Calling the Stork

***

Friday, October 11, 1918

So much news this week regarding the war. Hope grows that it will end soon even as the number of casualties continues to climb.

With our workload and my usual letters to home, there's never much time to write in these pages, but this week was worse than usual. I spent a number of hours late in the evenings trying to find the copy of Lord Byron's poems in the mishmash that is The Manor's library, but had no success until late last night. Some of the older books have no title on the spine, and the gold gilt or whatever has faded to illegibility on many of the others so it was only luck or perhaps Providence that finally put it in my hands. This, I believe, was the same copy Henry read all those months ago, so, once again, I hope he's not angry with me in Paradise and that he isn't sharing wine with Saint Peter and speaking ill of me.

It was late when I found it so Captain Walsh and everyone in the ward was asleep when I entered and left the book on his bed.

It was nowhere to be seen this morning during my first or second rounds, but on the third, Captain Walsh smiled and took my hand in his before reciting the entire poem without a single error! Rivers of tears covered my cheeks as he concluded,

"The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!"

"Don't cry, oh, nameless one, please? You have such a good heart, spent doing such good deeds. You make life better for each of us here, but especially for me. It would be even better if you'd tell me your name."

"I can't," I whispered in reply, but with great reluctance and with much less assurance than can be conveyed here on the written page. I apologized before leaving him, wondering if my unwillingness to become involved with him was really due to the risk of losing him like I lost Henry or if it was the risk that letting him into my heart meant pushing Henry's memory out forever?

Despite thinking on it so much today, I still can't answer.

***

Tuesday, October 15, 1918

Allied forces continue to advance, bringing hope that the end is near. Thousands of young men also continue dying or being wounded though, with it not nearly near enough for them.

In contrast to the war, Captain Walsh and I have reached a quiet truce. We don't speak of desire or names or anything of the sort. I tell him nothing of myself, my hopes or dreams, nor does he about himself, but he does recite a few stanzas of Byron to me each time I stop by his bed. I smile, he smiles back, and my heart flutters, all the while wondering if his is doing the same.

***

Thursday, October 17, 1918

Dr. Whalley examined Captain Walsh today and said that his wounds have healed enough that he can be fitted for a prosthesis. It was a longer delay than is often the case, but with his burns, the doctor wanted to be sure. The delay has been seemingly interminable for Captain Walsh, but he is becoming quite the master of Lord Byron's works and makes my heart pound and my blood race each time he recites a new one for me. He hasn't asked my name in a while, just looking at me instead with a smile each day. Our truce holds, that great dam between us keeping information to ourselves and from the other. Still, despite my wishes, I wonder about him daily, sometimes even each hour, and wonder, "What if?"

I asked Dr. Whalley this evening if the captain is ready for a walk using a chair. He approved, so maybe tomorrow?

***

Saturday, October 19, 1918

Rain, rain, go away!

My planned walk was rained out again for the second straight evening. I don't know what Captain Walsh will say when I ask him.

I hope "Yes."

***

Sunday, October 20, 1918

The captain looked at me with a sense of mirth in those deep dark eyes when I invited him for a walk.

"I don't know, my nameless beauty, my father always told me to make sure I knew what I was doing before jumping into the water. Being escorted, while in my current state, by a woman I hardly know and don't even know formerly at that, might be seen, in certain circles, as improper. If I were to be properly introduced, of course, that would be a completely different issue."

He said it loud enough that a few of the other patients turned to watch our interaction. With at least five or six pairs of eyes looking at me, I hesitated, debating for a second or two, whether I should give him just my last name or perhaps even my first, but my common sense prevailed.

"Then we must protect your dignity at all cost," I agreed, matching his volume and formality, "since escorting you on a convalescent walk might be seen, by those not even around, mind you, as improper. Good evening, Captain."

Thankful my mother had taught me (despite my rather strenuous early objections), I gave him a polite, and rather deep, curtsy that drew "Ahhs" from the other men watching and caused the captain's mouth to gape open where his remaining foot might properly fit for, as Collette would say, a right good chewing.

I stepped down a couple of beds to Lieutenant Farley and asked, loud enough so Captain Walsh would have no trouble hearing, "Lieutenant, would you like to go for a convalescent stroll in the garden this evening."

"Hell yeah!" he gasped before turning bright red on realizing what he'd said.

The other men watching laughed and clapped, but not Captain Walsh.

He looked sadder than I've ever seen and I felt absolutely dreadful for doing it to him.

***

Monday, October 21, 1918

When I approached Captain Walsh in his bed this morning, we both tried to speak at once.

"Ladies first," he offered, but I shook my head.

"By all means, please, go ahead," I countered.

"I apologize for my intransigence and would be most honored to accompany you on a walk, convalescent or otherwise, at your first convenience, whether cognizant of your name or not," he said.

"Such big words," I teased. "Are you sure you know their meanings?"

"Assuredly so," he teased back. "And Lieutenant Farley gave us a similar assurance that you gave him a lovely walk last evening with the chair. Therefore, will you forgive me and do the same with me?"

"We'll see, Captain," I replied with a smile as I patted his hand. His face fell in disappointment, so I played my final card. "If the weather allows, then yes."

He was smiling brightly, dimples on display, as I finished my work with him and moved on to the next patient.

He smiled tonight as we walked in the garden, too.

And so did I.

***

Thursday, October 24, 1918

Several of the men have requested a walk over the past couple of days, leaving little time for anything else. I've walked with Captain Walsh twice now, and we have quiet conversations about pleasant nothings, with him occasionally sneaking in a personal question and me trying to deflect it to avoid allowing him to get too close. I believe he cares for me but I can't allow him to care too much considering the war and my duties.

Unfortunately, I realize now, despite my best intentions, that it is too late for that for me, with his smile having captured my heart and burrowed its way into my soul where I have trouble thinking of anything else but him. With such little experience with love and romance, I'm doing my best to hide my troubled heart as I hope that the war really is starting to edge toward an end and the coming of peace will allow me to bare my heart to the captain.

Miss Pinnock, I believe, suspects my trouble, having asked me twice in recent days if I'm okay, if there is anything I need to tell her, but both times I've claimed to be doing well. If I confirm that I've fallen in love with another of my patients, I feel sure she would transfer me to another ward or perhaps to another hospital and possibly transfer Captain Walsh, too, so we'd never find each other again. Therefore, I bite my tongue to avoid revealing my true feelings, to Captain Walsh or anyone else, in hope that someday I'll be able to reveal all.

***

Friday, October 25, 1918

With his hands finally healed, to the extent possible considering the parts of his fingers he lost due to the severity of the burns, Captain Walsh is working on his grip, trying to get ready to use crutches to give him more mobility until his prosthetic can arrive and be properly adjusted. And, of course, until he can learn to walk with it.

We walked in the garden this evening, with me pushing him in the chair, and he asked me another question about myself, to which I responded with a heavy heart, "Please. Don't. I can't...."

Perhaps he caught the look in my eyes, for he gave me a little nod, as if telling me it was okay and we walked in silence for the rest of our time. He thanked me for our stroll when we returned and I thanked him.

"For what, my nameless beauty?" he asked.

"For understanding," I replied.

He smiled, I smiled in reply, and my heart felt lighter as a result.

***

Sunday, November 3, 1918

Word came today that Austria-Hungary signed an armistice today, ending the war in northern Italy! This is a little over a month after the Bulgarians and just a few days after the Ottomans did the same, so I hope that Germany follows suit soon to end this terrible war!

More good news: Captain Walsh is making progress with the crutches. We walked around The Manor today--Dr. Whalley said he's not to go outside with them yet--and he seems to be regaining his strength. His prosthesis should be here soon and we'll see him make real progress then.

Feeling his arms around me as I help him out of bed or back in gives me hope for more someday.

***

Monday, November 4, 1918

The captain's prosthetic foot arrived today. We were so excited until he tried it on and found out that it was for a significantly shorter man (or, perhaps, for one with a longer stump?). The frustration was clear on his face as he sat back in the bed.

"I've always been hard to fit," he said, "and never buy the first pair of shoes I try on."

He and Dr. Whalley laughed, but I hurt inside for him, wanting it to be right for him so he can get up and be free. The crutches have helped him; I saw him walking in the halls of The Manor on his own for a while this morning, but, having been free to fly in the sky like a bird, he needs more, to be able to move at his own pace.

I hope the new one arrives soon.

***

Tuesday, November 5, 1918

Word comes from Germany that their government is in turmoil. There are rumors that talks to end the war are ongoing, too, but the papers have much speculation and little fact. Soon, soon, I pray.

I also pray for Captain Walsh, for his continued healing and rehabilitation. Then again, with unexpected love in my heart, I find myself praying for him, too, praying that he will be mine someday soon. I'm not sure if that's the right thing to do, but it's what I want so I pray each night and hope during the day.

We had a nice walk this evening, walking in silence. I realized afterward that there's so much I don't know about him, but I want to give my heart to him anyway. Ma would tell me to be careful, I'm sure, but I feel as if caution has been tossed to the winds.

***

Wednesday, November 6, 1918

Captain Walsh walked with his crutches today but appears to have overdone it and he fell, hurting himself. Dr. Whalley said he would be okay, but that he needs more time before he's allowed to walk on his own again. The captain looked so dejected this evening that I went and sat with him for a while, taking a volume of assorted poems with me. He thanked me with his eyes, but didn't seem interested in the poems, so we sat together for a while with my hand in his.

Miss Pinnock walked through at about 9 PM and caught us, sitting there in silence. She moved on, saying nothing, as if she understood.

***

Thursday, November 7, 1918

The captain was missing from his bed when I came in this morning, causing me to fear that he'd been taken away during the night! I was desperate to get to his bed, to check his chart if it was still there, but there were several patients I had to attend before him, so when reached the one next to him, I was shocked to see the good captain lying on the floor on his stomach in the narrow space between the two beds.

Having no idea how he got down on the floor or what he was doing, I gave him a good tongue-thrashing about falling out of bed and injuring himself even worse, to which he replied, as if to those watching around us, "She does care!"

"Care? You silly man? Of course I care, I'm a nurse! You're my patient, and I'm responsible for you!" A bit of my late grandma's Irish accent may have slipped through in my anger, which led him to bite his lip in abject humor before he turned away and used my prompt as the bit extra he needed to do a push-up.

My mouth hung open at the sight as the few men who could see laughed in glee and the others too far away questioned those who were laughing.

Not wanting to let him get the last word with his action, I said the only thing that came to mind. "Well, if you're going to do them, do them right! Arms and back completely straight at the top!"

Sounding a little like Major Durnell trying to make us nurses exercise on arrival on the British shores, I went a bit too far and snickered, which caused him to laugh out loud as he collapsed to the floor.

It took a little effort to get him back in his bed, with me trying extremely hard to avoid seeing his grin or to give him one in return.

***

Friday, November 8, 1918

Word comes that the German government continues to collapse, with the entire country in turmoil and parts breaking away from their empire. There are rumors of peace talks, that the war could end in days.

How I pray it is so!

Captain Walsh was on the floor again today, attempting to do push ups to strengthen himself. I don't know if he actually did any, but I was glad to see him try, knowing that he would need my help when it came time for him to get back in bed. His arm around me, holding me close, made me hope that we would be able to dance together someday despite the missing part of his leg.

***

Saturday, November 9, 1918

Word came tonight that the German Empire is no more, their Kaiser has fled, and the Germans have sued for peace. We don't know how much is rumor, how much is fact, but hope is high that the war will end in hours or perhaps days rather than weeks, months, or years.

Perhaps we'll be going home soon! I miss my parents and Clara, but wonder what will happen when it's over, whether Captain Walsh will have any interest in me at all or if he will leave me behind and return to his home, wherever that might be, without giving it a second thought. Until now, the war has been all-encompassing, but now, with hope for the future, I wonder if there is hope for what I want.

Ma always told me that worry was a waste. Perhaps she was right, but with the doubts in my head, I can't seem to put an end to them.

***

Sunday, November 10, 1918

More rumors of peace talks and peace, more worries of what is to come and where Captain Walsh is to go. And whether I'll be going with him.

I admit to myself tonight that I love him with all of my heart and that I will follow him anywhere if he asks. I love my family and my city, but I now recognize that I love him more.

Or at least I think it's love and wonder if it is true or simply infatuation gone astray. I wonder, I wonder, I wonder, but don't truly know the answer.

Then, too, as I consider these thoughts, I wonder if his thoughts of me are really similar or if he is like one of the sailors Ma warned me about when I was younger, the men who go from place to place and find themselves a girl in each one.

***

OVER! The war is over! Praise the Lord!

Word came early today (oh, it's Monday, November 11, 1918--in my excitement, I forgot to include my usual header!) that the Germans had signed the armistice and that the war would end at 11 AM in France and England. While we waited for the time, for the final hours and then minutes to pass, we prayed for the safety of all those still on the front, all those still shooting and killing each other, that they would all stand down and enter into peace together.

More news just arrived. While the war isn't officially over, the armistice stops the fighting until a formal treaty can be negotiated. We're assured that the state, or perhaps, states, in Germany will prevent any further bloodshed. I hope they are correct.

It is now just after 11 Greenwich time, and a shout has gone up throughout The Manor. The war is over! Hallelujah!

***

Evening, Monday, November 11, 1918

I had to return to my rounds just after writing that this morning, but so much more has happened today.

Medicinal brandy was distributed to most patients whether they actually needed it or not, and some who had lain in bed in great lethargy were suddenly far more animated than I'd ever seen. I did afternoon rounds, assisting each patient in turn, including Captain Walsh, but when I was done, there was a little time before my next round was to start. When I found an untended bottle of that brandy, I absconded with it, stealing something--well, other than the marbles long ago from the neighborhood boys who didn't believe that a girl could outplay them!--for the first time in my life.

Finding two glasses, I made my way to Captain Walsh's ward, got the rolling chair that the doctors used when visiting the patients, and made my way toward Captain Walsh's bed.

Every eye in the ward was on me but it was deathly quiet as the men watched and listened, wondering what was to happen. I feared they would hear my heart pounding in my chest as I approached him.

"Captain Walsh, might I have a word with you?"

He gave me a little nod and waved for me to be seated by him, despite the fact that I'd brought the chair with me.

"Captain, as you know, the armistice was signed a little over two hours ago and the war, for all intents and purposes, is over. Even if you wished to help your fellow warriors, there's now no need, so you won't be going back into combat, ever again, when your healing is complete. Do you agree, sir?"

"Yes, Ma'am. I agree with your premise."

"Good. Sir, you've asked me my name many times, and I've declined each time because I was so afraid that you might feel called back to battle to help your brothers-in-arms. Now that you no longer bear that responsibility, do you still have questions for me? Do you still wish to speak with me and know my name?"

"'More than anything in the world." He said the words in a whisper, but it was so quiet in the ward that probably everyone heard, including Vivian and Deb, who'd stepped in as if they knew what was about to happen.

"Captain Walsh, I have nothing to offer you but myself. My name is Mary Flynn O'Grady. I'm the granddaughter of Irish immigrants, the older daughter of a hatmaker and a seamstress, and I'm a trained nurse. Philadelphia was always my home until I came here. I have no money to speak of and no prospects, so I can only offer myself as a prize, for what I might be worth, if I still interest you at all."

His face was a mask as he contemplated what I'd said, as if he realized that I was in truth no prize at all.

"I'm sorry," I gasped as I rose to run away, but I found my hand in his as he stroked it so lightly with his scarred fingers.

The mask dissolved and he looked at me with kindness, perhaps even love, as he said the words I'll never forget.

"'Why are you going, my dear Mary Flynn O'Grady? You raise my hopes and then try to dash them by running away? No, no, my dear, for I won't let go this time. You say you have nothing to offer, but I want nothing more from you than you yourself. Whether you have the inheritance of a Rockefeller or simply the clothes on your back, I want you. Even if we can only be together in an unheated hovel, my heart will always be happy as I work to improve our lot and better our station to give you the life you deserve."