The Lost Soldier (17 page)

“I hope we can find our way back,” murmured Sarah to Molly, as they were led across this hall and along yet another corridor.

Sister St Bruno heard her and said over her shoulder, “Don’t worry, Sarah, you’ll soon find your way about.” She stopped outside a heavy wooden door and knocked. A bell jingled from inside the room and Sister St Bruno turned the heavy handle to swing the door open into Reverend Mother’s office.

Standing in the doorway, Aunt Anne spoke in French, “My niece, Sarah Hurst, Mother, and her friend, Molly Day.”

“Come in, Sister, come in.”

Sister St Bruno stepped inside and gestured to the two girls to follow her.

The room was comfortably furnished with a sofa and some chairs, a desk behind which the Reverend Mother sat, and a prie-dieu in a corner. There was a crucifix above this and a picture of Christ displaying His bleeding heart on the wall behind the desk. A small fire burned in the grate, but it did little to dispel the chill of the room, which had stone walls and a stone floor.

“Perhaps you would wait outside, Sister,” Reverend Mother said, rising to her feet as Sarah and Molly slipped into the room. Sister St Bruno inclined her head in acquiescence and stepped out of the room without another word, closing the door behind her.

“Come in and sit down,” Reverend Mother said. She spoke in fluent but heavily accented English. She stood and came out from behind her desk holding out her hand. “How do you do, Miss Hurst? Miss Day?” They shook hands and Sarah said, “How do you do, Mother?” while Molly, rather unnerved by the picture that hung behind the desk, murmured something unintelligible. Sarah moved to the sofa that Reverend Mother indicated, and seeing that Molly was at a loss, took her arm, pulling her gently behind her. Reverend Mother seated herself on an upright chair opposite them. She looked them up and down as she might a horse she was considering buying.

“Your aunt has convinced me that you will be able to help us in our work here, nursing the wounded.” Reverend Mother did not sound very convinced. Sarah looked back at her with steady gaze, but Molly, feeling entirely out of her depth, kept her eyes fixed on the flagstones of the floor.

“Your letter said you had Red Cross nursing experience.” Reverend Mother’s eyes bored into them. They were dark blue and deep set, penetrating, it seemed to Sarah, her very mind to read her thoughts. The nun was a tiny woman with small hands and feet; she would hardly have reached Sarah’s shoulder without her fly-away headdress, but she had a presence which made one forget her small stature and remember only her authority.

“I have, Mother,” replied Sarah, “though no real nursing training. I took the Red Cross certificate.” She faced the nun across the room and added, “My friend Molly has no Red Cross training, but in most ways I am sure she will be more use to you than I am. Her training has been in household duties, and as I am under no illusions that we shall be doing any real nursing for the foreseeable future, I imagine she will have the skills you need more than I have.”

Reverend Mother nodded at this and addressing herself to Molly said, “Miss Day, it will be up to you to instruct Miss Hurst in the most efficient,”—Mother drew out the word into four syllables—“way to do the tasks which you will be asked to do.” She fell silent for a moment, looking at them with unblinking eyes, then she went on, “You are now living in a convent. It is a sisterhood of God. All the sisters here have devoted themselves to Christ and his work. At present that work is looking after the wounded men who come to us from the front. All men—” She paused and then repeated, “All men, no matter which side of the battle. You understand?”

“Soldiers, whether they are French, Canadian or English,” Sarah reiterated.

Reverend Mother’s eyes never left their faces, “French, English, Canadian… or German. They are all God’s children.” Neither Molly nor Sarah offered any comment after this statement, and the nun went on. “We work for Our Lord Jesus Christ and we live as a sisterhood. There are rules by which we live. The religious ones do not affect you; you are not part of our sisterhood, but our house rules are yours whilst you are with us. You may not leave the convent without permission. You take orders from any sister who is set in authority over you. You keep your heads covered at all times.” She paused again, her eyes intent. “Is this understood?”

Sarah nodded. “Understood, Reverend Mother.”

The tiny nun allowed herself to smile at them, then and said, “Then I welcome you here, into our home, and thank you for your offers of help in our task. I must remind you that your life here will not be an easy one. You will see sights that no woman should have to see, perform tasks that should need no performance, but if you succeed in seeing and doing these things, you will ease the pain and suffering of many a poor man, the death of many another, and you will ease our work here in Christ Jesus.”

Molly looked much more uncomfortable at these final words than at any time so far. She had been brought up low Church of England, and all this talk of “Our Lord” and “Christ Jesus”, unnerved and unsettled her. People she knew did not bring Jesus into their conversation, He stayed firmly in the church to be spoken of on Sunday, and then only by the vicar.

“Now, I will call Sister St Bruno and she will take you to the kitchen for some food. Then someone will show you the wards and introduce you to the sisters with whom you will be working. I have news that we are to receive some more wounded this afternoon, so your work will start at once.” She got to her feet to indicate that the interview was over, reaching for the little bell that would summon Sister St Bruno back into the room, but paused as Molly took her courage into her hands and spoke.

“Please, Mother—” Molly hesitated over this form of address, but Reverend Mother smiled encouragingly at her and she stumbled on. “I don’t know nothing about nursing, I’m better at cleaning and the like…” Her voice trailed away and the nun said, “We shall use whatever talents you have to the full, Miss Day, never fear. And as to the nursing, I have no doubt you will learn fast as we’ve all had to.”

“Yes, Mother, I will try.” Molly paused again and then emboldened by nun’s kind manner, added, “And please could I just be called Molly? Miss Day doesn’t feel like me.”

This brought a real smile to Reverend Mother’s face and she said, “Indeed you may, Molly,” and turning to Sarah she said, “And you shall be called Sarah, it is so much easier for all concerned.” She picked up the small brass bell from the desk and gave it a shake. Immediately Sister St Bruno came in and stood waiting by the door.

“Please take Sarah and Molly to the kitchen and make sure Sister Marie-Marc gives them something hot to eat.” She smiled across at the two girls. “I’m sure you’re hungry after your journey. Then one of the novices will show you round, help you get your bearings. If the convoy comes this afternoon, I am sure you will be needed at once, if not you’ll start work on the wards tomorrow at six. Go with God.”

Friday 8th October

After our long journey we have at last reached the convent at St Croix. It is all very strange to me and I am not sure I like it at all. Miss Sarah and I share a tiny room, like a cell with stone walls and floor. It is very cold in it. We have a bed each and there is a chair and a chest of drawers, but no other furniture. It will be very strange to share a room with Miss Sarah. She says she doesn’t mind, but getting undressed and such… using the chamber in the night, I’m sure she won’t like it. We have met the Reverend Mother, who is very small but has eyes like a bird of prey. She is in charge of the convent, and all the nuns, who I must call “sister”, do what she tells them. Sister Marie-Paul is a novice. Miss Sarah says that means she is learning to be a nun. Her headdress is different to Miss Sarah’s auntie Anne, Sister St Bruno. Sister M-P showed us the chapel. It is covered in gold and smells of incense, and I don’t like it.

We have to eat with the nuns in the refectory. The meal is taken in silence and one of the sisters reads while we eat. The reading is in French. I don’t understand, except that I know it is from the Bible. I would hate to be here on my own. I’m to call Miss Sarah “Sarah”. It will be most peculiar, though I tried it out a couple of times on the train. Even though she’d told me to, I think she was surprised when I did.

The silence in the refectory was only broken by the voice of Sister Lucie, reading from the gospel of St Matthew, and the sound of spoon on bowl as the sisters ate their evening meal of soup, bread and cheese. Sarah and Molly were seated at the end of a long table with Sister Marie-Paul and the other novices. By listening carefully, Sarah found she could follow the reading, but Molly had no idea what it was about, and she let her eyes rove over the austere room and its occupants as she ate her soup. The sisters fascinated her. She had never seen a nun at close quarters before today, and she was intrigued by everything about them; the way they moved everywhere without haste, coasting along smoothly in their flowing habits as if they ran on oiled castors; the way they tucked their hands, when not needed, into their wide sleeves; the way they held their heads high and steady to accommodate their fly-away headdresses.

Had they, Molly wondered, donned this measured way of moving when they had donned their habits? Or did some of them, the younger ones anyway, still have to quell the urge to run or skip or dance, as Molly often found herself doing, simply for the joy of the sun on her face and being alive. She could not imagine turning away from the world with all its richness, and walling herself up to live such a tightly ordered, strictly disciplined life. Even as she watched them, Molly knew that boring and humdrum as her life had been so far, she could never turn away from it. Eternally the optimist, she was sure there was something better or more exciting just over the horizon; after all, only a month ago, she would never have thought to find herself in France, indeed she could hardly believe it now.

The nuns had all filed silently into the refectory and waited, each standing behind a chair, until Reverend Mother came in. She said grace and they all sat down. The sister at the head of each table ladled soup from a tureen into bowls and when everyone was served, Mother picked up her spoon and at this signal, they all began to eat. Even the way they ate their food seemed alien to Molly as she watched them spoon soup into their mouths, and each breaking a piece from one of the long loaves, before passing it to the sister next to her. A dish of cheese was passed from hand to hand without a word and everyone had a glass of water at her place. Molly drinking from her own, discovered it immediately refilled by the novice on her right. No request was necessary, while eating her own food, each sister looked after the needs of those beside her.

In the meantime, the voice of the nun who read droned on in French, and Molly decided she must at least learn the basics of the language. She caught Sarah’s eye and they exchanged smiles of encouragement. Sarah might be a Catholic, but the convent environment was as strange to her as it was to Molly and it was comforting to both to have the other one there.

The only place where Sarah had felt instantly at home was in the chapel. During their tour of the convent that afternoon, Sister Marie-Paul had taken them into it. It was a lofty building, its high roof supported by elegantly arching beams. Most of the chapel was shadowed, but its east end glowed with candlelight. A statue of the Virgin, arms reaching out in supplication, stood to one side of the altar; and before this were rows of tiny votive candles, their flames, disturbed by the opening of the door, flickering and flaring. The altar, dressed in richly embroidered cloth gleamed and glinted as the flickering light danced across it and the heavily gilded reredos behind it reflected the moving flames in a golden glow. Above the altar hung a single red sanctuary light, and kneeling before it was a single nun, her hands clasped together, her head bowed in prayer.

Molly drew back uncomfortably from the scene. She thought the gilding garish, so different was it from the simplicity of the parish church in Charlton Ambrose, and she found the smell of incense that hung in the air unpleasantly sickly and sweet. The kneeling nun seemed entirely unaware of their presence at the back of the chapel, but even so Molly felt like some sort of voyeur, watching as she prayed, so intimate seemed her prayer.

Sarah, on the other hand, had felt a jolt of recognition. As she entered the place, she was moved by the aura of sanctity that filled it, loving the richness of its decoration, and inhaling the fragrance of the incense as the fragrance of prayer itself. This was the sort of church she loved, the house of prayer made as beautiful for God as man knew how, and the peace of it reached out to her, soothing her and calming the fears so near the surface of her life. The scent of the incense and the dancing light of the candles carried her back to another church, the church of her early childhood, where she attended Mass with her mother. They had walked into church one day and Sarah had asked what the smell was. Her mother had smiled and answered that it was the scent of prayers rising in an endless stream to God in heaven. Sarah remembered little of her mother, but she had never forgotten this answer, and found the idea of prayers rising steadily like a column of smoke extremely comforting.

Sister Marie-Paul indicated the sanctuary light and whispered, “The sacrament is always reserved and never left unattended. Some one is always with Our Lord.”

This murmured confidence made Molly feel more uncomfortable still, and she backed out of the door to wait outside, leaving Sarah and the novice to kneel for a moment in prayer, before coming away and softly closing the door behind them.

“Mother said to remind you that you are welcome to any of our offices, or to the daily Mass if you are not on duty in the wards. Father Jean comes twice a day most days as we cannot all attend Mass at the same time.”

Sarah had thanked her, already deciding she would go when she could; but Molly said nothing, looking away so as to avoid the sister’s eye. She had no intention of going into the chapel again unless she absolutely had to, she did not believe in worshipping the Virgin Mary, and the idea of Mass, chanted in Latin, with smells and bells, made her Protestant soul shudder.