A Good Woman

Chapter 14

Annabelle and the desk clerk’s nephew, Jean-Luc, set out at six o’clock the next morning, as the sun came up over Paris. It was a staggeringly beautiful day, and he told her that there had been a terrible battle at Champagne the day before, and it was still raging. He said it was the second battle they’d had there, and a hundred and ninety thousand men had been killed and wounded. She listened with silent horror, thinking about the enormous numbers. It was inconceivable.

That was precisely why she was there. To help repair their men, and do what she could to save them, if she was able to help them in some way, or comfort them at least. She was wearing a light black wool dress, boots, and black stockings, had all her medical books in her bags, and was carrying a clean white apron in her purse. It was what she had worn at Ellis Island when she worked there, with slightly brighter skirts and dresses when she wasn’t in mourning, as she still was now for her mother. Almost everything she had brought with her to wear was black.

It took them three hours through back roads to get to the hospital. The roads were in bad shape and deeply rutted, with potholes everywhere. No one had time to fix them, and there were no men to do it. Every able-bodied man was in the army, and there was no one left at home to do repairs or maintain the country, except old people, women, children, and the wounded who had been sent home. Annabelle didn’t mind the rough roads as they bounced along in Jean-Luc’s truck, which he told her he normally used to deliver poultry. She smiled when she saw that there were feathers stuck to her valises. She found herself looking down at her hands for a moment, to make sure her nails were cut short enough, and saw the narrow ridge that her wedding band had left. Her heart ached for a minute. She had taken it off in August and still missed it. She had left it in the bank vault in a jewel box, with her engagement ring, which Josiah had insisted that she keep. But she had no time to think of that now.

It was just after nine when they reached the Abbaye de Royaumont, a thirteenth-century abbey, in slight disrepair. It was a beautiful structure with graceful arches, and a pond behind it. The Abbey was bustling with activity. There were nurses in uniforms pushing men in wheelchairs in the courtyard, others hurrying into the various wings of the building, and men being carried on stretchers out of ambulances driven by women. The stretcher-bearers were female too. There were nothing but women working there, including the doctors. The only men she saw were injured. After a few minutes, she saw one male doctor rushing into a doorway. He was a rarity in a vast population of women. And as she looked around, not sure where to go, Jean-Luc asked if she wanted him to wait for her.

“Yes, if you don’t mind,” she said, overwhelmed for a minute, but well aware that if they didn’t allow her to volunteer, she had no idea where to go or what else to do. And she was determined to stay in France and work there, unless she went to England and volunteered. But whatever happened, she wasn’t going home. Not for a long time anyway, or maybe ever. She didn’t want to think about that now. “I have to talk to the people in charge and see if they’ll keep me,” she said softly. And if they did allow her to work, she would need a place to stay. She was willing to sleep in a barracks or a garage if she had to.

Annabelle walked across the courtyard, following signs to various parts of the makeshift hospital set up in the Abbey, and then she saw an arrow pointing toward some offices under the arches, which said “Administration.”

When she walked in, there was a fleet of women lined up at a desk, handling paperwork, as female ambulance drivers handed requisition slips to them. They were keeping records on everyone they treated, which wasn’t always true at all the field hospitals, where in some cases they were under far more pressure. Here, there was a sense of frenzied activity, but at the same time clarity and order. The women at the desk were French for the most part, although Annabelle could hear that some of them were English. And all of the ambulance drivers were young French women. They were locals who had been trained at the Abbey, and some of them looked about sixteen. Everyone had been pressed into service. At twenty-two, Annabelle was older than many, although she didn’t look it. But she was certainly mature enough to handle the work if they let her, and far more experienced than most volunteers.

“Is there someone I should speak to about volunteering?” Annabelle asked in flawless French.

“Yes, me,” said a woman of about her own age, smiling at her. She was wearing a nurse’s uniform, but was working at the desk. Like everyone else, she was doing double shifts. Sometimes the ambulance drivers, or doctors and nurses in the operating theaters, kept on for twenty-four hours straight. They did what was needed. And the atmosphere was pleasant and cheerful and energetic. Annabelle was impressed so far.

“So what can you do?” the young woman at the desk asked her, looking her over. Annabelle had pinned her apron on, to look more official. In the serious black dress she looked like a cross between a nurse and a nun, and was in fact neither.

“I have a letter,” Annabelle said nervously, fishing it out of her purse, worried that they would reject her. What if they only took nurses? “I’ve done medical work since I was sixteen, volunteering in hospitals. I worked at Ellis Island in New York for the last two years, with immigrants, and I’ve had quite a lot of experience dealing with infectious diseases. Before that, I worked at the New York Hospital for the Ruptured and Crippled. That might be a little more like what you’re doing here,” Annabelle said, sounding both breathless and hopeful.

“Medical training?” the woman in the nurse’s uniform asked as she read over Annabelle’s letter from the doctor on Ellis Island. He had praised her highly, and said that she was the most skilled untrained medical assistant he had ever encountered, better than most nurses and some doctors. Annabelle had blushed herself when she read it.

“Not really,” Annabelle said honestly about her lack of training. She didn’t want to lie to them, and pretend that she knew things she didn’t. “I’ve read a lot of medical books, particularly about infectious diseases, orthopedic surgery, and gangrenous wounds.” The nurse nodded, looking her over carefully. She liked her. She looked anxious to work, and as though it meant a lot to her.

“That’s quite a letter,” she said admiringly. “I take it you’re American?” Annabelle nodded. The young woman was British but spoke perfect French, without a trace of accent, but Annabelle’s French was good too.

“Yes,” Annabelle said in answer to the question about her nationality. “I arrived yesterday.”

“Why did you come over?” the nurse asked, curious, as Annabelle hesitated, and then blushed with a shy smile.

“For you. I heard about this hospital from the doctor on Ellis Island, who wrote the letter. It sounded wonderful to me, so I thought I’d see if you could use some help. I’ll do anything you ask me. Bedpans, surgical bowls, whatever.”

“Can you drive?”

“Not yet,” Annabelle said sheepishly. She had always been driven. “But I can learn.”

“You’re on,” the young British nurse said simply. There was no point putting her through the mill with a letter like that, and she could see that Annabelle was a good one. Her face burst into a broad smile as the woman behind the desk said it. This was exactly what she had come for. It had been worth the long, lonely, frightening trip to get here, despite minefields and U-boats, and her own fears after the Titanic. “Report to Ward C at thirteen hundred hours.” It was in twenty minutes.

“Do I need a uniform?” Annabelle asked, still beaming.

“You’re fine as you are,” the woman said, glancing at her apron. And then she thought of something. “Do you have a billet? A place to stay, I mean.” They exchanged a smile.

“Not yet. Is there a room I could have here? I can sleep anywhere. On the floor if necessary.”

“Don’t say that to anyone else,” the nurse warned her, “or they’ll take you at your word. Beds are in short supply here, and anyone will be happy to take yours. Most of us are hot bunking, we switch off in the same beds with people who work different shifts. There are a few left in the old nuns’ cells, and there’s a dormitory in the monastery, but it’s pretty crowded. I’d grab one of the cells if I were you, or find out if someone will share one. Just go over and ask around. Someone will take you in.” She told her what building they were in, and in a daze, Annabelle went out to find Jean-Luc. Her mission was a success, they were going to let her work there. She could hardly believe her good fortune, and she was still smiling when she found Jean-Luc standing next to his poultry truck, as much to protect it as so that she could find him. Vehicles were in short supply, and he was terrified someone would take it from him, and commandeer it as an ambulance.

“Are you staying?” he asked her, as she walked up to him, smiling.

“Yes, they took me,” she said, relieved. “I start work in twenty minutes and I still have to find a room.” She reached into the back of the truck, brushed the chicken feathers off her valises, and pulled them out. He offered to carry them for her, but she thought she’d best do it herself. She thanked him again, and had already paid him that morning. He gave her a warm hug, kissed her on both cheeks, wished her luck, and got back in his truck and left.

Annabelle walked into the Abbey carrying her bags, and found the area where the nurse had told her the old cells were. There were row upon row of them, dark, small, damp, musty, and they looked miserably uncomfortable, with one lumpy mattress on the floor of each, and a blanket, and in many cases no sheets. Only a few of the cells had sheets, and Annabelle suspected correctly that the women who lived in those cells had provided them themselves. There was one communal bathroom to about fifty of the cells, but she was grateful to have indoor plumbing. The nuns had clearly not lived in any kind of comfort or luxury, in the thirteenth century or since. The Abbey had been purchased from their order many years before, at the end of the last century, and had been privately owned when Elsie Inglis took it over and turned it into a hospital. It was a beautiful old building, and although not in fabulous condition, it suited their purpose to perfection. It was an ideal hospital for them.

As Annabelle looked around, a young woman came out of the cells. She was tall and thin and looked very English, with pale skin, and hair as dark as Annabelle’s was blond. She was wearing a nurse’s uniform, and she smiled at the new arrival with a rueful expression. She looked like a nice girl. There was an instant affinity between the two women.

“It’s not exactly Claridge’s,” she said with the accent of the upper classes, and she had sensed the same about Annabelle immediately. It was more felt than seen, but neither girl was anxious to advertise her blue blood to anyone else. They had come here to do hard work, and were happy to be there. “I assume you’re looking for a room,” the girl said and introduced herself. “I’m Edwina Sussex. Do you know your shift?” Annabelle told her her name and said she didn’t.

“I’m not sure what they’ll have me do. I’m supposed to report to Ward C in ten minutes.”

“Good on you. That’s one of the surgical wards. Not squeamish, are you?” Annabelle shook her head, while Edwina explained that there were already two other girls sharing her cell, but she pointed to the one next door, and said that the girl who’d lived there had gone home the day before because her mother was sick. None of them was nearly as far from home as she was. The British girls could easily go home, and come back, if need be, although crossing the Channel wasn’t easy these days either, but nothing was as dangerous as crossing the Atlantic. Annabelle explained that she had arrived from the States the day before. “Brave of you,” Edwina said admiringly. The two young women were exactly the same age. Edwina said she was engaged to a boy who was currently fighting on the Italian border, and she hadn’t seen him in six months. As she said it, Annabelle set her bags down in the cell next to hers. It was as small, dark, and ugly as the others, but Annabelle didn’t care, and Edwina said they spent no time in their rooms, except to sleep.

Annabelle barely had time to set down her bags, and rush down the stairs again to find Ward C. And as Edwina had suggested, when she got there, she found a huge surgical ward. There was an enormous room that looked as though it had once been a large chapel, filled with about a hundred beds. The room wasn’t heated, and the men were covered with blankets to keep them warm. They were in various states of distress, many of them whose limbs had been blown off or surgically severed. Most were moaning, some were crying, and all were very sick. Some were delirious from fevers, and as she went looking for the head nurse to report in, many of the men clutched at her dress. Beyond the big room were two other large rooms being used as operating theaters, and more than once she heard someone scream. It was an impressive scene, and if Annabelle hadn’t done the volunteer work she had for the past six years, she would have fainted on the spot. But she looked unruffled as she made her way through the room, past dozens of beds.

She found the head nurse coming out of one of the operating rooms, looking frazzled and holding a basin with a hand in it. Annabelle explained that she was reporting for duty. The head nurse handed her the basin and told her where to get rid of it. Annabelle didn’t flinch and when she returned, the head nurse put her to work for the next ten hours. Annabelle never stopped. It was her trial by fire, and by the end of it, she had won the older nurse’s respect.

“You’ll do,” she said with a wintry smile, and someone said she had worked with Dr. Inglis herself, who was back in Scotland by then. She had plans to open another hospital in France.

It was midnight when Annabelle got back to her cell. She was too tired to unpack her suitcases or even undress. She lay down on the mattress, pulled the blanket over herself, and five minutes later she was sound asleep with a peaceful look on her face. Her prayers had been answered. And for now, she was home.