in Philadelphia. Vivian reminds me, in a way, of my little sister, quite driven when she sets her mind to something, though my little Clara has never had a thought of either men or liquor in her life.

Maybe I should write a few lines about Clara. I remember the day she was born....

~~~

May 12, 1903

"Tom, based on what Mrs. O'Grady told me, I'm surprised you were able to get that woman with child again," piped the little doctor, who in my nearly six year old eyes, looked a lot bigger than what I expected based on Padrick's story just a few weeks earlier.

"Well, Doc, we've been trying to--"

Pa caught my eyes, watching and listening intently. He paused for a moment, cleared his throat, and continued "--ahem, call the stork for a long time."

Doctor Renwall stared at Pa for a second then glanced my way. "Tom, I don't know for sure, but, ah, any more ''stork calling"' could be dangerous for Kayleigh. You two talk about it and be careful that...that wacky bird doesn't hear you unless you're willing to take the chance."

"Thanks, Doc," said Pa right as the door opened. Mrs. Carnahan peeked out and said, "Tom O'Grady, get yourself in here and see your wife and your new little girl before they both fall out."

Pa and the doctor shook hands and then Pa took my hand and led inside to let me see Ma and the ugly little thing she nestled at her breast.

"I cleaned her up," said Mrs. Carnahan, "and cleaned Kayleigh, but they both need rest so you say hello, give'em a kiss, and then skedaddle so they can go to it. You'll need to get Mary--and maybe you--something to eat, too."

Ma pulled me tight and kissed my head before she moved around just a bit. "Mary, say hello to your little sister, Clara."

"I don't know, Ma. She's awfully ugly. Are you sure the stork brought the right one?"

***

Tuesday, August 7, 1917

Nothing of interest today, just more heat and more hurry up and wait. Captain Durnell tells us that there aren't that many Americans here yet, that most of our army is still being trained (or even being recruited), but that there will be thousands, maybe even millions of our men here soon, and that we'll get our chance to help soon enough. Then he's off to take care of other duties.

We're only a small part of his responsibility, it seems, though none of us know what he does. Jane suggested that he's probably just writing letters to the War Department in Washington complaining about his assignment with us and we all all laughed, but I wonder if she's not that far off.

About the only excitement seems to be the trains coming by at all hours as if they're trying to keep us awake. Maybe tomorrow will be the day they send us on our way to wherever we're going. In the meantime, the trains remind me of a long time ago.

~~~

During my childhood, we lived on the top floor of a creaky tenement building in Philadelphia not far from the rail yards, so there were rumbles, clanks, chuffs, steam blasts, and horns sounding at all hours. The noises in the streets were non-stop as well, with carriages with or without horses fighting their way past freighters and specialty wagons.

As I got a little older and they became more common, the horseless variety of carriages were of particular interest to me, making me wonder why anyone would want such a ridiculous, noisy thing when they could have one with a pretty horse instead. Being a poor family, we had neither a carriage nor my much desired horse.

Living well above the street, we were spared some of that noise and some of the corresponding odors, at the cost of the stairs, lots and lots of stairs. With only a freight shaft and no elevator in the building, I recall traipsing up and down those rickety stairs many, many times in my youth, counting the steps I'd climbed and keeping a running tab on the number remaining. To a little child, it was a mountain, and when I started having to take my little sister along, it was even worse. Clara was too big to carry so I made her climb each and every step on her own.

Ma said she was a precocious child, always asking questions well above her age, but I tried to answer and eventually we were able to have reasonable conversations as well as play together. Because I was nearly six years her senior though, we mostly ran and chased and explored, playing jump rope, hopscotch, or sometimes marbles when I could convince any of the neighbor boys to risk their little glass treasures. Becoming quite skilled at it from playing with Pa, I took so many of their better beads over the years that it eventually became difficult to find new opponents.

Most of all, we walked and ran, exploring our city, with Clara laughing all the way. What she didn't know was that I often led her on these merry chases more to keep her busy and to hold her off from asking more questions for at least a little while than from an actual desire to run.

With our apartment being so small, Clara and I shared a tiny room with a single bed. There wasn't much room for toys, but that wasn't a problem since we didn't have very many and my bag of marbles hung on a peg on the wall, up high where Clara couldn't reach it.

With both of us sleeping in the same bed, it was hot and muggy in the summertime, but Clara and I snuggled together for warmth in the winter. She was my little bed warmer, usually getting in bed first and warming it up before Ma made me put down whatever book I was reading and climb in to join her. Since she was asleep anyway, I'd carefully move her over so I could claim her warm spot, though she usually snuggled back against me before long and since I was bigger and provided more warmth in the end, I still felt she was getting the better end of the bargain.

As hot as it is tonight in England, I miss those days.

***

Wednesday, August 8, 1917

Word's come that we'll be leaving for our duty assignment early tomorrow morning though we still don't know where we're being sent.

Christy and Vivian have been out each evening after lights out, and the other girls are debating whether to go with them tonight. If Major Durnell and those in charge would let them, the temptation wouldn't be so great and I think most would stay in and go to sleep like me. Now, it's hot and I can't sleep, though it reminds me of another hot night long ago.

~~~

1909

A few months before I turned twelve, I heard Ma telling Pa she wanted to have another baby, a little boy, if she could. "I love my girls so much, but I'd like to love a little boy, and maybe another little girl, too, before I get too old."

Pa laughed and said, "You're not old, Kayleigh," but then he must have realized she was serious, for he added, sounding serious himself, "but, the doctor said it might be dangerous for you, Sweetheart."

"He doesn't know that, and he said Clara's birth went really well compared to Mary's. Now, the girls are a little older and they're big enough that if something were to happen to me, you'd all be fine."

"Kayleigh, no! I don't want to take that chance."

"I do, Tom. Please?"

Pa was silent and I wondered what was going to happen.

A few nights later, I found out, waking to an earthquake that threatened to shake our building to the ground, much like the one I'd read about in San Francisco a few months before my ninth birthday. Then it stopped, the quake over, and I heard Ma saying at little more than a whisper, "Oh, I love you, Tom. I love you so much."

"I love you, too, Kayleigh. And if that stork doesn't hear that call, I'm guessing it's deaf."

Ma giggled like I sometimes do and I heard no more so I rolled over and was asleep again in moments. I heard them calling the stork again from time to time in the weeks that followed, and wondered if the bird would be bringing the little brother Ma wanted for us.

It was a hot, muggy night, late that summer when I awoke to Clara shaking me as our little apartment shook again.

"Mary, Mary, wake up," she whispered.

"Clara, shhh!" I whispered, putting two fingers over her mouth.

When she calmed a bit, I eased off, and she whispered, even lower, "Ma-ry! What's happening? Is it an earthquake?"

"No, go back to sleep, Clara, it's not an earthquake. Ma wants a baby brother for us so Ma and Pa have been calling the stork."

Clara started to say something so I clapped my hand over her mouth, keeping her from spouting off and soon she was sound asleep once more, but the next day, when we went out to play, she told me, "Mary, I sure hope that stork doesn't find us."

"Why not?" I demanded, having always wanted a little brother or sister that could play with Clara.

"There's not enough room in the bed for another one of us."

***

Hertfordshire, Thursday, August 9, 1917

It was a large manor house, dark and foreboding, that was probably older than the United States of America. With the lord being elderly and his only son, a British officer acting as a liaison with the French, having been killed by the Germans' poison gas at Ypres over two years ago, he'd volunteered his home to be used as a hospital for the wounded who would take an extended period to recover. He left the government in charge when he went to his other home in London.

The six of us assigned there piled out of the carriage as two teamsters began unloading our trunks. I petted the horse, wishing I had an apple or a carrot to offer him.

"Welcome to The Manor," said a nurse walking toward us. She was short and stout, but had a strong voice and an even stronger English accent. "That is how you'll speak of this place if you talk to anyone about it here, and you won't discuss it outside the gate. The Germans and our other enemies have spies in our country, so we don't want them knowing any more of our business than we can help. I am Miss Pinnock and I am in charge of the nursing staff here. You will listen and follow my instructions."

She went through the rules and regulations that we'd heard before; however, now they seemed so much more imposing considering we were so far from anywhere we knew and thousands of miles from home. We looked at each other feeling as small and alone as we had since we'd left.

~~~

Growing up

My wish was never granted and our little brother or sister never arrived despite Ma and Pa desperately trying to get the silly stork's attention. The people next door must have had the stork's ear, though, for they called it frequently and they had a new baby delivered at least once a year, and, in what Ma called Irish twin years, twice. As I got a bit older, I babysat for them sometimes and would bring home a whole nickel when I did!

All of that ended in the summer of 1912 just after I turned 15. Pa had gotten a promotion at the hat factory the year before and he and Ma were able to buy a house with three bedrooms in northwest Philly, so Clara and I each got our own room. After that, Clara became even more fervent in her hope that Ma's stork stayed lost. "I don't want to have to share my bedroom either," she told me.

Fortunately, I was able to escape some of my previous duties as Clara could play with some other kids in the area, including Billy Briggs from a couple of doors down. He was a little older than Clara and a lot younger than me, but he tried to chase me around with puppy-dog eyes, forcing me to become even more adept at losing them.