Mary Bridgette Page 5

  “It is quite the mess,” Celeste agreed. “That attack yesterday was one of the worst.”

  “I hope we’ve made some progress,” Mary said absently as she gathered debris and placed it in the wood box. They had been able to save most of the supplies they had, but the building itself was in tatters.

  “I’ll see if I can find something to patch that canvas,” she said ducking out of the little shack.

  Celeste shook her head as the pop, pop, pop of random gun fire on the front drifted back to her. She hadn’t expected this journey to lead where it did, but she was glad she could do something to help.

  Man’s inhumanity to one another was sometimes unimaginable, yet out of it often came great acts. Perhaps she shouldn’t have chided Mary. After all, the soldiers they had served so far had been unerringly polite, appreciative, and kind.

  The attitude of the soldiers, half buried in the mud of the trenches made her believe that there was good in the world, even at this dark hour.

  The sound of scratching at the door made Celeste look up and a soldier stood there, his eyes haunted but a bright smile on his face.

  “I found this,” he said offering her a heavy pot full of dents and dings. “Thought you might be able to use it.”

  “Thank you,” Celeste said stepping to the door and taking the pan. “It will make frying doughnuts so much easier.”

  The doughboy smiled, his dusty cheeks rounding with the effort. “If you don’t mind could you perhaps sew a button on for me as well?” he asked his voice shy and endearing.

  “I’d be happy to,” Celeste said taking the proffered coat and digging her needle and thread from her pack. “I have a few cookies,” she offered pulling the slightly stale treats from a bag.

  “Thank you,” the young man said taking a seat by the door and biting into one of the confections, closing his eyes in delight.

  “Hello,” Mary said stepping up to the door and smiling at the soldier, who grinned passed a mouthful of cookie. “I see we’re back in business.”

  Mary hurried to the stove, adding more fuel and examining the new pan. “I think it’s time to start the doughnuts,” she grinned. The men needed something to help boost morale.

  Chapter 10

  War torn Europe continued to throw catastrophe and chaos about like a child’s unwanted toy as the war ebbed and flowed and the Salvationists found themselves shifting from duty to duty.

  When it was safe they worked doggedly to provide any little comforts they could to the men in the trenches. When they had to retreat, they worked in the hospitals tending wounded or helping in other areas.

  Each day demanded something new and provided little time for rest. It wasn’t uncommon for the girls to make twenty-five hundred doughnuts a day if not more, but the grateful smiles of the soldiers were the greatest rewards.

  As another offensive was launched against the trenches, Mary and Celeste found themselves once more on duty in the hospital.

  “Miss Robertson?” a nurse called hurrying after Mary as she carried clean bandages to a ward. “A letter came for you,” the other woman said. “I’ve been holding it for you.”

  “Thank you,” Mary said reaching out and taking the envelope. It had an unfamiliar scrawl across the front and she wondered who it could be from. She treasured each letter from home and wrote as often as time would allow. So far, she had heard nothing of Eric or of others from their home state who had signed on to serve.

  Placing the bandages in a locker Mary opened the letter and began to read, a slow smile spreading across her face.

  Mr. Abrams had taken the time to write. It seemed that he had made his way back to his squadron, had removed the heavy plaster from his leg and returned to the air to take the fight back to the enemy.

  Dear Ms. Robertson,

  I wanted to write and thank you properly for your help after my unfortunate accident. I have removed myself from the kind ministrations of the medical practitioners in the country. Apparently they did not agree with my assessment of my own abilities. I’ve taken myself off restricted duty and am back with my company. There is a great need to carry this battle back to the enemy.

  Already I have lost too many friends and fellow flyboys. I have sworn to avenge those we have lost and to protect those like you who are doing all that you can to aid those who serve.

  I’ll forever remember you as my saving grace that unfortunate day. As I fly over your little home away from home I promise to look down upon you fondly.

  Sincerely,

  Barrister Abrams

  Mary shook her head in wonder at the man. He should have taken the time to heal but instead his drive to avenge his fellow pilots pushed him on.

  Folding the letter carefully Mary said a prayer for the rash young man, slipped the missive into a pocket and got back to work.

  Only time would tell what would happen to the man in the flying machine.

  ***

  Barrister pulled his goggles down over his eyes and glared out at the field ahead as his engine sparked to life with the spin of a propeller.

  As the big motor puffed up to full power he set the lever and bounced out across the green pushing the gray airplane for more power than lifting off the ground like an overweight bird.

  Making a turn of the airfield, he watched his fellow pilots lift off then fall into formation ready to take the fight back to those who had robbed him of so many friends.

  Barrister had signed on with the French air fighters before the USA had even entered the war. He and a handful of friends, who had been flying in their home states, had determined to join hoping to bring a swift end to the turmoil that drew more and more young men and women to their doom each day.

  As they flew over the trenches toward the tiny specs of red that filled the sky, Barr looked down and smiled. Somewhere down there was a scrappy little girl with a stubborn heart. He hoped she was safe and that his letter had found her.

  Barr had never been much of a praying man, but he lifted his heart to heaven hoping one Miss Mary Bridgette Robertson would be safe.

  He still couldn’t understand why the woman had raced to his aid without once thinking of herself. She could have been blown to bits along with his shattered plane, but she’d done it anyway.

  Perhaps some women were like that, perhaps they didn’t think of themselves first. A deep anger filled him as the bright red of the enemy’s biplanes raced toward them, growing larger with each passing mile.

  Before he’d signed up to join the French effort, Barr had a girl. A woman he had planned on marrying when he got back. She had been livid when he told her he was going overseas to fight. She’d ranted and railed at him finally giving him an ultimatum: stay or lose her forever.

  There had never been any choice really. Something in him had compelled him to join the Layfette Escadrilles more than a year ago. Something bigger than himself had pulled him to the front even before his country had declared war on Germany.

  The rat-tat-tat of machine gun fire snapped Barr from his thoughts, and he dove swooping up and under his enemy to swivel and return fire on the tail section of the blood red target.

  Bright sparks flickered to life as his bullets found their mark, and he watched the tail section of the plane burst into flame and crumble as the taunt fabric disintegrated sending the plane earthward in a nose spin.

  The battle around him raged as he swooped and turned dodging bullets and returning fire as his squadron plunged into the fray.

  The dogfight was a maelstrom of gunfire, screaming engines, and rushing air. Planes dodged narrowly missing each other as they charged each other dashing in close to try to take out a pilot or damage a plane beyond hope.

  Barr felt the whiz of the bullets zing past him, felt the flutter of torn fabric along his tail and banked hard plunging toward the ground before pulling up hard and firing at the underbelly of his attacker.

  In mere moments the sky was once more empty as the few remaining red planes turned tail and heade
d back the way they had come.

  As the squadron pulled together once more, searching the sky for any more attackers, Barr counted up the toll. They had lost two more planes in the fight, and the death toll continued to rise.

  Each excursion into the wide blue meant death for someone, but he determined to hold on until the very end. He would avenge his friends and fellow flyboys until he too was claimed by the fight.

  Each death of a pilot only fueled Barrister’s desire to fight. Each battle fanned the fire that had brought him to the front lines. He was a well-honed killing machine, and no matter how many battles, how many close calls, or how many times he was shot down, he never once considered giving up.

  Turning his plane in a wide arc as he tracked the path of his squadron back toward the landing field, a pretty face and kind eyes seemed to flicker before him. Ms. Robertson had some quality about her that had drawn him to her.

  He had told himself repeatedly that the fact that the woman had saved him was the reason he felt some strange connection to her, but when he really thought about it there was more.

  Throughout the campaign Barr had appreciated the work of the Salvationists. The men and women working to provide help and care for the soldiers were dedicated not only to caring for physical needs, but for deeper needs as well.

  Barr seldom thought of those needs. His heart was too full of the rage of battle and revenge to think further than the next run. Still Miss Robertson’s kind demeanor, steady determination, and scrappy attitude had impressed him. How could a woman dedicated to the Salvation Army be so bold? Somehow he couldn’t justify her actions with the call of the Salvationists. For him, it was all about the fight. It was all he needed. He would let God sort out his soul.

  Chapter 11

  “Mary, Mary, what on earth are you thinking about?” Celeste asked as they rolled out doughnuts cutting them and dropping them into simmering oil.

  “What?” Mary looked up to meet Celeste’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I was just thinking. So much has happened in such a short time.”

  “We’ve been here months and some days it doesn’t seem like anything is happening,” Celeste sighed.

  “Yes, but the British have finally pushed through and claimed the western front,” Mary said. News was often late and confused but eventually it filtered down to the girls making doughnuts, cookies, fudge, and sewing for the men in the trenches.

  “Before we know it, we’ll have a new year,” Celeste said. “Do you think this whole mess could be over by then?”

  “I don’t know,” Mary said. “I pray every night that it will just end, and we can all go home.” She had found herself thinking more of home than ever before. Each night as she closed her eyes she prayed for her cousin Eric, and the many men and women she had met. The darkness of night was at times overwhelming as was the rest of the effort. How such destruction and death could continue on so long was beyond her.

  “We’ll be taking hospital duty again next week,” Celeste mentioned absently. “I’d rather stay here I think.”

  “It’s important to rotate through different jobs,” Mary said. “It helps to keep us from growing too weary to continue our good work.”

  “I know, but it always does my heart good when we carry a tray of doughnuts out and see the smiles on the men’s faces. It makes me feel like I’m truly doing something.”

  Mary wrapped an arm around her friend. “Yes, I know what you mean. In the hospital you don’t know who will still be there from day to day.”

  “You’ll remember what I said about that doctor too won’t you?” Celeste asked. “I’m not trying to be bothersome but just be careful.”

  Mary squeezed her friends shoulders again then returned to her task. “I’m sure you’re over thinking things,” she said. “Our last rotation Dr. Niven was very polite and solicitous.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about,” Celeste said but let the subject drop. After all, Mary was old enough to know her own mind, and it wasn’t her place to argue.

  When the change came, Mary had to admit that she was grateful for a chance to sleep in the big shelter at least for a few days. She desperately wanted a wash and to scrub the dust from her hair. Commandeering a little extra water their first night there that was exactly what she did.

  She and Celeste did what they could in the small hut they served from, but it wasn’t easy keeping clean especially, when you were so exhausted each night when you dropped into bed for a few hours rest.

  At the hospital things tended to happen in spurts and starts.

  It seemed like they had no sooner entered the hospital than the tall dark doctor approached.

  “Ladies, what a pleasure to see you here,” the man said nodding politely. “I’m delighted that you both look so well.” His dark eyes seemed to examine both Mary and Celeste, linger ever so slightly longer on the older girl.

  “Thank you,” Celeste said coldly. “I’m afraid we have a great deal of work to do doctor. If you’ll excuse us.” She smiled stiffly taking Mary’s arm and heading toward the women’s dormitory.

  “I’ll see you both at dinner perhaps,” Dr. Niven called after the retreating pair.

  “Celeste, that was rude,” Mary chided as they lifted the heavy flap on the tent and scouted for empty bunks.

  “Mary, we don’t have time to be polite. The doctor has his work to do, and we have ours.”

  “I think you just don’t like him,” Mary said.

  “And I think you give people too much credit. I know you grew up with a big family, and that you all looked out for each other,” Celeste spoke. “That doesn’t mean that everyone in the world is like that.”

  “I appreciate your concern Celeste, but we’ve already been over this. I’m not a ninny, and I won’t let the good doctor or anyone else for that matter back me into a corner.” She smiled brightly placing her pack on a bunk and sorting through her things. “For now, I just want to find a big vat of hot water and get cleaned up.”

  Mary pinned up her still damp hair and pulled her last clean uniform over a smart white blouse. It felt amazing to be clean and her heart went out to the men trudging though the frozen mud of the trenches.

  Back home the wheat harvest would be done, and the hay stored for the harsh winter. Mary imagined the shelves in the basement loaded with shimmering jars of canned fruits and vegetables and the hint of snow in the air.

  Here it seemed that the whole world had turned into nothing but ice and sludge, and that nothing could ever make it clean again.

  Her heart ached to think that this is what ‘fallen’ meant to the world. How could so many leaders see themselves as better than those who were in their care? How could they strive to take advantage of turmoil, trial, and death to have what their selfish hearts longed for?

  With all of the tragedy around her, Mary wondered if the greatest was that even if these wicked leaders gained what they so longed for, they would find no satisfaction in it.

  Mary was no stranger to loss, tragedy, or pain, but the wasteful disregard of thousands of lives seemed at times too much too bare. Taking a deep breath Mary thought back to her home and remembered her grandfather Joshua. He had experienced great love in his life and yet had lost so much as well.

  Grandpa Josh had been strong and though he had suffered, he held on to the joy in life and the promise that the Almighty still held the world in His palm.

  Every day the old man had pointed some small blessing out to Mary Bridgette reminding her that she was named for two strong women who had accepted what life gave and never looked back.

  “We’d better get a move on,” Celeste said placing her small blue cap on her head and heading for the door. “I think we’re on bandage duty today.”

  A few minutes later, Mary found herself sitting with a few other girls as they wound long strips of white gauze into easy to manage bundles for immediate use.

  They were chatting merrily when Dr. Niven approached offering each woman a smile.


  “Hello ladies,” he greeted. “My aren’t you all industrious today?” he smiled again and the women smiled back.

  “Many hands make light work,” one of the Salvationists replied finishing her bundle and placing it in a basket.

  “How very true,” the doctor agreed.

  “Yes, and idle hands are the devil’s playground,” Celeste added raising a brow at the man.

  “How right you are,” Dr. Niven said. “That’s exactly why I stopped by. I was wondering if Miss Robertson might be willing to help me with a particularly difficult task.”

  Celeste looked across the mound of fabric at Mary questioningly. She still didn’t trust the doctor and hoped that Mary would be careful.

  “Of course,” Mary said placing her neatly bound bundle in the basket. “How can I help?”

  Dr. Niven offered Mary his arm leading her down the long lines of cots filled with injured men.

  “I was hoping you could help me by explaining a bit more about that tractor you drove to my hospital,” Dr. Niven said. “It is my understanding that a machine like that can not only pull heavy loads, but if it is set up correctly it can also power other machines,” he turned in her direction expecting a reply.

  Mary wrinkled her brow surprised by the question. She had expected that the doctor had wanted her to help in changing a bandage or perhaps in working with a particular patient to regain some motion after an injury.

  “Back on the ranch in Wyoming,” Mary began, “we used the tractor to operate the thresher. I seldom did that job, but Reg, my uncle, engaged the fly wheel and used belts to get power to the thresher.”

  “I see,” Dr. Niven said completely uninterested in the rural uses of a steam engine. He continued to walk, leading Mary toward a nearby exit and slipping outside.

  “It’s a quiet night,” he mused coming to a stop and gazing up at the stars above. Even here in the middle of war torn Europe the brilliant familiar stars reminded them that something’s never changed.