A Song in the Night (57 page)

Reading her expression, Jonathon smiled gently. “Okay. Pretty dumb question. But there is a serious point to it.” He crumpled up the flower head and dropped it to the ground. “A few weeks ago that flower must have looked beautiful. In some hothouse somewhere, growing to its little heart’s content. Until someone came along and … snip!” He scissored the air with his fingers. “It suddenly became a
cut
flower.”

On any other occasion Rosie would have feigned a sorrowful response at this point; a quick burst on an imaginary violin perhaps, or a couple of theatrical sniffs. But right now she simply felt agitated. What exactly was he driving at?

If Jonathon had noticed her irritation, he didn’t let it bother him. “At first, you wouldn’t notice the difference. I guess the florist would shove it in some water, give it a bit of plant food. I dunno, it’s not really my thing – but I’ve seen my mum fiddling about with flowers sometimes. She could make a bunch of dandelions look good in a vase.”

Somehow this revelation softened Rosie a little. She let her face relax slightly.

“One thing’s for sure though,” Jonathon continued. “That flower’s on borrowed time now. It may look the part – still even smell nice. But you and I both know the dying process has begun. Within a week – two weeks max possibly – it’s gonna be a shrivelled up, wilted shadow of its former glory. And it’ll probably stink a bit.”

“Sweet.” Rosie shrugged miserably. She still wasn’t following his thread.

Jonathon looked down at the crumpled flower head again. “It’s a bit like us, Rosie.”

Rosie arched an eyebrow. “Brown, stinky flowers?”

Jonathon shook his head, smiling. “Once that flower becomes separated from its source of life, it’s just a matter of time before the effects start to show. It might look lovely for a while. But there’s only so much you can do with something that’s effectively dead in the water – if you’ll pardon the pun.”

“You’re forgiven,” said Rosie humourlessly.

Jonathon was quiet for a few moments. “Y’know, Rosie, that’s pretty much the situation we humans find ourselves in. We were separated from our source of life even before we were born. From the second we come into this world, we’re a bit like cut flowers. Beautiful, but on borrowed time. Oh, we bloom and grow for a while. Give us food and water – it’s amazing how long some of us can last. We can even look pretty good for a few years. But we all know it’s gotta end some time. We’re dead men walking.”

His words made Rosie feel sick. She looked down at the ground, determined not to let him see it. “Well then,” she said at last, “not much hope for us, is there?”

“Now that’s just it, Rosie … .” There was a sudden brightness in Jonathon’s voice. “There’s every hope. Okay, the scenario I just gave was fairly grim, I admit. But let’s face it, the picture
is
grim if you strip the whole life thing down to mere biological existence. Like I said before, if you take eternity out of the equation and this short life is all there is, it’s a futile waste of everybody’s time. When I talked about our being separated from our source of life, I wasn’t talking about
biological
life; I’m talking about
real
life,
eternal
life – something that’s on a whole new level. Something that never winds down or gets old. It goes on and on and on. More wonderful, more vibrant than anything we’ve ever imagined. Yet, until we encounter it, we don’t even know it exists.” He was looking at her intently now. “God’s desire for everyone on this planet is that they encounter
him
. That they become reconnected.
He’s
the source of life, Rosie. In fact, he’s the whole point of our being here.” His blue eyes seemed to burn as he searched her face. “Life down here was never meant to be the way we’ve made it. Pleasing ourselves, looking out for number one. Stepping on anyone and everyone to get what we want. Money, career, possessions – all the stupid stuff we go after. Just filling in our years till we’re too old to enjoy ourselves, then ending up in a place like this. Deep down, Rosie, we know there’s got to be more to it than that. This life is supposed to be the place where we find God – where we allow him to find
us
. Where we get plugged back into our life source. That’s the most crucial, the most vital thing that can happen to any human being. It’s what we were made for. Tragically, Rosie, so many people never get to that point. They settle for so much less … shutting him out, right to the end. And then it’s too late.” He cast a glance across the churchyard as though surveying the evidence of his words. His face became sober. “He doesn’t want people to be separated from him, Rosie. That breaks his heart. Can you believe that almighty God would be broken-hearted for such as us?”

Rosie smiled awkwardly. “You’re really into all this stuff, aren’t you?”

“You bet. There’s no better way to live – and there’s definitely no other way to die. You don’t need to worry about Beth, Rosie. She got it before the end. What did she say in her letter?
‘I believe – I’m gonna live forever.’
That’s why she went out so happy.” Jonathon’s voice softened. “God’s always looking for new children, Rosie. He has a father’s heart towards his creation. He longs for that connection to be restored.”

Rosie’s stomach knotted.
A father’s heart …?
Nonchalantly, she tossed back her hair. “I wouldn’t know about that. My dad left when I was a little kid. The father stuff’s a bit out of my experience.”

“That’s sad, Rosie.” Jonathon looked apologetic. “But, y’know, God’s a much better father than any earthly father. Wouldn’t you like to start over again – with a new dad?”

Rosie lifted her eyes and looked towards the gate of the churchyard. In her mind’s eye she could see her mother teetering towards it in her heels. And Mickey, hobbling heavily along beside her. As she stared at the gate, her thoughts went back to another day. A day many, many years before. The day her mum had broken the exciting news. They were moving, she’d announced. Going to live with a new daddy.

As the memory surfaced in her mind, Rosie’s throat tightened. She clenched her fists inside her pockets, desperately hoping that Jonathon wouldn’t notice that her whole body had gone rigid.

“Rosie …?”

Had he asked her something? Embarrassed, she tried to pull back into the conversation. “Sorry – missed that. I drifted for a moment. What was it you said?”

Jonathon smiled gently. “I was just asking if you were coming to any of the Easter services here. Don’t know if Cassie’s already mentioned it to you.”

Rosie hung her head for a few seconds. She didn’t want to dampen Jonathon’s enthusiasm, but right now, Easter services were the last thing on her mind. She couldn’t very well admit it to him but, dead men walking aside, the whole ‘new dad’ deal was about the last straw. She could feel her circuits threatening to blow. “Dunno yet. You’ve given me a lot to think about. Perhaps I need time to process it all, eh?” It seemed a lame thing to say, but it was the best excuse she could come up with.

Jonathon looked at her, his blue eyes filling with concern. He nodded. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

Rosie didn’t argue. Jonathon’s words were resonating in her head. She felt like a cut flower alright. Much more of this and she’d be ready for the compost heap.

Carlesands June 21st 1917

Well, Emily, here’s a surprise. I was discharged by the MO, only to be told that I was being given four days’ home leave. An officer came round, looked at my name, rank and regiment, then simply told me to get off home for a few days – ‘while you have the chance’, he said. His words sounded rather cryptic at first, but before I left the CCS I was beginning to pick up some talk of a big push coming up very soon; a weighty offensive to follow on the back of Messines. Ah well, suppose I’ll know all about it soon enough. I won’t find out from anyone over here, that’s for sure. Sometimes when we discuss things, I find myself wondering if we’re talking about the same war, so ill-informed are the folk at home. I have to say, Mother has been very distressed at the reports in the newspapers of the Gotha air raids over London. I think it would break her heart to know how many times a day in the trenches we come close to being bombed out of existence.

I’ve visited with your family again. Mother accompanied me and we spent a pleasant time talking with your parents and brother. Jack is much stronger, though he still limps painfully and I fear his hearing’s been affected. No doubt you’ll be able to use the skills you’ve acquired on the field to help him when you return home. As we were leaving your house, my attention was caught by the sound of a nightingale singing from one of the bushes. I stood for a moment and listened. The last time I’d heard such a sound was just before the Messines mines went up. I think it was a shock to me to hear such exquisite notes rising from the loveliness of a summer garden. My poor brain could hardly take in such a wealth of pleasure. I found myself almost listening for the next shell. In this last couple of years, Em, I’ve learned to look for beauty in the midst of darkness and despair. To suddenly have so much for eyes and ears to feast on was, for a moment, quite overwhelming. Is that like heaven, I wonder? I hardly know. It seems to me we have learned to live in hell.

Bailleul June 30th 1917

Here I am, back at last with the boys. Our battalion is currently in reserve, stationed at Bailleul, south-west of Ypres. The mood amongst the men is relaxed at present, though it seems I was right about the coming offensive. We don’t know yet exactly when it will be, but it seems there is to be a grand push to break out of the salient once and for all. I can’t see it happening myself, if I’m honest. We’ve been here long enough with little to show for it. But I have to say there’s a steady optimism in the air since our boys blew up the Messines Ridge. Perhaps it really has been a turning point. I don’t know, Em. All I do know is that we’re here to follow orders, and leave the responsibility to those at the top. I hope they know what they’re doing. We’ve lasted this long, but who knows when our luck will run out?

In the midst of all our uncertainties, some things never change. The sun still shines in the sky and the larks still soar overhead. There’s a bit of a lull in the firing at the moment and we can actually hear them singing. Boxer seems quite inspired by it all. He keeps breaking into song himself. I have to say, he has rather a fine voice.

We visited the shop where Jimmy clicked with the shopkeeper’s daughter last year, but it turns out that she’s away at the present time, staying with an aunt in Bordeaux. It was plain to see that Jimmy was disappointed, but we soon managed to buck him up. He’s a handsome enough fellow. When we all get home there’ll be no shortage of young ladies waiting to hear of his exploits, I’m sure. I think it matters a great deal to Jimmy to find himself a wife. But then, that’s easy to understand when he’s never had a family to call his own.

Poperinghe July 8th 1917

The sense of imminence is growing. More and more men are daily streaming into the area now. Munitions and supplies too – everything’s multiplying around us. Quite what’s afoot, one can only imagine. And yet, at least for the moment, we’re not required to play too active a part in it. We’ve set up camp in fields just outside Pop. Boxer, Jimmy and I mean to pay another visit to Toc H as soon as we’re able. Not as easy as you’d think, Em. We might be in reserve, but the officers are determined to keep our minds on the job. We seem to find ourselves in endless drills or parades, as if there’s anything new we need to learn! But I think they fear we’ll mutiny like the French if they don’t keep us busy.

We did have a break yesterday afternoon. A few of us found a little café on the outskirts of the town. It turned out there was an old piano in the place. One of the boys remembered that I’d once told him I played a bit, and he asked the proprietor if I could have a go. I was reluctant at first, but they all started on at me so in the end I gave in. I soon got into it; in fact it wasn’t long before I was taking requests, can you believe? (If I’d charged for each one I could have retired on the earnings!)

We passed a rather pleasant afternoon. Later, as evening fell, we had a stroll around the area. Though we saw plenty of evidence of long-range shelling, the place seemed sufficiently removed from the heat of battle as to give us a sense of relative safety. We could hear the boom of the heavy guns off towards the front, but the air was still warm and there was plenty of light, and somehow we managed to find distraction in our ramble. We talked about things we’d like to do when the war is over. I said I’d like to train a bit more in music – see where that might take me. I imagine the other two think this afternoon’s little piano recital has quite gone to my head! Jimmy is fixed on becoming a master baker. He wants to set up his own shop like Mr Egley, eventually employ a couple of boys to do deliveries. Orphans perhaps – like he was when Mr Egley took him in. I can see his heart is set on it. His face lit up as he spoke. We encouraged him warmly of course. The transformation in Jimmy is quite remarkable. In some strange way, I think this war has been the making of him.

Boxer, of course, remains resolute in his determination to become a minister. I happen to think he’ll make a very good one.

____________

Rosie flopped back against the pillow. Everything felt exhausting for her at the moment. She’d been ill in bed for five days and this was the liveliest she’d been since Easter Saturday. Worried, Cassie had sent for the doctor. A virus, he’d pronounced, and prescribed bed rest. Rosie hadn’t argued. Now it was Thursday lunchtime, and though she was starting to feel slightly more herself, eating was the last thing she felt like doing. She tapped in a quick message to Jonathon. Not least of all to thank him for the Easter egg he’d sent round with Cassie after church on Sunday. “He said he’d like to visit you when you’re up to it,” Cassie had ventured as she’d sponged her forehead. But at the time, Rosie had been almost deliriously feverish and had barely managed a grunt in reply. Now as she thought about Jonathon, she wasn’t sure whether she could handle a visit. Everything in her wanted to see him; yet at the same time, everything in her did not. Since their conversation the week before, she’d felt strangely ill at ease. Some of the things he’d said had struck uncomfortably close to home. It was hard to know how to pick up where they’d left off. At least being ill had given her an excuse for keeping her distance until she got her head round things.