Call of the Kiwi (30 page)

Gloria cried almost all night and half of the next day. In between she fell exhausted into a brief slumber, only to start sobbing again as soon as she awoke. Sarah and Mrs. Lancaster had managed to lead her up to Sarah’s room, and Mrs. Lancaster had soup and bread sent up. Gloria inhaled the food, only to cling to Sarah again and begin crying anew.

Mrs. Lancaster gave Sarah the next day off. She sat beside Gloria until the girl finally stopped sobbing and sank into a deep sleep. Then she covered her up and knocked on the headmistress’s door. Mrs. Lancaster was sitting at a scrupulously clean desk and drinking tea. She offered Sarah a place and fetched a cup for her.

“I should make a telephone call,” Sarah said as she sipped her tea. “But I don’t know.”

“You’re completely exhausted, Sarah,” the headmistress said, pushing a slice of tea cake toward her. “Maybe you should lie down for a bit first. I can inform the family, you know. Just tell me where to reach the girl’s relatives.”

“She might not like that. Don’t get me wrong, Gloria has relatives here who think the world of her. But so much has been decided over her head. I’d prefer to wait until she’s calmed down.”

“What do you think happened to her, Miss Bleachum? Who is she anyway? A former student of yours, I gather, but where is she from?”

Sarah Bleachum sighed. “Could I have another cup of tea?” And then she told the whole story of Kura and Gloria Martyn.

“It seems she couldn’t take it anymore and ran away. As for what she encountered on her journey to and through Australia, I have no idea. Mrs. McKenzie told me Gloria fled her parents’ hotel room with nothing more than her passport. Only she can tell us the rest. But so far she’s done nothing but cry.”

Mrs. Lancaster nodded thoughtfully. “It’s best you don’t ask. She’ll talk when she feels ready. Or she won’t say a word.”

“But she has to talk sometime. It can’t have been so terrible that she keeps it to herself forever.”

Mrs. Lancaster blushed slightly, but she met Sarah’s gaze. She was anything but naïve.

“Sarah, think about it. A girl, without money, without assistance, making her way halfway across the world. You probably don’t even want to know what the poor thing has endured. There are some memories you can only live with if you don’t share them with anyone.”

Sarah turned a deep crimson. She seemed to want to ask a question, but she lowered her eyes.

“I won’t ask,” she whispered.

When Gloria awoke the next morning, she felt better but completely drained. She lacked the energy to do or decide anything, and she was thankful that Sarah gave her time. In those first few days she followed the teacher around like a puppy. Sarah allowed Gloria to listen in while she instructed the older students. The atmosphere was friendly, and the girls didn’t tease her when she sat rigidly at a desk, staring absently at the board or out the window.

Gloria knew that she would have to leave the school eventually, and something in her longed to see Kiward Station again. She wouldn’t have believed it if anyone had told her during her journey that she would remain only a short train ride away from Christchurch for days. It didn’t matter how many times Sarah Bleachum told her that Gwyneira was worried about her and would receive her with open arms—Gloria was afraid of seeing her family. Her great-grandmother had always been able to tell when she was faking something. What if Gloria could not manage to deceive her now? What if she recognized what had become of her? Worse still was the thought of Jack. What would he think of her? Did he have that instinct her johns had possessed that instantly recognized the whore in her?

Sarah saw with concern that her ward was beginning to establish herself at the school. She sought out Gloria in the little room that Mrs. Lancaster had assigned her.

“Gloria, this can’t continue,” Sarah said softly. “We need to inform your grandmother. You’ve already been here two weeks. You’re safe, but we can’t let her go on worrying about you.”

Gloria’s eyes filled with tears. “You want me to leave?”

“Of course not. But you didn’t travel halfway around the world to bury yourself away in a boarding school in Dunedin. You wanted to go home, Gloria. It’s time.”

“But I, I can’t like this.” Gloria played nervously with her hair.

Sarah smiled. “Mrs. McKenzie doesn’t care about corkscrew curls. You don’t need to dress up for her or your dog.”

“My dog?” Gloria asked.

Sarah nodded. “Wasn’t its name Nimue?”

Gloria’s thoughts raced. Could Nimue still be alive eight years after she’d left?

“And you can’t stay here anyway,” Sarah continued. “The school is going to be closed indefinitely after summer vacation. Mrs. Lancaster has decided to turn the building into a hospital during the war.”

Gloria looked at her confused. There was a war, of course. But not in New Zealand. Yes, they were recruiting volunteers, but since there were no battles here, why a hospital?

Sarah Bleachum read the question on Gloria’s face.

“Gloria, dear, did you never hear of a place called Gallipoli?”

8

F
eeling relieved—if also a little ashamed that he had ended up a “nurse boy” again—Roly O’Brien was transferred to Commander Beeston’s medical brigade. He proved to be exceptionally well suited to the work.

“It seems I owe you another one,” Commander Beeston told Jack when the two men met on the beach on a warm July evening. “Your Private O’Brien is worth two of my nurses.” Paddy leaped about in the waves, and the men were in a festive mood. It had been quiet on the front for weeks; apparently the Turks were waiting them out.

Jack waved the compliment away. “I knew Roly would do good work. But you did me a huge favor.” He looked at Paddy. “He’s acclimated to the sound of gunfire, I see.”

“There’s hardly anything to hear these days. But that won’t last. We’re here to claim the road to Constantinople. Not to splash around.” He pointed to a few young soldiers playing in the water.

“You mean we’re going to attack soon?” Jack asked, alarmed. He and his men had been expanding the trench network on the northern flank. The ground was stony and uneven, and extremely difficult to dig through. Any assault would come at a heavy price. On the other hand, the Turks would never expect it.

“Sooner or later. Reinforcements are on the way. More medical brigades too—so they’re expecting more blood.” Commander Beeston petted his dog. “Sometimes I ask myself what I’m doing here.”

Jack did not answer. At least the doctors reduced the suffering of the wounded. He regretted his decision, though he had certainly reached his goal: he no longer thought of Charlotte day and night. The nightmares in which he struck Turkish soldiers again and again and waded through blood in the trenches had supplanted the bittersweet dreams of his wife—and during the day, he thought first and foremost of survival. War had taught him perhaps not to forget the dead but to leave them in peace.

Like all the men he yearned for letters from home. Jack was as happy as a child when his mother wrote with news of Kiward Station. Even Elizabeth Greenwood occasionally managed a letter, as did Elaine Lambert. There was only no word from Gloria, which unsettled Jack more and more. It had been more than six months since he had sent Gloria his first letter from Egypt. She could have answered long ago.

Jack felt lonely since Roly had been transferred. He hadn’t connected with the other men in his platoon. He was now their sergeant, having been promoted after the slaughter in the trenches, and friendships did not develop between soldiers and their superiors. He spent his evenings largely alone, mulling over the senselessness of his existence.

Over the following days, the signs of an approaching offensive multiplied. New troops arrived, and trenches were being dug and secured around the clock. Water tanks were installed and water carried up to them. The men grumbled that they had to do everything themselves. The few pack animals were not assigned to the front.

“Otherwise the enemy would realize that something was brewing over here,” Jack explained. “That’s why we dig at night. Now go, men, it’s in our own interest to surprise the poor fellows. Fifty yards lie between their trenches and ours. We’ll have to cross that.”

On August 5, Jack and the other noncommissioned officers were ordered to a briefing on the beach. Major Hollander laid out the strategy for the planned assault.

“Men, we’re launching an offensive tomorrow. Our goal is to drive the Turks back to Constantinople, and this time we’ll do it.”

“But, sir, if we jump out of the trenches, they’ll shoot down on us like rabbits,” one veteran said. Jack was thinking the same thing.

“Is that cowardice I hear, Corporal?” the major asked. “Afraid of death, soldier?”

“I have no intention of committing suicide,” the man mumbled, though so quietly that only those standing next to him heard.

“Our goal is to break through their left flank. The distances between the trenches are short there, so we should be able to overrun them. To fool them, we’ll begin with a feint attack tomorrow. Our group will then head for Lone Pine for the real attack the day after next.”

Lone Pine referred to a very secure Turkish battle station. The opposing trench network was broad there, and there was plenty of space for enemy troops to gather.

“Our goal is to have our opponent’s troops concentrate there, so we have an easier time on the northern flank. We’ll attack with the second wave. I expect that you’ll support our comrades at Lone Pine and keep the enemy busy from your positions. The actual assault will take place in the afternoon at seventeen hundred thirty. Three whistles, three waves of attack. Godspeed to one and all.”

What did God care about the way to Constantinople?

On his way back to his quarters, Jack ran into Roly.

“Sergeant McKenzie, have you heard? We’re attacking tomorrow.” Roly glued himself to Jack’s heels. Since Jack had more or less saved his life with the transfer, he had become touchingly devoted and now wanted nothing more than to tell Jack what he assumed would be new information. The medical troops had been made aware of the plan of attack in order to make the necessary preparations.

“Just Jack,” Jack corrected him as usual. “Yes, we were just informed. Be glad you don’t have to move out.”

Roly made a face. “But I do have to go out; I’m with the rescue troops. So maybe we’ll see each other tomorrow?”

“We’re positioned on the north flank, Roly, so we have a day’s reprieve. But why did they send you with the rescue troops? Did you do something?”

Roly laughed. “Nah. It’s just that the medical reinforcements didn’t arrive until today. The commander cursed up a storm. Right off the ships and straight into the fight. They don’t even know the basics. So he’s keeping them in the field hospital, and the rest of us have to go. But I don’t mind. I don’t need to go in the trenches.”

“No-man’s-land is dangerous. It gets gruesome, Roly. It’ll be like before, only this time it’s us running over the open field.”

“But we’ve got our white armbands,” Roly said as if they made him invulnerable. “I’ll manage.”

Jack could only wish him luck. The next day he hardly had time to think about his friend. The noise from Lone Pine was infernal. When Jack raised the periscope over the trench’s ridge, he could see the soldiers falling. The Turks were firing across the entire front. Jack and his men grimly returned fire in hopes of wearing down their enemy.

“If we tire them out today, we’ll have a better chance tomorrow,” Jack explained to his men. The younger among them nodded enthusiastically; the older ones only frowned.

“But they change the men on duty,” a lance corporal asserted.

Jack did not respond.

August 7 was a shining midsummer day on the Turkish coast. The sea shimmered in the sun. The scrub on the mountainsides was bleached—and the blood was drying in the no-man’s-land between the fronts. While Jack was listlessly eating his porridge, considering whether to drink his alcohol ration before the battle or hope to survive and celebrate afterward, Roly came by.

“I’ve got your mail,” he said and threw Jack a bundle of letters for his men. “It should raise the men’s spirits to hear from their loved ones. Mary wrote me too.”

Jack sorted through the mail and found a letter from Kiward Station. Still nothing from Gloria.

“How was it yesterday?” he asked.

Roly’s face went pale. “Horrible. So many dead. Their bombs and shrapnel tear men apart, Sergeant McKenzie. They’re doing almost nothing but amputations in the field hospital. If there’s even enough left to cut off. And some of the Turkish trenches are roofed, so be careful. You have to jump over them and then come in through the communications trenches. I know I’m not very smart. But we can’t do it, Sergeant McKenzie. Not with a hundred thousand men.”

Jack nodded. “We’ll do our best, Roly.”

Roly looked at him as if he were not in his right mind and huffed, “And we’ll die for nothing.”

Jack opened his mother’s letter as soon as Roly had gone. He savored hearing her voice in his mind. Though she was not a gifted writer, strong emotions had clearly guided her pen.

Dearest Jack,

You wrote that it’s peaceful where you are on the front, and I can only pray that it stays that way. Every time I receive a letter of yours, I sigh with relief even though I know the letters often take weeks to arrive. You must stay alive. Jack, I miss you so much. All the more so since our hope that Gloria might finally come home won’t be fulfilled soon, or at least not simply. Yesterday I received a call from Kura. She made the call herself and was absolutely furious.

It looks like Gloria disappeared from her hotel in San Francisco. They’ve ruled out kidnapping since she took her travel documents with her. No passage on any ship was booked with her name, so there’s no proof she’s left America, but Kura assumes that she’ll turn up here. How she thinks that will happen is a mystery to me, but she’s practically holding me responsible for Gloria’s flight. Kura is completely beside herself. In the same breath though she said how ungrateful the girl was and cursed Gloria’s inability to make herself useful. It’s a mystery to me why she didn’t simply send the girl home when she wanted to go. In any event Gloria is missing, and I’m very worried. If only I could hope that you would come back soon.

You needn’t worry about the farm. Everything is running well with Maaka’s oversight. The prices of wool and meat are high; everything seems to be making a profit from the war. But I think about you and all the others, for whom the fighting means only suffering.

Take care of yourself, Jack. I need you.

Your mother, Gwyneira McKenzie

Jack buried his face in his hands. So now Gloria too. He lost whatever he loved.

Jack was totally fearless when the first combat whistle finally sounded. Many of the first attackers who leaped out of the trenches were struck when they so much as raised their heads above cover. Only a few managed to run across no-man’s-land, and none reached the opposing trenches.

Then came the second assault wave.

Jack no longer thought; he launched himself out of the trench, and he ran, ran, ran, and almost made it.

Something struck him in the chest. He reached to wipe it away and felt blood. It was strange; it didn’t hurt, but he could not continue running and felt awfully heavy. Jack fell to the ground and tried to understand what had happened. He felt the heat of the sun, looked into the radiant blue sky. His hands no longer responded but simply scratched at the hard ground. The third attack wave raced over him. Now they were fighting over in the Turkish trenches. Jack blinked into the sun.