A Good Woman

And on the sixth of January, Consuelo quietly gave up the fight. She went to sleep in the early evening, after a long, difficult day. She was holding Annabelle’s hand, and they had talked for a little while that afternoon. Consuelo had smiled at her before she went to sleep and told Annabelle she loved her. Annabelle had been dozing in the chair next to her at eight o’clock that night, when she suddenly sensed something different and woke up with a start. She looked at the smooth expression on her mother’s face and instantly saw that she wasn’t breathing, as Annabelle gasped. For the first time in two weeks, her mother’s face was cool, unnaturally so. The fever had left her, and taken Consuelo’s life. Annabelle tried to shake her awake, and saw that it was useless. She knelt at her mother’s bedside, holding her lifeless form in her arms, and sobbed. It was the final goodbye she had never been able to say to her father or brother, and she was inconsolable as she cried.

Blanche found her there a little while later, and started to cry herself. She gently stroked Consuelo’s hair, and then led Annabelle away, and sent Thomas to get Josiah. He was at the house moments later, and did all he could to comfort his wife. He knew all too well how great the loss would be to her, and how much she had loved her mother.

The doctor came that night to sign the death certificate, and in the morning the mortician came to prepare her. They laid Consuelo in state in the ballroom with flowers everywhere, as Annabelle stood by, looking devastated, with Josiah holding her hand.

Friends came to visit all the next day, after seeing the shocking announcement in the paper that Consuelo Worthington had died. Their home was plunged into deep mourning yet again, so soon after their double loss nearly three years before. Annabelle realized that she was an orphan now, and as her mother had said to him, Josiah was all she had in the world. She clung to him through the next days like a drowning person, and at her mother’s funeral at St. Thomas Episcopal Church. His arm was ever around her shoulders, and he was true to his word. Josiah never left her side, and even slept with her in her narrow bed in her childhood room in her parents’ house. She didn’t want to go back to their apartment, and insisted on staying at her house with him. She talked about their moving into the house, which was stately to be sure, but he felt it would be grim, and too hard for her. But for now he let her do as she wished. It was a nearly intolerable loss for Annabelle. Henry was often with them, and was a great comfort to her too. He came to visit frequently and he and Josiah talked quietly in the library late at night or played cards, while Annabelle lay upstairs on her bed, in a state of shock and grief.

It was a full month before she left the house. She had touched nothing in her mother’s bedroom. All Consuelo’s clothes were still there. Josiah was handling the estate at the bank. Her parents’ entire fortune was hers now, including the portion that would have gone to Robert. She was a very rich woman, but it was of no consolation to her. She didn’t care. And although it pained him to do so, in March, Josiah had to relay to her an offer to buy the house, from a family that knew hers. Annabelle was horrified and didn’t want to hear it, but Josiah told her gently that he didn’t think she’d ever be happy there. She had lost all the people she had loved in that house, and the house was filled with ghosts for her. And the offer was a good one, probably better than any they’d get if she decided later to sell it. He knew it would be painful for her to do, but he thought she should.

“But where will we live?” she asked with a look of anguish. “Your apartment will be too small for us once we have a family, and I don’t want another house.” She was strongly inclined to decline the offer, but she also knew the truth of what he said. She and Josiah still needed a house, but had done nothing about it since Josiah wasn’t ready to have children, and all she would ever see in that house were the visions of her parents and brother, all gone now. Even if they filled it with children, it would never fully balance the sadness she felt there, and the memories of those she’d lost.

She talked about it with Hortie, who was pregnant with her third child and sick again. She complained that James had turned her into a baby factory, but her own problems seemed minimal now compared to Annabelle’s, and she tried to advise her as sensibly as she could. She thought Josiah was right, and that he and Annabelle should sell the Worthington mansion, and buy a new house for themselves, that had no bad memories for her, or sad ones.

It broke Annabelle’s heart to do it, but within two weeks she agreed. She couldn’t even imagine giving up the house where she had been so happy as a child, but now it was filled with loss and grief. Josiah promised to handle everything for her, and assured her that they would find a new one, or even build one, which would be a happy project for them. And whatever issues they had between them had gone unaddressed during her period of mourning. She was no longer worried about the family they hadn’t started yet. She was in no mood to think of anything but her grief.

She spent all of April packing up the house, and sending everything to storage. And whatever was of no interest or value to her went to auction to be sold. The servants, Josiah, and Henry were tireless in their efforts to help her, and she spent hours crying every day. She hadn’t been to Ellis Island since her mother’s death. She missed it terribly but was too busy now closing her parents’ house. The last of it went to storage in May, the anniversary of the day she and Josiah had gotten engaged two years before. She was relinquishing the house in June, and going to stay at the cottage in Newport, which she insisted she would keep. She and Josiah were going to spend the summer there.

Six days after she closed the house in New York, the Germans sank the Lusitania, killing 1,198 people, in a terrible tragedy at sea, which revived all her memories of the Titanic, and once again rocked the world and yet another of her mother’s cousins died, Alfred Gwynne Vanderbilt, who stayed back to help others into lifeboats as her father and brother had on the Titanic. And like them, Alfred lost his life, when the ship exploded and sank in less than twenty minutes. Two weeks later, Italy entered the war and joined the Allies. And there were terrible stories in the news of nerve gas being used at the front and untold damage to the men it affected. All of Europe was in a state of turmoil, which seemed to mirror the despair and anguish that Annabelle felt.

She spent the rest of May in Josiah’s apartment before she left for Newport in June. She took Blanche and those of her mother’s servants who still remained to Newport with her. At the end of the summer, most of them would be moving on to other jobs, and life as she had known it would be forever changed. Blanche and William the butler would be staying in Newport with a few of the others.

Josiah had promised to come to Newport in mid-June, he was planning to take a longer vacation than usual that year, as he knew that Annabelle needed him with her. She looked heartbroken when she left town. The city home she had loved so much was already in other hands.

Once in Newport, Annabelle spent some time with Hortie, who had come up early with her children, their nanny, and her mother. Although only six months pregnant, she was huge again, and Annabelle was too restless to spend much time with her. She had felt sad and anxious since her mother’s death, and it was hard being in Newport without her. In some ways, it felt to her like a replay of the summer after the Titanic, and she was relieved when Josiah arrived.

They would be staying at her mother’s house and not Josiah’s, and living in Annabelle’s girlhood room. They went on long quiet walks near the sea. He was almost as pensive and silent as she was, but she didn’t press him about it. He got that way sometimes, moody and even despondent. Neither of them was in great spirits. She asked him when Henry was coming up to see them, hoping it would cheer him, and he was vague about it and said he wasn’t sure.

Josiah had been there for nearly a week when he finally turned to her one night as they sat by the fire and said he had to talk to her. She smiled, wondering what he was about to say. Most of the time now they talked about the war. But this time he sighed deeply, and she saw that there were tears in his eyes when he turned toward her.

“Are you all right?” she asked, looking suddenly worried, and all he did was shake his head slowly, and her heart sank like a stone at his words.

“No, I’m not.”

Chapter 11

Nothing in Annabelle’s life prepared her for what Josiah had to say. The impact of his words on her was as powerful as the morning she had seen the headlines about the Titanic. Everything he said to her hit her like a bomb. At first, he didn’t know where to start. She reached out to him, and took his hand in her own.

“What’s wrong?” she asked him kindly. She couldn’t imagine a problem that would reduce him to the despair she was seeing. He looked devastated. He took a breath then, and began.

“I don’t know how to say this to you, Annabelle,” he said, squeezing her hand. He knew how innocent she still was, and how hard this would be for her to understand. He had wanted to say it to her six months before but thought it would be best to wait until after the holidays, and then her mother had gotten so sick. And he couldn’t tell her after Consuelo died. Annabelle had been too devastated by her mother’s death to sustain yet another blow, and worse yet at his hands. It had been almost six months since Consuelo’s death, and selling the house had been a shock as well. But he just couldn’t wait any longer. She had to know. He couldn’t live a charade anymore, it was driving him insane.

“I don’t understand what’s wrong,” she said, tears filling her eyes now too, before she even knew. “Have I done something to upset you?” He shook his head vehemently.

“Of course not. You’ve been nothing but wonderful to me. You’re a perfect, devoted wife. It’s not you who’s done something wrong, Annabelle, it’s me…right from the beginning. I truly thought I could be a good husband to you, that I could give you a good life. I wanted to—” He started to say more, but she instantly cut him off, hoping to stem the tide. But it was a tidal wave now, which even he couldn’t stop. It had to be faced.

“But you are a good husband, and you do give me a good life.” There was the sound of pleading in her voice, which broke his heart to hear.

“No, I don’t. You deserve so much more. So much more than I can give you. I thought I could, I was certain of it at first, or I would never have done this to you. But I can’t. You deserve a man who can give you everything you want, all your heart’s desires, and who can give you children.”

“We’re in no hurry, Josiah. You always say that we have time.”

“No, we don’t,” he said, looking resolute, his mouth hardening into a firm line. This was much harder to do than he had feared. The worst part of it was that he loved her, but knew he had no right to that now, he never did. And he felt guilty too for breaking his promise to her mother to take care of her, but the situation was far more complicated than Consuelo could have imagined. “We’ve been married for almost two years. I’ve never made love to you. I’ve given you a thousand excuses and fobbed you off.” She had wondered once or twice before if he had a physical problem he’d been too embarrassed to tell her about. But she had always had the feeling that it was emotional and a matter of adjustment, which she hoped he would resolve over time, and never had. They both knew that after nearly two years of marriage, she was still a virgin. She had never admitted it to anyone, not even Hortie or her mother. She had been too ashamed, and feared it was because of something she was doing wrong, or that Josiah didn’t find her attractive. She had tried everything imaginable, from new hairdos to different clothes, and ever more seductive nightgowns, until she’d finally given up on those as well, and decided that he was anxious and it would happen when it was meant to, and he was ready. But she had worried about it a great deal, although she tried to make light of it now to him. “I truly thought when I married you, that I was capable of being a man to you. I’m not. Every time I thought about it, I knew it was wrong, and I could not trade your virtue for a lie.”

“It’s not a lie,” she said valiantly, fighting for her life, and that of their marriage. But she had lost before she began. She never had a chance. “We love each other. I don’t care if you never make love to me. There are more important things in life than that.” He smiled at how innocent she still was. There were many of both sexes who wouldn’t have agreed with her, and he didn’t himself. She just didn’t know any better, and if she stayed with him, she never would.

“You deserve better than I can give you. Annabelle, you must listen to me. It may be hard for you to understand, but I want to be honest with you.” He knew he should have been from the beginning, but he had to be now. He was about to take all her innocence from her in a single night, and perhaps destroy her faith in men forever. But he had no other choice. He had thought about this for a long time, and waited longer than he should have, for both their sakes. He couldn’t do this anymore. He loved her. But everything about their marriage was wrong.

Her eyes were wide as she watched him, and her fingers shook in his hand as she tightened her grip, bracing herself for what he was about to say. Her whole body was shaking, although she wasn’t aware of it. He could see her shoulders tremble as she waited. “It’s not women that I want to make love with,” he said in a hoarse voice of confession. “It’s men. I thought I could be a decent husband to you, that I could go counter to my own nature, but I can’t. That’s not who I am. It’s why I never married before. I love you deeply, I love everything about you, but not in that way.” And then he added what seemed like the final blow. “Henry and I have been in love with each other since we were boys.” Her eyes were so wide as she stared at him that for a moment he thought she would faint. But she was braver than that, and she refused to give in to the dizziness and nausea that engulfed her.

“Henry?” Her voice was barely more than a squeak. Henry, who had been their constant companion, and who she thought was their dearest friend? He had betrayed her totally, and had the part of her husband that she would never have. And Josiah had betrayed her as well.

“Yes. He understood that I wanted to marry you, and have children with you. I genuinely loved you, and I felt so sorry for you when your father died. I wanted to be everything to you. Father, brother, friend. The one thing I found I couldn’t do, and wanted to, was be your husband. I couldn’t bring myself to take the lie any further. And I couldn’t lie to my own nature. Everything in me refused.” She was nodding quietly, trying to absorb what he had said. It was a lot to take in all at once. Everything about their marriage to each other, their vows, their honeymoon, the promises they had made each other, the two years since, had been a fraud. “I thought that I could force myself to lead a double life, but I can’t. And I can’t keep doing this to you, while you gently try to ask me why nothing has ever happened between us, and now it can’t. I discovered something six months ago that changed everything, and now I’m grateful that I was never able to overcome my reservations. I discovered in December that I have syphilis. Under no circumstances would I lay a hand on you now, or try to give you the babies I know you want so much. I wouldn’t risk your life. I love you too much for that.” Two lone tears streamed down his cheeks as he spoke, and she threw her arms around him and buried her face in his neck, sobbing hysterically. It was the worst news she’d had from him so far, even worse than the other.

“Josiah…it can’t be…” She raised her tearstained face then to look at him. He looked the same to her, but she didn’t know the signs. And for now, there were none. But in time, there would be. Eventually, he would go blind, and even die. His fate was sealed, and Henry’s as well. They had discovered it together, and at least had the comfort of knowing that neither would have to survive the other. Theirs had been a powerful love for twenty years, for all of their adult lives, and it would follow them now to the grave. “Are you sure?”

“Entirely. And as soon as I found out, I knew I had to be honest with you, but then your mother got sick …I just didn’t have the heart to add to that. But we have to do something about it now. I can’t let this go on forever.”

“I don’t want to do anything,” she said staunchly, letting go of his hands and wiping away her tears with both of hers. “I want to stay married to you till the end.”

“I won’t let you do that. That’s not fair to you. Henry and I want to go away with each other, and enjoy whatever time we have.” She was shocked to realize that he didn’t want to spend his last days with her, he wanted to be with the man he loved. It was the cruelest rejection she would ever know. Josiah took another breath then, to tell her the rest. “I have spoken to my attorney in confidence. He has already arranged for us to be divorced. We’ll do it as quietly as possible. If anyone asks, you can say I was a dreadful husband, and you’re well rid of me.”

“But I don’t want to be rid of you,” she sobbed, clinging to him again. And they both knew that adultery was the only grounds for divorce and if he divorced her, people would imagine she’d been unfaithful and she didn’t want to divorce him, and wouldn’t. He knew that too. If he wanted to free her, for her own sake, he would have to divorce her, so she couldn’t refuse. “Can’t we just stay married?” she asked, sounding panicked, as he shook his head. He was determined, and nothing would sway him from his decision. She knew how he was when he got like that. He was an easy man to live with much of the time, except for the occasional melancholy mood, and his stubbornness, which he said he got from his father.

“We can’t stay married, Annabelle,” he said gently. “We could try to have our marriage annulled, but not without saying why, which would be embarrassing for both of us. And after two years, I’m not even sure we could. It’s far simpler and quicker if we get divorced. I want you to be free to move on with your life as soon as possible. At least I owe you that. You need to find another man, get married, and have the married life you deserve. You need a real husband and a real marriage. Not this fraud.”

“But I don’t want to move on, and be married to someone else,” she said, sobbing.

“You want children, and I could be sick and linger for years. I don’t want you tied to me, wasting your life for all those years.” He was forcing her to give him up, so he could go away, which was everything she didn’t want. All she wanted was him. She loved him just as she had from the beginning. She wasn’t angry at him, she was heartbroken by what he had said. And the last thing she wanted was a divorce.

“You must listen to me,” Josiah insisted. “I know what’s right. I made a terrible mistake, and we must correct it now. We could get divorced in Kentucky, which seems stupid and sneaky. It makes more sense to do it in New York, since we live there. No one will know the details. We’ll get a private hearing, and be discreet about it.” He took a sharp breath then. “I’m going back to the city tomorrow, to see my attorney again. And then Henry and I will go away. We’re going to Mexico for a while.” They would have preferred to go to Europe, but it was no longer reasonable or practical to do so, so they had chosen Mexico instead. There, they wouldn’t see anyone they knew and could quietly disappear, which was all they wanted now, for the time they had left.

“When will you come back?” Annabelle asked weakly. After losing everyone else, now she was losing him.

“Not for a long time,” he said, sounding harsher than he meant to, and not wanting to say “Never.” But he wanted her to accept that it was over for them. It should never have started in the first place, but now he wanted the end to be quick. It seemed kinder to him. But the look on Annabelle’s face said he was wrong. She looked completely undone by everything he had said, particularly that he was leaving her the next day.

She couldn’t imagine how she would survive without him. She would be completely alone in the world when he left. He had Henry, and always had as it turned out, and she had no one. Neither parents, nor brother, and now not him.

“Why can’t we stay married?” she asked plaintively, sounding almost like a child. “It’s no different than it was before.”

“Yes, it is. You know the truth now, and so do I. I need to free you, Annabelle. I owe you at least that. I’ve wasted two years of your life.” Worse than that, he had destroyed it. She had nothing now, except her inheritance. She no longer even had a house in town. She’d have to stay in a hotel. She couldn’t even stay at his apartment if they were divorcing. But he had thought of it as well. “You can stay at the apartment until you get your bearings, until you decide what you want to do. I’ll be gone in a few days.” He and Henry had already made their plans.

“I wish I hadn’t sold the house,” she said weakly, but they both knew it had been the right thing to do. It was too much house for her, and she couldn’t stay there all alone, particularly not as an unmarried woman. She needed a more manageable establishment of her own. And he felt certain that she would remarry in a short time. She was a beautiful girl and only twenty-two years old. And she had all the innocence and freshness of youth. At least he hadn’t spoiled that, although she felt as though she had aged a dozen years in the past hour. He stood up then and put his arms around her. He hugged her, but did not kiss her. The fraud he had perpetrated on her was over. He no longer belonged to her, and never had. He had been Henry’s all along, and they were about to pay a high price for his trying to be something he wasn’t. He loved her but not in the ways he needed to in order to be her husband. It had been a sad discovery for him too. And even worse now for her. He held out no hope. He was relieved now that he had never made love to her. He would never have forgiven himself if he had infected her as well. What he had done was bad enough. He felt terrible about lying to her for all this time. Worse than that, he had lied to himself. He loved her, but his wedding vows had been empty and meant nothing.

He walked her up to her room, but refused to stay with her that night. He said it was no longer proper. He slept in the guest room downstairs, and she lay in her bed and sobbed all night. Eventually, she crept downstairs and tried to get into bed with him, just so they could hold each other, but he wouldn’t let her. He sent her back upstairs to her own room, feeling like a monster, and after she was gone, he lay in his own bed and cried. He truly loved her and it broke his heart to leave her, but he felt he had no other choice. He knew how troubled she had been by what had never happened between them, and he didn’t want her with him now as he deteriorated slowly or rapidly, and ultimately died. He had no right to do that to her, and he planned to stay away until the end. The disease was already advancing at a rapid rate, and Henry was starting to show signs of it as well. They had both taken arsenic treatments, and it hadn’t helped at all. They wanted to be away from New York now, and all those they knew, for what came next. It was time to leave Annabelle and let her begin a new life. He knew that in time, when she adjusted to it, she would understand that it was right.

She stood sobbing on the front steps when he left the next day. She was wearing black for her mother, and looked tragic as he drove away. Leaving her was the hardest thing he had ever done, and he felt ill and cried intermittently all the way back to New York. If he had killed her with his bare hands, it would have been no harder than this, and he wouldn’t have felt worse.

Chapter 12

Annabelle saw no one after Josiah left. Blanche knew something terrible had happened, but she didn’t dare ask what. Annabelle stayed in her room, and took meals on a tray, which she hardly touched. Once a day, she went out for a walk along the sea, but she saw no one and spoke to nobody. Hortie came by one afternoon, and Annabelle refused to see her. She had Blanche tell her that she was ill. Annabelle was too heartbroken to see even her best friend, and too ashamed to tell her she was getting divorced, even if through no fault of her own, and she couldn’t tell her why. The truth was unthinkable and she wanted to protect Josiah. She panicked every time she thought of never seeing him again.

She knew that once people heard of the divorce, no one would believe her, and that everyone in New York and Newport would be shocked. She wondered how long it would take for news of it to get around. In mourning for her mother, she wasn’t expected to go out, but people would find it strange that they never saw Josiah. Blanche already suspected what had happened, although she thought it was a lovers’ quarrel, and had no idea it would end in divorce. She and the butler whispered that he must be having an affair, but no one could possibly have suspected it was with Henry, or that his and Annabelle’s marriage was over. Blanche tried to tell her that everything would be all right, and all Annabelle could do was cry and shake her head. Nothing would ever be all right again.

Josiah’s attorney came up to see her in July. Josiah had resigned his position at the bank and left for Mexico by then. Two weeks before, Henry had claimed illness in his family and resigned as well. It had never occurred to anyone to link the two events, but the departures of both men were a loss to the bank.

Josiah had sent her a letter before he left, apologizing to her again for his terrible perfidy and betrayal. He said he would bear the guilt of it all his life, and assured her that his love for her had been sincere. The divorce had already been filed in New York, and the attorney brought her a copy of the papers. The only grounds that he had been able to file them under was infidelity, which rocked her to the core when she read it. She had known it, but seeing it was worse. She had told Josiah she wouldn’t file a divorce, so Josiah had no choice but to do it himself.

“Everyone will think I cheated on him,” she said with an anguished look at the attorney, and he shook his head. She had hoped Josiah wouldn’t file it, but he had, on the only grounds that existed.

“No one will ever see these papers,” the attorney assured her. “There was no other choice, since you wouldn’t agree to file a divorce.” She would have died first. She loved him.

As it turned out, Josiah and his attorney’s confidence in the system was gravely misplaced. A clerk at the court sold a copy of the divorce papers to the newspapers, and in August it was published that Josiah had filed for divorce for adultery. In a single stroke, Annabelle’s life and reputation were ruined. Overnight, she became a pariah.

She was still in Newport when she heard of it from her father’s bank, and news of it spread like wildfire. Everyone in Newport was talking about Josiah and Annabelle’s divorce. It took her a full two weeks to have the courage to visit Hortie to talk to her about it, and when she did, she was in for another shock. Instead of allowing her to run straight upstairs to Hortie’s room, where she was languishing on her bed as usual, the butler ushered her into the drawing room, as Hortie’s mother swept out of the room and brushed past her with a disapproving scowl. She said not a word to Annabelle, and it was another ten minutes before Hortie appeared, looking considerably larger than the last time Annabelle had seen her. She looked extremely nervous and didn’t sit down. Instead, she stood looking at Annabelle uncomfortably as tears rushed to Annabelle’s eyes, and Hortie turned away and pretended not to see it.

“I suppose you’ve heard the news. Everybody has,” Annabelle said miserably, and blew her nose discreetly on a lace handkerchief that had been her mother’s. She was carrying her parasol too, as she had walked over from the house on an unusually hot day.

“I had no idea that there was someone else,” Hortie said in a choked voice, and she made no move toward her friend, nor said anything to comfort her. She stood like a statue across the room from Annabelle, her arms firmly at her sides.

“There isn’t, and never was,” Annabelle said clearly. “Adultery was the only grounds they allowed. Josiah wanted the divorce, I didn’t. He thought it was best … he couldn’t … he didn’t want …” Her words trailed into a choked sob. She had no idea how to explain it, because none of what had really happened made sense, and she couldn’t say it, even to her best friend. She didn’t want to betray him, no matter how great his betrayal of her had been. She couldn’t do that to him. He would be ruined forever if she said he had left her for a man, and she didn’t have the courage to tell Hortie she was still a virgin, so she just sat in the chair and cried. And there was no way she could tell her of his shocking illness. “I don’t know what to do,” Annabelle said miserably. “I want to die.” Hortie mistook her agony for guilt. Her mother had said that she deserved everything Josiah did to her now, that a man of Josiah’s moral stature would never divorce a woman for no reason, and that Hortie could rest assured that whatever Annabelle had done had been unforgivable. Otherwise he’d have stayed married to her. And if he had divorced her as an adulteress, then she was. She said she felt extremely sorry for Josiah, and not at all for Annabelle, who got just what she deserved. And James had told Hortie in no uncertain terms that she was strictly forbidden to ever see Annabelle again. He didn’t want her evil influence on his wife.

“I’m very sorry this happened,” Hortie said uncomfortably. “You must have made a terrible mistake.” She tried to be charitable with her, but she actually thought her mother was right. Josiah was too kind a man to do this lightly. For him to divorce Annabelle, quit his job, and leave town, she must have behaved abominably. She had never thought Annabelle capable of it before, but it only proved that you never knew even your best friends. She was severely disappointed in her, and from the flood of tears Annabelle was shedding, she could see just how guilty she felt. Her mother and James were right.

“I didn’t make a mistake,” Annabelle hiccuped as she sobbed. She looked and felt like an abandoned child, and she was shocked that Hortie wasn’t being nicer, after all they’d been through together since they were children. Hortie was looking very distant and sounding very cold.

“I don’t think I want to know what happened,” Hortie said, reaching for the door. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to go. James said I can’t see you again. Good-bye, Annabelle, I have to go upstairs and lie down, I’m not feeling well.” And with that, she walked out of the room and closed the door behind her, without another word. Annabelle sat staring after her, unable to believe what had just happened. She was shaking violently when she stood up, ran out of the house, and all the way home. She thought of throwing herself into the sea and killing herself, but she didn’t have the courage to do it. She would have liked to, because then she would see her parents and Robert again, she was sure of it. She couldn’t believe that Hortie had abandoned her too, and said she would never see her again. And then she realized that everyone she knew would do the same. Every door in Newport and New York would be closed in her face, once she could go out again.

Annabelle slammed the door behind her as she ran into her own house and up the stairs to her room. She threw herself on the bed, too shocked to even cry. She was still lying there when Blanche let herself into the room and spoke softly to the woman she had known as a child.

“I know you didn’t do what they say, Miss Annabelle. I’ve seen you almost every day, all your life. I know you were a good wife to him. I don’t know what happened between you two, but I know it has nothing to do with you.” And with that, she moved forward and put her arms around Annabelle and they cried together. Annabelle couldn’t tell her what had really caused the divorce, but at least Blanche knew she wasn’t capable of what she was accused of. And as they cried and hugged, Annabelle missed her mother more than ever. She couldn’t even imagine what her life would be like now. She had refused to divorce him, and thinking he was saving her from a worse fate, he had branded her as an adulteress forever.

She got a taste of what it meant in the last weeks of August, as the summer season drew to a close. She went to the store a few times, and the post office, and each time she did, the people she saw on the way turned away and refused to speak to her. Men glared at her in disapproval, and women looked right through her. She had in fact become the pariah she had warned Josiah she would be. He had thought this would be best for her, and had freed her out of love and remorse, and in so doing he had condemned her to a life sentence of disapproval and contempt. She had been banished by her own from her own world. She knew then that her life was over in Newport and New York, and she would never again be admitted into proper homes, or into polite circles. She would forever be the adulteress whom Josiah Millbank had divorced. He might as well have taken her out and hanged her. The decent woman she had always been was as good as dead.

Chapter 13

Annabelle went back to New York in the first week of September, and left Blanche, William, and several other servants at the Newport house. It was no longer her parents’ house, but her own. She took Thomas back to New York with her, and she was planning to sell all but one of her father’s cars.

She stayed at Josiah’s apartment, and knew she had to find a house, but she had no idea where to start or how to do it, and she knew Josiah wasn’t coming back soon, if at all. He had said that he and Henry would be gone for many months, or longer, and she had heard nothing from him since he left for Mexico. He had completely abandoned her, and so had everyone else. And Josiah thought he had done it for her own good.

She went back to work on Ellis Island while she tried to figure out what to do. People were still coming in from Europe, even though the British had mined the Atlantic, and the Germans were still sinking boats. And it was while talking to a French woman one day about her experiences that Annabelle knew what she had to do. It was the only thing she could think of, and it made more sense than staying in New York, and being shunned by everyone she knew. She didn’t care now if she died crossing the Atlantic, or once she was in Europe. In fact, she would have welcomed the release from the fate Josiah had unwittingly condemned her to with the divorce.

She spoke to several people at Ellis Island about what to do. The doctor she had worked for gave her a letter, as witness to her skills, which she planned to use at a hospital in France. He told her about a hospital that had been set up in an abbey in Asnières-sur-Oise near Paris, staffed only by women. It had been established the year before by a Scotswoman, Dr. Elsie Inglis, who had proposed to do the same in England and had been refused. The French government had welcomed her with open arms, and she had taken over and personally set up the hospital at the abbey, using women’s medical units to staff it, both doctors and nurses, with only a few male physicians, and Annabelle’s doctor friend at Ellis Island had encouraged her to go there, once she told him her plan.

Elsie Inglis was a forward-thinking woman and suffragette, who had studied medicine at the Edinburgh School of Medicine for Women. She had established her own medical college, and taught at the New Hospital for Women. The physician who had referred Annabelle to her was certain that any medical establishment Inglis set up would be medically sound and impeccably run. She had had the Abbaye de Royaumont up and running by December 1914, after the outbreak of war. And from all the referring doctor had heard, they were doing a great job caring for the wounded soldiers who were being brought to them from field hospitals at the front. Everything Annabelle heard about it told her that it was where she wanted to be, and that more than likely she would be most welcome. She didn’t care if she drove an ambulance or worked in the hospital. Whatever they needed from her, she was more than willing to do.

She had no reason to stay in the States now. She had no home, no relatives, no husband, and even her best friend had said she couldn’t see her anymore. Her parents’ friends and Josiah’s would be even more shocked. And since he had left the city, everyone assumed that she had broken his heart. She had been disgraced in every possible way, and no one would ever know the truth of what had happened. She had absolutely no reason to stay and every possible reason to leave.

Annabelle spent the next several days packing up everything she wanted to send to storage, and getting a new passport, since she hadn’t traveled in six years, since she was sixteen. She booked passage on the Saxonia going to France, and bought some sturdy clothes to wear once she got there. She had no need for frills or elegance anymore, and left all her jewelry and her mother’s in a vault at her father’s bank, and made the financial arrangements she’d need in Europe. She told no one what she was doing, and at the end of September she went back to Newport to say good-bye to Blanche, and the rest of the staff. There were five of them in the house for the winter, to take care of it and tend the grounds. It was enough, given the size of the cottage, but not too many. She told Blanche what she was doing and that she might not be back for a long time.

The old woman cried at everything that had happened, and bemoaned her young mistress’s fate, and the terrible things that might befall her in France. They all realized that she might not survive the trip over, given the minefields and the German submarines lurking at sea. Blanche was well aware that Annabelle didn’t care. She had nothing to lose and no one to live for. And at least at the front she might serve some purpose. She was taking all of her medical books with her, thinking that she might need them, and when she left Newport again two days later, they all cried as they waved good-bye, wondering if they’d ever see her again.

Once back in New York, Annabelle went to say good-bye to the doctors and nurses she had worked with at Ellis Island, and some of her favorite long-term patients, especially the children. Everyone was sorry to see her go, and she didn’t explain why. She told the head doctor she would be volunteering at a field hospital in France. It broke her heart to say good-bye.

All of her belongings from Josiah’s had gone to storage by then, and all she had left were the suitcases she was taking with her and what was in them, the rough clothes she had purchased for the trip, and several warm jackets and coats. She had managed to fit everything into three large valises, and she was planning to stay in her cabin on the ship, so she brought no evening clothes with her. She had taken out her passport and booked passage in her own name and not Josiah’s, and on her last day in New York she went for a long walk, past her parents’ house. It was the only thing left for her to say good-bye to. She stood there for a long moment, thinking of all that she had lost, and as she did, she saw one of their old neighbors get out of his car, notice her, and give her an evil look. He turned his back on her without greeting her, walked up the steps to his own home, and firmly shut the door. As she walked back to Josiah’s apartment, thinking about it, all it did was strengthen her resolve. She had nothing left in New York anymore.

Thomas drove Annabelle to the Cunard dock the next morning, in time to get her three meager suitcases on board. The Saxonia was a large fifteen-year-old ship built for passengers and cargo, with four towering masts and a tall funnel. She was built for size and not speed, and would be traveling across the Atlantic at fifteen knots. She was not luxurious, but comfortable, and a moneymaker for the line because of the cargo, which reduced the passenger area considerably. And first class had been eliminated entirely since the outbreak of the war. She was by no means as prestigious as the other ships Annabelle had previously traveled on with her parents, but she didn’t care, and had booked one of the larger staterooms in second class.

Two young sailors escorted them to her cabin, and Thomas gave her a warm hug when he said good-bye. He was going to put her father’s car up on blocks in a rented garage, and the bank had been instructed to sell it. Thomas was already looking for another job, since Annabelle had no idea when she’d be coming back.

He was still standing on the dock, waving at her, as the ship slowly pulled away from its moorings half an hour later. People on deck were looking serious, knowing the risks they were taking in braving the Atlantic. Those who were going had good reason to do so. No one traveled these waters for pleasure anymore. It was far too dangerous with all of Europe at war.

Annabelle stayed on deck until the Statue of Liberty glided past. She saw Ellis Island and felt her heart ache, and then she went back to her cabin. She took out one of her medical books and began to read it, trying not to think of what would happen if they were torpedoed. It was the first ocean voyage she had taken since her father and brother had gone down on the Titanic, and she was tense as she listened to the ship groaning, wondering how close to American waters the submarines might be and if they would attack them. Everyone on the ship was having the same thoughts.

She dined alone in her stateroom, and lay wide awake in her bunk that night, wondering if they’d arrive safely, and what she would encounter when she got to France. She was planning to make her way to the area where she’d been told her services would be most needed. With America not participating in the war in Europe, there had been no way for Annabelle to volunteer from the States, although she knew her Astor cousins had financed a field hospital and one of her Vanderbilt cousins had volunteered. But after news of the divorce had spread, she didn’t dare to contact them. She was going to find her own way when she got to France. She had to figure it out there.

Once at the hospital that was her destination, she would do whatever they assigned her. She was willing to undertake the most menial tasks, but from all she’d heard, the trenches were full to overflowing, and the hospitals even more so, with wounded. She felt certain that someone would put her to work, if they managed to survive the trip over.

She had learned a great deal from the doctors and nurses at Ellis Island and was continuing to study her medical books every day. And even if all they let her do was drive an ambulance, at least she knew she would be of greater use than hiding in New York from the gazes of an entire world of once-familiar people from whom she was now excluded.

Although Josiah had meant well, now all her respectability, reputation, propriety, and ability to make a new life had been destroyed by the divorce. He didn’t understand. It was like being convicted of a crime, for which she would never be pardoned. Her sentence would be forever, her guilt a certainty to all. And under no circumstances would she ever divulge Josiah’s secret. She loved him too much to do so, and what he was hiding was even more shocking than their divorce. The revelation of his longtime love affair with Henry, and the syphilis they now shared would have completely decimated his life. She couldn’t do that to him. She still loved him. His secret would die with her. And without meaning to, he had sacrificed her.

It was a relief to be going to France, where no one knew her. At first, she didn’t know whether to say that she was a widow, or had never been married. But if anyone knew Josiah, which was possible even in Europe, they would know that he was alive, and she was a liar, to add to the rest. Eventually she decided that she was going to say that she had never been married. It was simpler that way in case she met anyone who knew him. She was Annabelle Worthington again, as though the two years with Josiah had never happened, although they had and she had come to love him deeply. Enough to forgive him for the frailties he couldn’t help, and the illness that would ultimately kill him.

Perhaps, she thought to herself, as the ship rolled gently the first night, she would be killed in France, and she wouldn’t have to suffer another loss or bereavement. She knew that even after her divorce, when he died, it would break her heart again. All she had wanted was a life with him, a happy marriage, and to bear his children. Hortie didn’t know how lucky she was to have a normal husband, and all her babies. And now Annabelle no longer had her either. She’d been shunned and abandoned by all. Hortie’s rejection of her cut her the most deeply after Josiah’s. And what it all meant to Annabelle was that, as the Saxonia made its way cautiously through the Atlantic to France, she was absolutely, totally alone in the world. It was a terrifying thought for a young woman who had been protected all her life, first by her family and then by her husband. And now all of them were gone, along with her good name and reputation. She would be branded as an adulteress forever. As she thought of it again, tears slid from her eyes onto her pillow.

The ship ran into no problems that night. They had doubled all the watches in order to watch for mines. There was no telling where they might turn up, or how close to land the German submarines would dare to come. There had been a lifeboat drill within the hour they left the dock. Everyone knew where their lifeboat station was, and their life jackets were hanging in plain sight in the cabins. In peacetime the life vests were stowed more discreetly, but since the sinking of the Lusitania in May, the Cunard Line wasn’t taking any chances. Every possible safety precaution was being observed, but that only heightened the atmosphere of tension on the trip.

Annabelle spoke to no one. She had looked at the list of passengers, and saw that there were two acquaintances of her parents on board. Given the tidal wave of scandal her divorce from Josiah had caused in New York, she had absolutely no desire to see them, and risk getting snubbed by them, or worse. She preferred to stay in her cabin for most of the day, and go out for a solitary walk around deck at nightfall, when everyone else was changing for dinner. And she dined alone every night in her stateroom. In spite of the books she had brought along for distraction, her father and brother’s deaths on the Titanic were much on her mind. And the stories from the sinking of the Lusitania had been almost worse. She was tense and anxious much of the time, and barely slept, but she got a lot of studying done during her long waking hours.

The stewardess who took care of her rooms tried to no avail to urge her to go to the dining room for dinner. And the captain had invited her to dinner at his table on the second night out. It was an honor most passengers would have leaped at, but she sent him a polite note and declined, saying she wasn’t well. The seas had been a little rough that day, so it was believable if she had been a poor sailor, which she wasn’t. She felt fine the entire way.

The steward and stewardess assigned to her wondered if she was recovering from a loss of some kind. She was beautiful and young, but so solemn, and they noted the black she was still wearing in mourning for her mother. They wondered if she was a widow, or had lost a child. It was clear that something had happened to her. She seemed like a tragic, romantic figure as she watched the sunset during her late afternoon walks. She stood looking out to sea, thinking of Josiah, and wondered if she would ever see him again. She tried not to think of Henry, and not to hate him.

Often, when she came back to her stateroom, which comprised both a large sitting room and a bedroom, she looked as though she had been crying. She often wore a veil to hide her face, which was even more shielded by big hats. She had no desire to be recognized, or seen. She was disappearing from her world, shedding the shell of protection she had once enjoyed, and the identity that had been an integral part of her all her life. She was stripping herself of all things safe and familiar, to vanish into a life of service at the front. It was all she wanted now.

It shocked her to realize that other than her parents’ summer cottage in Newport, she didn’t even have a home. Almost everything she owned was in storage, and the rest of it was in her three bags, all of which she could carry herself. She hadn’t brought a single trunk, which was most unusual, the stewardess had commented to the purser, for a woman of her quality. Even without the trappings of furs or jewels or evening gowns, just from her speech and bearing, gentle manner, and poise, it was easy to see that Annabelle was well born. And seeing the look of sorrow in her eyes every day, the young stewardess felt sorry for her. They were nearly the same age, and Annabelle was always kind to her.

On the fourth day out, as they drew closer to Europe, the ship slowed to a startling crawl. They were hardly moving in the water, but the captain of the watch had seen something suspicious, and was concerned that there might be a U-boat nearby. All the passengers were worried, and some were wearing their life vests, although no alarm had sounded. For the first time Annabelle came out in broad daylight herself to see what was going on. One of the officers explained it quietly to her when she asked, and was struck by her beauty, concealed behind her hat and veil. He wondered if she was a famous actress, traveling incognito, or someone well known. She was wearing a well-tailored black suit, and when she took one of her gloves off, he noticed her graceful hands. He reassured her, and staying well away from clusters of people talking or sitting in small groups playing cards, she took a brief walk around the ship, and then went back to her room.

The young officer knocked on her door later that afternoon, and she opened it looking surprised. She had a book in her hand, and her long blond hair was spilling over her shoulders. She looked like a young girl, and he was even more startled by how pretty she was. She had taken off her suit jacket and was wearing a black blouse and long black skirt. Like the stewardess, he suspected she was a young widow, but he had no idea why she was going to Europe. He said he had come to make sure that she was all right, since she’d been concerned earlier that day, and they were still moving at a slow speed. She assured him with a shy smile that she was fine. He glanced down to see what she was reading and was surprised to see what it was. It was a medical book by Dr. Rudolph Virchow, and there were three by Dr. Louis Pasteur and Dr. Claude Bernard, the medical authorities of the time, on a table behind her. They were her bibles.

“Are you studying medicine?” he asked, visibly amazed. It was an unusual book for a woman to be reading, and he wondered if she was a nurse. It seemed unlikely given her obvious station in life.

“Yes…no…well, not really,” she said, looking embarrassed. “I just enjoy reading medical books. It’s sort of a passion of mine.”

“My brother is a doctor,” he said proudly. “He’s the smart one. My mother is a nurse.” He lingered, looking for excuses to talk to her. There was something so mysterious about her, and he couldn’t help wondering what was taking her to France. Perhaps she had family there. These days, there were fewer and fewer women doing crossings on the ships. “If there’s anything I can do for you, Miss Worthington, please don’t hesitate to let me know.” She nodded, shocked to hear herself called that for the first time in two years. She wasn’t used to it yet. It was like reverting to childhood and traveling back in time. She had been so proud of being Mrs. Millbank. It made her sad to be Worthington again, as though she didn’t deserve Josiah’s name. They had agreed that she would take back her own. He could have petitioned the court for her to keep his, but they both thought it was best if she didn’t. It was easier to start with a clean slate now with her own name, but she still missed his.

“Thank you very much,” she said politely. He bowed, and she closed the door and went back to her book, and didn’t emerge from her room again until after dark. She was anxious to arrive. Being cooped up in her room all the time made the trip seem very long. And slowing down as they had had cost them a full day, but everyone agreed that it was better to be cautious and safe, even if it meant arriving late.

The following day was even more stressful than the one before. The early morning watch had spotted a minefield in the distance on their starboard side. This time the sirens sounded, and everyone was brought up on deck so the crew could explain what was happening. They all were wearing their life jackets and were told to keep them on all day. Annabelle had left her cabin without her hat and veil, and it was a warm sunny day with a gentle breeze. Her hair was brushed smoothly down her back, and she was wearing a black linen dress. The same officer as the day before approached her again with a smile.

“Nothing to worry about,” he told her, “just a precaution. We’re staying well out of trouble. Our men are very sharp. They spotted it right off.” She was relieved, but it was unnerving anyway.

Without meaning to share it with him, she let a bit of personal information slip out. “My parents and brother were on the Titanic,” she said softly, and almost shuddered as she said it and looked up at him with wide eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” he said kindly. “Nothing like that is going to happen here. Don’t you worry, miss. The captain has everything under control.” But the presence of the minefield in the distance meant another day of crawling through the water. And for the next two days they had to be even more vigilant as the Saxonia approached France.

In the end the trip took seven days. They reached Le Havre at six in the morning, and the ship was tied up to the dock while most of the passengers still slept. Breakfast was to be served at seven, and disembarking passengers were to take the train at nine. The ship was going on to Liverpool after that, since Southampton had been taken over by the military. And on this voyage, they were stopping in France first, as they had been forced considerably off course by the minefields. Annabelle was on the deck fully dressed when they docked. The familiar young officer saw her and came over. She looked excited and wide awake. It was the happiest he had seen her during the trip, and he wondered if her somber aspect had simply been fear of being on the ship, since her relatives had been on one that went down. And the minefields and U-boats had upset them all. Everyone was happy to arrive safely in France.

“Will you be happy to get to Paris?” he asked her pleasantly. It was obvious that she was, and he suddenly wondered if she had a fiancé there. Her smile was wide as she nodded in the early morning sun. She was wearing a hat, but no veil, and he could look right into her blue eyes.

“Yes. But I’m not staying long,” she said simply, and he seemed surprised. No one came to Europe now for a short time, considering the risks involved, and surely not for a brief holiday trip.

“You’re going back?”

“No, I’m not. I’m hoping to work at a hospital north of Paris, about thirty miles from the front.”

“That’s very brave of you,” he said, looking impressed. She was so young and pretty he hated to think of her in the carnage of a hospital near the front, but she was visibly excited by the idea. It explained why she had been reading medical books in her cabin when he had stopped by to see her. “Will you be safe there?” he asked, looking worried, and she smiled.

“Safe enough.” She would have preferred to be at the front, but she had been told that only trained medical and military personnel were allowed to work there. The hospital that had been set up in the Abbaye de Royaumont in Asnières-sur-Oise was more unusual and far more likely to accept her in their midst.

“Will you be going there today?” he asked with interest, and she shook her head.

“I thought I’d spend a night in Paris, and find a way to get there tomorrow.” It was twenty miles north of Paris, and she wasn’t sure what kind of transportation she could arrange.

“You’re very courageous to be traveling alone,” he said admiringly, correctly sensing that she was a woman who had been sheltered and protected all her life, and was not accustomed to fending for herself. But she had no other choice now. Annabelle knew that this was a fresh start for her, or at the very least a time away from the ostracism she had only just begun to taste at home, and could only have gotten worse in time.

The young officer had to tend to his duties then, and Annabelle went back to her stateroom to close her bags. She was ready to go by seven. She thanked the stewardess for her kind attention during the trip, gave her a handsome tip in a discreet envelope, and went to the main dining salon for breakfast. It was the first and only time she had taken a meal in public during the crossing. But everyone was too busy to pay attention to her. They were saying good-bye to new friends, and enjoying a last hearty meal before they left the ship.

Annabelle was one of the first passengers to disembark. And she said good-bye to the young officer when he came to see her off and wish her luck. She boarded the private compartment that had been reserved for her on the train. And she knew these were the last luxuries she would enjoy for a long time. By the next day, with any luck, she would be working hard, and living like all the other medical workers at the Abbey.

She managed her bags herself, and was able to find a cab at the Gare du Nord train station in Paris. She had eaten lunch on the train, and wasn’t hungry, so she went straight to her hotel. She had reserved a room at the Hôtel de Hollande in the ninth arrondissement near Montmartre, and as they drove there, she noticed blue-capped men on bicycles, usually in groups of four, patrolling the city. The terraces had been removed from all cafés, which was a big change from the last time she had seen Paris with her parents as a young girl. She hadn’t been there since she was sixteen. There was an atmosphere of quiet tension here, and she noticed there were hardly any men in the streets. Most of them had been drafted into the military and were fighting for their country and lives at the front, but the city was still as beautiful as she remembered. The Place de la Concorde was as majestic as ever, as was the Champs Élysées. The weather was beautiful, and it was a splendid autumn day as the cab pulled up in front of her hotel.

Not surprisingly, the clerk at the desk was very old, and showed her to her room on the first floor. It was small, but bright and sunny, looking out over the hotel’s garden where chairs had been set up around tables, and a few people were having lunch. She asked him about transportation to Asnières the next day. She wanted to know if it was possible to find her a driver and some sort of vehicle. She spoke to him in the fluent French she had learned from her tutor, as part of a genteel education, which now served her well.

“Why would you want to go there?” he asked with a disapproving frown. It was too close to the front for his taste, but not Annabelle’s. She had discreetly tried to suggest, without being vulgar, that she would pay the driver handsomely for the one-way trip, provided the hospital let her stay, which had yet to be seen. But she was optimistic, and she had her letter of reference from the doctor at Ellis Island in her purse.

“I’m going to the Abbey in Asnières,” she explained.

“It’s not an Abbey anymore,” he informed her. “It’s a hospital, all run by women.”

“I know.” She smiled at him. “That’s why I’m going.”

“You’re a nurse?” She shook her head in answer. He couldn’t help thinking that it was a fine hotel for a nurse to be staying at, but even in her plain clothes, she looked far more aristocratic.

“No, I’m just a medical worker, or whatever they’ll let me do,” she said humbly, and he smiled at her, with a look of amazement.

“You came here to help our boys at the hospital?” This time she nodded without hesitation. He sent dinner to her room that night, with a small bottle of wine that he had been saving for himself. “You are a good woman,” he said to her the next time he saw her.

“Thank you,” she said softly, knowing that all of New York and Newport would have disagreed.

Later, the ancient desk clerk told her that he had asked his nephew to drive her the next day. He had been injured at the front the year before and lost several fingers, but he assured her that Jean-Luc was a good driver, although he apologized that the young man would be driving her to Asnières in a truck. It was the only vehicle they had, and she assured him it would be fine.

She could hardly sleep in her bed at the hotel that night, she was so excited. She had no idea what the next day would have in store for her, or if they’d even let her stay at the Abbey. All she could do was pray that they would.

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.

Chapter 15

Annabelle’s first days at L’Abbaye de Royaumont were grueling. Casualties from the Second Battle of Champagne were coming in at a rapid rate. She assisted in surgeries, emptying surgical pans and soaking up blood, disposed of shattered limbs, emptied bedpans, held the hands of dying men, and bathed men with raging fevers. Nothing she had ever seen before was even remotely like it. She had never worked so hard in her life, but it was exactly what she had wanted. She felt useful, and was learning more every day.

Annabelle hardly ever saw Edwina. She was working in another part of the hospital, and they were on different shifts. Once in a while they ran into each other in the bathroom or passed in a corridor between wards, and waved at each other. Annabelle had no time to make friends, there was too much work to do, and the hospital was crammed full of wounded and dying men. Every bed was full, and some lay on mattresses on the floor.

She finally got a few minutes one afternoon to go to a local bank, and sent a message to her own bank in New York that she had arrived safely and all was well. There was no one to tell or care. She had been in Asnières for two weeks by then, and she felt as though she’d been there for a year. The English and French had landed in Salonika, in Greece, and Austrian, German, and Bulgarian forces had invaded Serbia and expelled the Serbian army from the country. In France, men were dying like flies in the trenches. Thirty miles from the hospital, the front had hardly shifted, but lives were being lost constantly. There were field hospitals set up in churches closer to the front, but as many men as could be were brought to the Abbey in Asnières, where they could get better care. Annabelle was learning a great deal about surgery. And they were also dealing with everything from dysentery to trench foot, and a number of cases of cholera. Annabelle found all of it terrifying but exciting to be able to help.

On a rare morning off, one of the women in her cell block taught her to drive one of the trucks they used as ambulances, which wasn’t so different from Jean-Luc’s poultry truck. She had a hard time getting it into gear at first, but she was starting to get the hang of it when she had to report to work again. She was assigned to the operating room more than any of the others, because she was precise, attentive, meticulous, and followed directions to the letter. Several of the doctors had noticed her and commented on her to the head nurse, who agreed that Annabelle’s work was excellent. She thought she’d make a terrific nurse, and had suggested to Annabelle that she should train formally after the war, but the head surgeon at the Abbey thought she was better than that. He stopped to chat with her after their final operation late one night. Annabelle didn’t even look tired as she scrubbed the room and cleaned up. It had been a particularly exhausting day for all of them, but Annabelle hadn’t lagged for a minute.

“You look as though you enjoy the work,” he said to her as he wiped his hands on his bloody apron. Hers looked just as bad. She didn’t seem to notice, and she had a streak of someone’s blood on her face. He handed her a rag to wipe it off with, and she thanked him and smiled. He was a French surgeon who had come from Paris, and was one of the few male doctors they had. Most of the medical personnel were women, which had been Elsie Inglis’s intention when she set it up. But they made exceptions, as they needed a lot of help. They were treating so many men that by now they were grateful for all the doctors they could get.

“Yes, I do,” Annabelle said honestly, as she put away the rag with the other linens that the girls in the laundry room would pick up later. Some of it just had to be thrown away. “I’ve always loved this kind of work. I just wish the men didn’t have to suffer so much. This war is such a terrible thing.” He nodded. He was in his fifties, and he had never seen a carnage such as this himself.

“The head nurse thinks you should go to nursing school,” he said tentatively, looking at her as they walked out of the operating room together. It was impossible not to notice what a pretty girl she was, but there was a great deal more to her than that. Everyone had been impressed with her medical skill since she’d arrived. The doctor who had written her reference hadn’t exaggerated, she was even better than his glowing praise. “Is that what you’d like to do?” the surgeon inquired. He was impressed by her French as well, and it had improved dramatically in the past two weeks. He had no problem speaking to her in French, or she in responding to him.

She thought for a moment before she answered him. She was no longer married to Josiah, and her parents were gone. She could do anything she wanted now—she answered to no one. If she wanted to go to nursing school, she could, but as she looked up at him, she was as surprised as he by what she said.

“I’d rather be a doctor,” she almost whispered, afraid that he would laugh at her. Dr. Inglis, who had established the hospital, was a woman, but it was still unusual for a woman to attend medical school. Some did, but it was very rare. He nodded in response.

“I was thinking that myself. I think you should. You have a talent. I can tell.” He had taught at the Faculté de Médecine for years before the war, and had dealt with men far less capable than she. He thought it was an excellent idea. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I don’t know,” she said, looking shocked. She had never allowed herself to think of it as a real possibility before. And now this kind man was taking her seriously and offering to help. It brought tears to her eyes. “Would it be possible?”

“Of course. Anything is possible if you want it badly enough and are willing to work for it. And something tells me you would. Why don’t you think about it, and we’ll talk about it another time.”

His name was Dr. Hugues de Bré, and their paths didn’t cross again for another month. She heard that he went to work at one of the field hospitals closer to the front for a while, and came back to the Abbey in November. He smiled the moment he saw Annabelle, and had her administer chloroform to the patient herself. She was gentle and efficient as she put the crying man to sleep, and then a young doctor took over from her after that. Dr. de Bré talked to her that night before he left.

“Have you thought any more about our plan? I thought of another thing,” he said cautiously. “Medical school is expensive. Would that be possible for you?” Something about her suggested to him that it would, but he didn’t want to assume it. He had been thinking about how to get a scholarship for her. It would have been difficult because she wasn’t French.

“I think it would be all right,” she said discreetly.

“What about going to Dr. Inglis’s medical college in Scotland?” he suggested, and Annabelle shook her head.

“I think I’d rather stay in France.” Although the language would be easier in Scotland, she could manage in French, and the prospect of spending years in the dreary weather in Scotland didn’t appeal to her as much.

“I could do more to help you here. I was thinking of a small medical school I’ve always liked in the South of France, near Nice. And I don’t think you should wait until the war ends. It would be easier to get in now. Classes are smaller, they need students. Many of the young men are gone, so there is less competition to get in. They would welcome you with open arms. With your permission, I’d like to write to them and see what they say.” Annabelle smiled up at him in astonishment and gratitude. It was impossible to believe this was happening. Perhaps it was destiny. Six months before, she’d been married, hoping to have a family one day, in her safe, predictable life in Newport and New York. Now she was alone, in France, talking about going to medical school, and everything in her life had changed. Josiah was with Henry in Mexico, and she had no one to answer to at all. If this was her dream, she could follow it now. There was no one to stop her. The only thing that made her sad was that she had no one to discuss it with except Dr. de Bré.

They were still dealing with waves of wounded coming from the front, as the weather turned colder, and more men died of infections, wounds, and dysentery. She had lost two of the men she’d been caring for only that morning, when Dr. de Bré stopped to talk to her again. It was two weeks before Christmas, and she was homesick for the first time. She’d been thinking that only a year before, her mother had been alive. Dr. de Bré broke into her reverie and told her he had had a letter from the school in Nice. He looked at her portentously, and she held her breath, waiting to hear what he had to say.

“They said they would be very happy to accept you with a recommendation from me. They’ll put you on a probationary basis for the first term, and if you do well, you will be accepted as a full student after that.” He was smiling at her as her eyes grew wide. “They would like you to begin on January fifteenth, if that appeals to you.” Her eyes and mouth flew open in disbelief, and she stared at him.

“Are you serious?” She almost jumped into his arms. She looked like a very young girl as he laughed at her. It had been a pleasure to assist such a talented young woman. In his opinion, the world needed doctors like her. And as much as she was needed here to assist, he thought it far more important for her to train as a physician as soon as possible. She would do the world a lot more good as a doctor.

“I’m afraid I am serious. What are you going to do about it?” he asked, still unsure if she would go. She hadn’t been sure herself. His inquiry had been more of an exercise to see what they would say. She hadn’t expected it to be so easy, or so quick. But the school needed students desperately, and with a recommendation from Dr. de Bré, they had every confidence that she would justify his faith in her, and so did he.

“Oh my God,” she said, staring at him, as they left the ward and walked into the cold night air. “Oh my God…I have to go!” It was a dream come true, something she had never expected to happen, never dared to dream of, and now the dream was within reach. She didn’t have to just read medical books on her own, trying to figure it all out for herself. She could study them, and become exactly who and what she wanted to be. He had given her a gift beyond belief. She had no idea how to thank him as she threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him on the cheek.

“You’re going to make a wonderful doctor, my dear. I want you to stay in touch with me, and come to see me when this war is over, and life is normal again, if it ever will be.” It was hard to believe that now. The death toll in Europe had reached three million. Far too many lives had been lost already, and nothing had been resolved. All of Europe was at war with each other, and America was still determined not to get involved.

Annabelle hated to leave the Abbey. She knew she was needed there, but Dr. de Bré had made a good point, this was the perfect time for her to go to medical school. In peacetime, with more men applying, they may not have been as willing to accept her. They had told him that in the coming term, she would be the only woman in her class, although they had had female graduates before. Her studies would take six years in all. One mostly in the classroom, and five years thereafter taking classes and working with patients in a hospital near the school. They were affiliated with one of the best hospitals in Nice. She would get a lot of experience, and it was a good place for her to live. In peacetime, it was safer for her than Paris, more provincial and smaller, since she had no one to protect her. He had told her there were dormitories at the school, and they would give her a large private room of her own, since she was the only female student. And he suggested that afterward, she would come back to Paris, and perhaps work for him. He had so much faith in her that she was determined to justify it.

She was floating that night when she went back to her cell, and Dr. de Bré had said he would write to the school to accept the place for her. She had to send them some money by the first of January, which wasn’t a problem. She could pay the rest of the tuition for the first year when she got there. Her mind was chock-full of excitement and plans. Her head was spinning, and she was awake most of the night, thinking about it. She remembered telling Josiah once that she wanted to dissect a cadaver, and now she would, and nothing and no one could stop her. She had already learned a great deal more about anatomy after working in the operating room at the Abbey, particularly with Dr. de Bré. He was always careful to teach her as he went along, if the case wasn’t too dire. And just watching him operate was an honor.

She told no one her plans until the day before Christmas, when she finally told the head nurse, who was stunned, but thought it an excellent idea.

“Good heavens,” she said, smiling at her, “I thought you’d be a nurse. I never thought you’d want to be a doctor. But why not? Dr. Inglis is one of the best. So could you be one day,” she said proudly, as though she’d thought of it herself. “What a good thing for Dr. de Bré to do. I heartily approve.”

Annabelle had been there for three months by then, and had proven herself in every way. She hadn’t really had time to make friends, since she worked all the time, even when she didn’t have to. But there were so many wounded, and so much work to do for all of them. She even drove one of the ambulances from time to time when they needed her to. She was willing to do it all. She had driven closer to the front to pick up men from the field hospitals there and brought them back to the Abbey. The sound of the guns nearby had been impressive, and reminded her of how close the fighting was. In a way, she felt guilty leaving them all to go to medical school in Nice, but it was such an exciting prospect there was no way she could resist it. It was more than a little daunting knowing that she would be twentyeight when she was finished. It seemed like a long time to her, but she had so much to learn in the meantime. She couldn’t imagine cramming it all into six years.

She ran into Edwina outside their cells on Christmas morning, they hugged each other, and Annabelle told her she was leaving in three weeks. And Edwina looked instantly disappointed.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I always want to spend time with you, and chat, but we never get to it, and now you’re going.” She had hoped they would be friends, but none of them had time. There was always too much work. It made Annabelle think of Hortie then, and the last time they’d met, and her terrible sense of betrayal. Hortie had been all too willing to turn her back on her oldest and dearest friend, and to say that James wouldn’t allow her to see Annabelle again. It was all part of why she had decided to come to France. She had lost too many people, and Hortie had been the last straw. It made her look at Edwina with a gentle smile, and the memory of regret, and a beloved friendship lost.

“Maybe I can come back to work here when they give us time off. I don’t know if they have holidays in medical school, but they must,” Annabelle said hopefully. She wanted to see them all again. In some ways, she didn’t want to leave. She had been happy here for three months, as much as one could be among such grievously wounded men, but the camaraderie among the staff had been tremendous.

“You’re going to medical school?” Edwina looked stunned. She’d had no idea.

“Dr. de Bré arranged it,” Annabelle said with dancing eyes. She got more excited every day. “I never thought something like this could happen to me,” she added, with a look of dazed amazement.

“What did your family say?” Edwina asked with interest, as a cloud passed over Annabelle’s face, which Edwina didn’t understand. “Do they mind your staying over here? They must worry about you, being so close to the front.” If the lines shifted and they got overrun, all of them could have been taken prisoner. It was a risk they didn’t allow themselves to think about once they were there, but the threat was real. Edwina’s parents had been nervous about her coming, particularly her mother, but she had come anyway. Both her brothers were in the war and she wanted to be part of it too.

“I don’t have any family,” Annabelle said quietly. “I lost them all. My mother died a year ago, and my father and brother on the Titanic.” She didn’t mention Josiah, who had been yet another loss in her life, but no one here knew she had been married, so there was no way to explain it, and she didn’t want to anyway. It was a silent loss she bore alone, and always would.

“I’m so sorry,” Edwina said softly. “I didn’t know.” None of them ever had time to share their histories, or much else, just the occasional cup of tea, and a greeting here and there. There was so much else to do, there was rarely time for niceties, or the kind of opportunities that in other circumstances allowed one to build friendships. They just worked side by side until they nearly dropped, and then went to bed on their mattresses on the floor in their tiny old nuns’ cells. The most exciting thing they got to do was sneak the occasional cigarette and giggle about it. Annabelle had tried them a few times, just to be sociable, but she didn’t like them much.

They chatted for a few more minutes and Edwina wished her a happy Christmas and luck at school. They promised to spend a few minutes together, or meet in the mess hall, before she left, but neither of them knew if it would really happen. And then they went their separate ways to the wards where they worked. Christmas was just another day caring for the sick and wounded. There were no celebrations, no carols, no gifts. There was a cease-fire for the day, but by six o’clock that night the Germans had violated it, and more men came in with missing limbs that night. It was an endless stream of human suffering whatever day of the year.

Annabelle was grateful to work as hard as she did that day. It kept her from thinking of all the people she had loved and lost, two of them only that year. She wouldn’t allow herself to think of Christmas Eve at her mother’s house the year before. It was just too painful. And soon she would begin a whole new life in Nice. She forced herself to focus on that whenever she had a break that day, which wasn’t often. She concentrated on what medical school would be like, but every now and then visions of her mother intruded anyway, or the sound of her voice…the last time she had seen her… and she thought of it as she lay on her mattress that night, wondering what her mother would think of everything that had happened in the past year. She hoped that wherever she was, watching over her, she would be proud when Annabelle became a doctor. She knew her mother probably wouldn’t have approved. But what else did she have now? And who? Becoming a doctor was Annabelle’s only dream, her only hope of an entirely new life.

Chapter 16

Annabelle’s departure went unnoticed the day she left the hospital at the Abbaye de Royaumont in Asnières. She had gone to say good-bye to Dr. de Bré, and to thank him, the day before, and also made her farewell to the head nurse. Other than that, she had no one to say good-bye to, except Edwina, whom she saw for a few minutes that morning. They wished each other luck, and said they hoped to meet again. And then Annabelle got into the truck that drove her to the station. She was taking the train to Nice, which was a long, drawn-out process. All the routes that went too near the front had been rerouted in circuitous ways, and most of the trains had been commandeered by the army.

It took her a day and a night to get to Nice, and when she finally arrived, she found two taxis at the train station, driven by women. She climbed into one of them, and gave the driver the address of the medical school. It was just outside Nice, on a hill, looking out at the ocean, in a small château that belonged to the family of the school’s founder, Dr. Graumont. And with its peaceful gardens and orchards around it, it was hard to believe that there was war or strife anywhere in the world, let alone nerve gas, shattered bodies, or people dying. She felt completely sheltered from the real world here. It was the most tranquil place she had seen since Newport, and in some ways reminded her of it.

A stern-looking housekeeper showed her to her room, handed her the sheets to make her own bed, and told her to be downstairs at eight o’clock for dinner. The first-year medical students lived in a dormitory. The more senior students, all of them men, had individual rooms. Since she was the only woman she had gotten one of their rooms, a comfortable chamber that looked out at the sea. There were forty-four students living at the château, all of whom had been exempted from military service for some reason. There was an Englishman, a Scot, two Italians, and the rest of them were French. Annabelle was the only American. She had been told that she could practice medicine when she went back to the States by taking an exam there, but she wasn’t thinking that far ahead yet. For the next six years, she would be here, and it felt like the right place for her to be. She was certain of it as soon as she saw it. She felt safe and protected.

She washed her face and hands, put on a clean black dress, one of the nicer ones she had brought with her, and tied her hair back in a discreet knot. Looking immaculate, she went down to dinner promptly at eight.

The students met in the large drawing room of the château before dinner every night. They talked quietly among themselves, usually about medical matters, and all of them had been there since September. Annabelle was the interloper who had arrived late, and as she entered the room, all eyes turned to her. Then the other students turned away and kept talking and ignored her. She was startled by their cool reception, but she sat quietly by herself until dinner, without trying to break into their conversations. She saw them stealing glances at her, but not one of them came over to talk to her. It was as though she didn’t exist, and as though they believed that if they didn’t acknowledge her, she’d disappear.

An ancient man in an even more ancient tailcoat called them in to dinner, and the groups then shifted into the dining room and sat down at three long refectory tables that were as old as the château. Everything there was worn and threadbare, but it had a kind of faded grandeur that looked very much Old France.

Dr. Graumont, the head of the school, came to greet her and invited her to sit down next to him. He was extremely polite when he introduced himself, but then spent most of the time speaking to the young man on his other side, who looked to be about thirty. They were conversing about an operation they had both observed that day, and made no attempt to include Annabelle in the conversation. She felt like a ghost, invisible to all.

Later in the meal, Dr. Graumont spoke to her briefly of Dr. de Bré and asked how he was, but he said little more to her than that, and then he bade her good evening, and the others went to their rooms. Not a single one of her fellow students had introduced themselves to her or asked her name. She went up to her room alone, and sat down on her bed, not sure what to make of it, and not nearly as sure as she had been about her decision. It was going to be a long six years if no one ever spoke to her at the château. It was more than obvious that they were not pleased to have a woman in their midst, so they had decided to ignore her. But she wasn’t there to socialize, she had come to learn.

She was in the dining room the next morning, at precisely seven o’clock, as she had been told. Breakfast was sparse, due to the war, and she ate very little. The others came and left without a word to her, and she found her classroom in time for her eight o’clock class. The entire château had been dedicated to the school, which had allowed the family to keep it, and support its upkeep. And once the class began, she remembered why she was there. It was fascinating. They were studying diseases of the kidney, and were shown diagrams of surgeries. And they were to go to the hospital in Nice the next day, where they did all their surgical observations and work with patients. She could hardly wait.

She was still excited by the lecture when they went to lunch, and she was more grateful than ever to Dr. de Bré. And forgetting how unfriendly her classmates had been, she broke into conversation with the Englishman, and commented about the lecture. He stared at her as though she had just taken off all her clothes.

“I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?” she asked innocently.

“I don’t recall speaking to you,” he said rudely, looking down his nose at her in an icy way, which told her in no uncertain terms that he had no interest whatsoever in her comments.

“No, but I spoke to you,” she said calmly, refusing to be daunted. She had heard him say that he came from four generations of doctors. He was obviously very full of himself, but like her, he was only a firstyear student, although considerably older than she was. He mentioned to someone else that he had gone to Eton and then Cambridge, which explained the discrepancy in their ages. He clearly thought he was a great deal better than she was, and had no desire to waste his time talking to her. The fact that she was also beautiful seemed to have made no impression on him whatsoever. He was far more interested in being unpleasant to her and putting her in her place.

“I’m Annabelle Worthington,” she continued pleasantly, refusing to be bested by him. She wanted to hit him over the head with her plate, but she smiled politely and then turned to the student on her other side, and introduced herself to him. He looked at the young man across from him, as though waiting for a cue from the others, and then smiled in spite of himself.

“I’m Marcel Bobigny,” he said in French, and with that the others looked at him like a traitor, and stared into their plates as they ate.

Annabelle and Marcel struck up a conversation about the lecture they’d had that morning, and for most of lunch there was silence in the room. She was clearly not welcome, and even the head of the school ignored her. She took her notebook and pen, and went to her next class, after thanking Marcel for chatting with her. He bowed politely, and she could hear his cohorts scolding him for talking to her, as she walked away with her head held high.

“I don’t give a damn if she’s great-looking,” she heard one of them whisper to the others. “She has no business being here.” But she had as much right to be there as they did. She had paid her tuition, and was as anxious to be a doctor as they were, possibly more so. But clearly they had made an agreement among themselves to stonewall her.

Their shoddy treatment of her continued through four weeks of classes and three-times-weekly visits to the hospital in Nice, where they heard lectures and saw patients, and she saw that she was being keenly observed by professors and students alike. She sensed that any mistake she made, or incorrect statement she uttered, would be used immediately against her, so she was extremely careful of what she said. So far, she had made no obvious mistakes, and the two papers she had written about diseases of the urinary tract and kidneys had gotten perfect grades.

And it was when visiting patients, and speaking to them, that her jealous classmates hated her most. She had a gentle, compassionate way with them, asked them intelligent questions about their symptoms, and made them feel comfortable with her immediately. The patients much preferred speaking to her, and looking at her certainly, than her colleagues, and those patients who saw her more than once were delighted to see her again. It drove her male classmates insane.

“You’re far too familiar with the patients,” the Englishman, who was systematically unpleasant to her, criticized her one day.

“That’s interesting,” Annabelle said calmly. “I think you’re very rude to them.”

“How would you know? When have you ever been in a hospital before?”

“I just spent three months working near the front in Asnières, and I’ve worked as a volunteer in hospitals for six years, the last two with newly arrived immigrants at Ellis Island in New York.” He said nothing to her after that, and wouldn’t have admitted it to her, but he had been impressed by her three months at Asnières. He had heard from others how rough it was. Marcel Bobigny caught up with her after class, and asked what it had been like working at the Abbaye de Royaumont. It was the first real conversation she’d had with anyone there in a month. And she was grateful to have someone to talk to at last.

“It was hard,” she said honestly. “We all worked about eighteen hours a day, sometimes more. It’s run and staffed by women, which was the original concept, but a few male doctors have come from Paris now. They need all the help they can get.”

“What kind of cases did you see there?” he asked with interest. He thought the others were wrong to give her such a hard time. He liked her. She was good-humored, a good sport, worked hard, and lacked their pretensions.

“We saw mostly lost limbs, a lot of gangrene, explosions, nerve gas, dysentery, cholera, pretty much what you’d expect so close to the front.” She said it simply and matter-of-factly, with no attempt to impress him or brag about herself.

“What did they let you do?”

“Chloroform in the operating theater, once in a while. Mostly I emptied surgical pans, but the chief surgeon was very nice about showing me things as I went along. The rest of the time I was in the surgical ward, taking care of the men after surgery, and a couple of times I drove an ambulance to pitch in.”

“That’s pretty good for someone who has no official training.” He was impressed.

“They needed the help.” He nodded, wishing he was there himself. He said as much to Annabelle, and she smiled. He was the only one of her fellow students who had been civil to her, and even nice. Most of them ignored her.

In February, a month and a half after she’d gotten there, everyone was animated at dinner, discussing the Battle of Verdun, which had begun several days before, and already caused enormous loss of life on both sides. It was a vicious battle that upset them all, and Marcel drew her into the conversation. The others were so involved in the discussion, they even forgot to frown when she spoke, or ignore her.

The Battle of Verdun was the main topic of conversation every night at dinner, until two weeks later, in early March, the Fifth Battle of the Isonzo, in Italy against Austria-Hungary, took precedence. The conversation ricocheted equally between medical issues and the war. It was a cause of deep concern to all.

Eventually the Englishman asked her about when America might join the war. President Wilson was still assuring everyone they wouldn’t, but it was an open secret that the United States was supplying both sides, and being criticized heavily for it. Annabelle said clearly that she thought that that was wrong and so did they. She thought the U.S. should get into the war, and come to Europe in aid of their allies. The conversation led to the Lusitania then, and everyone’s belief that she had been blown up because of war supplies she was secretly carrying, which had never been officially disclosed. Talking about the Lusitania somehow led to the Titanic, and Annabelle grew quiet and looked pained. Rupert, the Englishman, noticed and made a remark. “It wasn’t our finest hour,” he conceded with a smile.

“Nor mine,” she said quietly. “My parents and brother were on it,” she said, as the whole table went quiet and stared at her.

“Did they make it through all right?” one of the French students asked, and she shook her head. “My mother got off in one of the lifeboats, but my father and brother went down with the ship.”

There was a chorus of I’m sorry’s and Marcel discreetly turned the conversation to other things, trying to make the awkward moment easier for her. He liked her and wanted to protect her from the others. But little by little, they were softening toward her too. Her kindness, simplicity, intelligence, and humility were hard to resist.

Two weeks after that, the French passenger ship Sussex was torpedoed, which brought it all up again. By then, the situation at the front had worsened, and almost four million people had died. The toll was mounting day by day. At times, it distracted them all from their studies and they could talk of nothing else. But they were all working hard. There were no slackers in the group, and with their classes so small, every student stood out.

Without actually meaning to, they had all relaxed about Annabelle by April, and by May many of them were actually willing to speak to her, have conversations with her, and even laugh with her. They had come to respect her quietly voiced intelligent questions, and her bedside manner with the patients was much better than theirs. Her professors had all noticed it, and Dr. Graumont had long since written to Dr. de Bré to assure him that he hadn’t made a mistake. He told him that Annabelle Worthington was an excellent student, and would make a fine physician one day. And to Annabelle, compared to the Abbey in Asnières, the hospital in Nice was extremely tame, but interesting anyway. And she finally got her wish. They had begun dissecting cadavers, and she found it as fascinating as she always thought she would.

News of the war continued to distract them, as they followed their classes through the summer. On July 1, the Battle of the Somme began, with the highest number of casualties in the war so far. By the time the day was over, there were sixty thousand dead and wounded. The numbers were horrifying. And as the summer went on, it just got worse. It was hard to concentrate on their studies at times as a result. There was such a shocking loss of life as the war wore on, seemingly with no end in sight. Europe had been at war for two years by then.

In August, she tried not to let herself think of her anniversary with Josiah. It would have been their third, and she had been in Europe for eleven months. It seemed hard to believe. Since she had come to the medical school in Nice, time had flown. They were doing so many things, and trying to learn so much. They were working with patients more frequently now, and spent three full days a week at the hospital in Nice. The war wounded were even finding their way there, as injured men who would not be returning to the front were being transferred closer to home. She even came across two men she had taken care of in Asnières. They were thrilled to see her, and she stopped by to visit them whenever she could.

By then, she and Marcel were good friends. They chatted every night after dinner, and often studied together. And the other students had finally accepted her in their midst. She was well thought of, liked, and respected by her peers. Some of her fellow students even laughed about how unpleasant they had been to her in the beginning, and Rupert, the pompous Englishman who had been the rudest to her, had slowly become her friend. It was hard for any of them to find fault with her work, and she was unfailingly pleasant to all of them. Marcel called her the godmother in their midst.

They were walking through the orchards one day, after classes, when he turned to her with a curious look.

“Why is a beautiful woman like you not married?” he asked her. She knew he wasn’t pursuing her, since he had just gotten engaged to a young woman in Nice. She had been a friend of his family’s for years. He was from Beaulieu, not far away, and went home for visits, or even dinner, as often as he could. His fiancée visited him at the school, and Annabelle liked her very much.

“I don’t think I can be married and be a doctor. Do you?” she responded, deflecting the question. In her opinion, it was different for a woman than a man. It took so much more sacrifice and commitment for a woman to be a physician.

“Why do I have the feeling that you came to Europe with a broken heart?” He was a wise man, and could see it in her eyes. “I’m not so sure this is so much about sacrificing your personal life for your profession, but perhaps because you’re afraid to have a personal life, and are hiding in medicine. I think you can have both,” he said gently as he looked into her eyes.

She avoided responding to him for a long moment and took a bite out of an apple. She had turned twenty-three that May. She was beautiful and alive, and terrified of being hurt again. Marcel was right. He knew her well.

“Underneath the laughter and gentle smiles,” he went on, “there is something very sad, and I don’t think it’s about your parents. Women only look that way when their heart is broken by a man.” He was sorry that had happened to her. She, more than anyone he knew, deserved a kind and loving man.

“You should have been a fortune-teller instead of a doctor,” she teased him with a grateful smile, and laughed. But he knew, even without her confirming it, that he was right. And she had no intention whatsoever of telling him that she was divorced. She wasn’t willing to admit that to anyone, not even Marcel, once they became friends. She was too ashamed.

She had had a letter from her bank the month before, advising her that her final divorce papers had come. She and Josiah were now divorced. She had had only one letter from him in the last year, at Christmas, telling her that he and Henry were still in Mexico. She had no idea now if he was still there, and she hoped that he was well. She could deduce from what he had written to her that they were both very ill. She had written back, concerned about him, and hadn’t heard from him since. Her letter got no response.

“Am I right?” Marcel persisted. He liked her, and often wished he knew more about her. She never spoke about her early childhood or her history at all. It was as though she didn’t have one. All she wanted now was a clean slate and to begin again. He could sense whenever he spoke to her that there were secrets in her past.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m here now, broken heart or not.”

“Do you think you’ll ever go back?” He was always curious about her.

She grew quiet as she thought about it, and answered him honestly. “I don’t know. I have nothing there, except a cottage in Rhode Island.” Her parents’ servants were still there, taking care of the house, and hoping she’d come back. She wrote to Blanche from time to time, and no one else. “My family is gone. I have no reason to go back.”

“You must have friends,” he said, looking at her sadly. He hated to think of her alone. She was such a warm, gentle, kind person that he couldn’t imagine her not having friends, even if she was shy. “You grew up with people. They must still be there.” What he said made her think of Hortie, and she shook her head. She had no friends left. However good his intentions, Josiah had seen to that. He had been naïve in thinking he was doing the right thing for her, in freeing her. All he had done was make her an outcast in her own world. The only friend she had now was Marcel.

“No. Everything in my life changed. That’s why I came here.” But even she wasn’t sure if she would stay. She belonged to no one and nowhere now. Her only life was medical school, and would be for the next five years. Her home was the château. Her only city Nice. And the men she was going to school with were the only friends she had, particularly him.

“I’m glad you did,” he said simply, not wanting to pry too much or revive old hurts.

“So am I.” She smiled at him, and they walked slowly back to the château. Marcel was amazed that none of their classmates had a romantic interest in her. But Annabelle put an unspoken message out that said “Don’t come too close.” There was a wall around her now. Marcel could sense it, but had no idea why, and he thought it was a shame. Keeping her distance as she did seemed to him the waste of a lovely woman. He thought she deserved to have a man, and hoped she would in time.

It was a long hot summer at the château, studying and visiting the hospital, and finally in August they got two weeks off to go home, or leave on vacation. Annabelle was the only student who stayed. She had nowhere else to go. She went on long walks, and shopped a little in Nice, although there wasn’t much in the stores because of the war. She bought a few things to replenish her wardrobe as so much of what she had brought was black, and she was no longer in mourning for her mother. And on an afternoon when she was able to borrow an old truck they kept at the school, she drove to old Antibes and the areas around it, and found an ancient, beautiful eleventh-century church, and stood looking at the view from high above the town. It was a perfect afternoon and a spectacular view.

She stopped and had dinner at a small café, and that night she drove back to the school. Even Dr. Graumont was away, and Annabelle was alone in the château with the two maids. She had a peaceful two weeks, and she was happy when the others came back, particularly Marcel. They all said they’d had a good time, although her English friend who had tormented her in the beginning, Rupert, came back devastated that he had lost his brother to the war. Several of them already had lost brothers, cousins, friends. It was a harsh reminder of the turmoil and anguish that was devouring Europe and never seemed to end.

When they began classes again in September, the Battle of the Somme was still raging on, as it had been for over two months. And the casualties mounted every day. It finally ended in mid-November, which was a huge relief to all. For ten days, there was peace at the end of a terrible battle, with well over a million men dead and wounded in the end. And only ten days after it was over, the Germans attacked Britain with airplanes for the first time. A whole new aspect of the war had been introduced, which terrified them all. By Christmas, they were all demoralized by the losses and constant attacks. Two more of the students had lost brothers. At the end of the month, Dr. Graumont assembled them in the main hall, with a letter from the French government, that he wished to read to them. It was a call to all trained medical personnel to lend their assistance at the front. They were badly needed in field hospitals all over France. He was quiet after he read the letter, and said it was up to them what they chose to do. He said that the school would grant them leave, if they wished it, without prejudice, and would automatically take them back whenever they returned. They had been getting letters from hospitals for months, including a recent one organized by Elsie Inglis again, this time in Villers-Cotterêts, northeast of Paris, closer to the front than Asnières and the Abbaye de Royaumont where Annabelle had been. Once again all of the medical units at Villers-Cotterêts were female, and Annabelle would have been welcome there.

All of the students talked about it that night over dinner, and the conversation was intense. By morning, half of them had made a decision, and went to see Dr. Graumont one by one. They were leaving within the next few days. In addition, it had been a bitter winter at the front, and men were dying of their wounds, illness, and exposure all over Europe. Those who were leaving couldn’t resist the plea for help. In the end, all but four students went. Annabelle made her decision on the first day. She was sad to interrupt her medical training, but she felt there was really no other choice. It would have seemed selfish to stay.

“You’re leaving us too?” Dr. Graumont asked with a sad smile, but he wasn’t surprised. In the past year he had come to like and respect her enormously. She was going to make an excellent physician one day, and in many ways already was.

“I have to go,” she said wistfully. She hated to leave the school at the château. “I’ll come back.”

“I hope so,” he said, and meant it. “Where will you go?”

“To the Inglis hospital at Villers-Cotterêts, if they’ll have me.” With the training the students had, they could all be medics. It was more than she had been able to do in Asnières, and she would be more useful to the men.

“Be careful, Annabelle. Stay safe. We’ll be waiting for you here,” he reassured her.

“Thank you,” she said softly, and gave him a warm hug. She packed her bags that night, left two of them at the château, and planned to take only one valise with her. By the next day, almost all but the remaining four students were gone.

They all hugged each other, wished each other luck, and promised to return as they left. Their good-byes to Annabelle were particularly brotherly and affectionate, and all of them urged her to take good care, and she did the same with them.

Marcel took her to the train before he left. She was carrying her small bag as she walked along beside him. He was her only real friend, and had been kind to her right from the first. She was still grateful to him for that.

“Take care of yourself,” Marcel said, as he gave her a last hug and kissed her on both cheeks. “I hope we’ll all be back here soon,” he said fervently. He was leaving late that afternoon.

“Me too.” She waved to him for as long as she could see him, as he stood on the platform waving to her. She watched him until he was out of sight. It was the last time she ever saw him. Two weeks later, he was driving an ambulance that ran over a mine. He was the first casualty of Dr. Graumont’s school, and Annabelle had lost another friend.

Chapter 17

Annabelle arrived at the hospital Elsie Inglis had established at Villers-Cotterêts, some thirty miles northeast of Paris. It was roughly fifteen miles from the front. If you listened carefully, you could hear the explosions in the distance. The hospital had just opened, and was a larger and more intense operation than the one where she had worked in Asnières the year before. It was staffed and run by female medical units, as Dr. Inglis intended. Their nationalities represented many of the Allied nations, were almost equally divided between French and English, and Annabelle was one of three Americans there. This time, she had a proper room, although tiny, which she shared with another woman. And their patients were all brought in from the front. The carnage they were seeing was tremendous, shattered bodies, shattered minds, and a shocking number of lives lost.

Female ambulance drivers shuttled constantly back and forth to the front, where men were being dragged out of the trenches maimed, mangled, and dying. In every instance, a medic traveled with the ambulance and its driver, and they had to have enough training and knowledge to perform herculean feats on the way to save the men they were transporting. If too badly injured to move at all, they were left at the field hospitals set up near the trenches. But whenever possible, the injured soldiers were brought back to the hospital at Villers-Cotterêts for surgery and more intensive care.

With a year of medical school under her belt now, and with her years of volunteer work before that, Annabelle was assigned to the ambulance unit, and wore the official uniform of a medic. She worked eighteen hours a day, bumping over rough roads along the way, and sometimes holding the men in her arms, when there was nothing else she could do. She fought valiantly to save them with whatever materials she had on hand, and all the techniques that she had learned. Sometimes in spite of her best efforts, and a breakneck race back to the hospital, the men were just too damaged to survive and died on the road.

She had arrived at Villers-Cotterêts on New Year’s Day, which was just another work day to all of them. Over six million men had died in the war by then. In the two and a half years since the hostilities had begun, Europe had been decimated, and was losing its young men to the monster that was war, which devoured them by the thousands. Annabelle felt sometimes as though they were emptying the ocean with a teacup, or worse, a thimble. There were so many bodies to repair, so little left of some of them, so many minds that would never recover from the brutalities they’d seen. It was hard on the medical personnel as well, and all of them were exhausted and looked beaten by the end of every day. But no matter how difficult it was, or how discouraging at times, Annabelle was more confirmed than ever in her decision to be a doctor, and although it broke her heart in so many instances, she loved her work, and did it well.

In January, President Wilson was trying to orchestrate an end to the war, using the United States’s neutral status to encourage the Allies to state their objectives in obtaining peace. His efforts had not borne fruit, and he remained determined to keep the country out of the war. No one in Europe could understand how the Americans could not join the Allied forces, and no one believed by January 1917 that they would continue to stay out of the fray for long. And they weren’t wrong.

On February 1, Germany resumed unrestricted submarine warfare. Two days later the United States severed diplomatic relations with Germany. Within three weeks the president requested permission from Congress to arm U.S. merchantmen in the event of an attack by German submarines. Congress denied the request, but on March 12, by executive order, Wilson announced that American merchantmen would be armed from then on. Eight days later, on March 20, his war cabinet voted unanimously in favor of declaring war on Germany.

The president delivered his war address to Congress on April 2. And four days later, on April 6, war on Germany was declared by the United States. America was finally entering the war, and the floundering Allies in Europe desperately needed their help. For the next weeks and months, American boys would be leaving home, saying good-bye to families, wives, and girlfriends, and going to be trained. They were to be shipped overseas within two months. Overnight, everything at home changed.

“It’s about goddamn time,” one of the other American women at Villers-Cotterêts said to Annabelle, as they met in the dining hall late one night. They had both been working for nineteen hours at their respective jobs. She and the other American women were nurses, and she knew that Annabelle was a medic.

“Were you training to be a nurse before the war?” she asked with interest. She was a pretty young woman from the South and had the heavy accent of Alabama. Her name was Georgianna and she had grown up as a southern belle, which no longer had any meaning here, just as Annabelle’s genteel upbringing in her family’s elegant mansion in New York no longer had any relationship whatsoever to her daily life. All it had given her was a decent education, good manners, and the ability to speak French. The rest no longer mattered.

“I’ve been in medical school in the South of France for the last year,” Annabelle said, sipping a cup of very thin soup. They tried to stretch their food rations as best they could, to benefit both medical personnel and patients. As a result, none of them had had a truly decent meal in months, but it was good enough. Annabelle had lost a considerable amount of weight in the four months since she had arrived. Even she could hardly believe that it was April 1917, and she had been in France for nineteen months.

Georgianna was impressed that Annabelle had been training to be a doctor, and they talked about it for a few minutes. Both were bone tired. The nurse was a pretty girl with big green eyes and bright red hair, and she laughed when she admitted that after two years here, she spoke execrable French, but Annabelle knew, from what she’d heard of her, that in spite of that she did her job well. She had never known so many conscientious, competent, dedicated people in her life. They gave it their all.

“Do you think you’ll finish med school?” Georgianna asked her, and Annabelle nodded, looking pensive.

“I hope so.” She couldn’t imagine what would stop her, other than being killed.

“Don’t you want to go home when this is over?” Georgianna couldn’t imagine staying there. She had family in Alabama, three younger sisters, and a brother. Annabelle didn’t want to go back to New York. She had nothing there, except punishment and pain.

“Not really. I don’t have much there. I think I’m going to stay.” She had thought about it a lot recently, and made up her mind. She had five more years of medical school ahead of her, and after that she wanted to go to Paris, and work there. With luck, maybe even with Dr. de Bré. There was nothing she wanted now in New York. And she would have had to train for another year there. She was almost convinced now that her life in the States was history for her. The only future she had was here. It was a whole new life, where no one knew her past, or the shame of her divorce. In France, as far as everyone knew, she had never been married. She was turning twenty-four in a few weeks. And one day, with hard work and some luck, she’d be a doctor. All she would ever be in New York was a disgrace, through no fault of her own.

The two women went their separate ways outside the dining hall and went back to their respective barracks, promising to get together sometime, if they ever got a day off, which even if they did, they never took. Annabelle hadn’t taken a day off from her duties as a medic since she’d arrived.

The Third Battle of Champagne ended in disaster for the French in late April and brought them a flood of new patients, which kept them all busy. Annabelle was ferrying men constantly from the front. The only encouragement they had was a Canadian victory at the Battle of Vilmy Ridge. And due to enormous discouragement among their ranks, there were outbreaks of mutiny among the French all through the early weeks of May. There were also ongoing reports of the Russian Revolution—the czar had abdicated in March. But anything that was happening farther than the trenches and the front nearby seemed very remote to all of them at Villers-Cotterêts. They were far too deeply involved in the business at hand to care about much else.

Annabelle forgot about her birthday completely. One day bled into another, and she had no idea what day it was. She only realized a week later, when she saw a newspaper someone had brought from Paris, that she had turned twenty-four. A month later in June, everyone was excited to learn that the first American troops had landed in France.

It was three weeks later, in mid-July, when a battalion of them came to Villers-Cotterêts and set up camp on the outskirts of the city. They were joined within a week by British forces, all of whom were preparing for an offensive at Ypres. It livened up the area considerably to have British and American troops roaming around everywhere. They were happily seducing all the local women, and military police were constantly dragging them out of bars and off the streets drunk, and delivering them back to their camps. If nothing else, it provided a little distraction, and despite the inevitable rowdy soldiers, some of them were very nice. Annabelle saw a group of American soldiers one day, walking along with some very young French girls, as she rode back with the ambulance from a field hospital nearby. She was in no mood to banter with them, as the man they were carrying back to the hospital in Villers-Cotterêts had died on the way. But as the ambulance drove past the Americans, they shouted and waved, having seen two pretty women in the front. And for an aching moment, she had an intense longing to hear American voices. She waved back and smiled. One of the men in uniform ran along beside them, and she couldn’t stop herself from saying, “Hi.”

“Are you American?” he asked in amazement, and the driver of the ambulance stopped and smiled. She thought he was cute. She was French.

“Yes,” Annabelle said, looking tired.

“When did you get here? I thought the nurses weren’t coming over till next month.” It had taken them longer to organize the women’s volunteer units than the conscripted men.

She laughed at the question. There was the sound of Boston in his voice, and she had to admit, it was nice to hear it. It felt like home. “I’ve been here for two years,” she said, smiling broadly. “You guys are late.”

“Like hell we are. We’re going to kick the Krauts right back to where they came from. They saved the best for last.” He looked like a kid and was, and as Boston Irish as they came, and it reminded her of her visits to Boston, and summers in Newport. She was suddenly homesick for only the first or second time in twenty-two months. She couldn’t even remember the last time she felt that way.

“Where are you from?” he asked her, as one of his friends chatted up the ambulance driver, on the other side of the truck, but they both knew they had to get back. It wasn’t right to hang around talking with them, with a dead man in the back, although others had done worse. At some point, the horrors of war no longer shocked you as they once did.

“New York,” Annabelle said quietly.

“I’m from Boston,” and as he said it, she could smell the alcohol on his breath. As soon as they left the camps where they were billeted, most of them drank a lot. They had good reason to. They drank, and chased every girl that crossed their path.

“I could tell,” she said, referring to his Boston accent, as she gave her colleague the signal to get started again. “Good luck,” she said to him and the others.

“Yeah, you too!” he said, and stepped back, and as they drove back to the hospital, a wave of nostalgia for her own country washed over her, and she had never been so homesick in her life. She missed everything familiar that she hadn’t seen or allowed herself to think about in two years. She sighed as the two of them carried the dead man on the gurney into the morgue. He would be buried on the hills with countless others, and his family notified. There was no way to send the bodies home. There were just too many of them. And makeshift cemeteries covered the countryside now.

Thinking of the Americans they had seen that afternoon, Annabelle went for a short walk that night, when she got off duty, before she went back to her room. They had lost every man they had driven back from the field hospitals that day. It had been depressing, and although it was a common occurrence, it upset her anyway. The boys were all so young, many of them years younger than she was. Even many of the nurses were younger than she was now. At twenty-four, with a year of medical school behind her, she didn’t feel like a young girl anymore. Too many difficult things had happened to her in the past few years, and she had seen far too much pain.

She was wandering along, thinking about her lost life in the States, with her head down, not far from her barracks, on the way back from her walk. It was after midnight, and she had been working since six o’clock that morning. She was tired and not paying attention, and she gave a start when she heard a British voice behind her.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he said softly. “What are you doing out alone?” She turned and was startled to see a British officer walking along the same path on his own. He had obviously been drinking, and had left a nearby bar without his companions. He looked very dashing in his uniform, and very drunk. He was a good-looking young man, about her own age, and he didn’t scare her, particularly once she saw that he was an officer. She had seen plenty of drunken men in the past two years, and she had never had any trouble keeping them in line.

“Looks like you need a ride,” she said with a matter-of-fact smile. “Go that way,” she pointed to one of the administration buildings where they often handled matters of that sort, since it was a common occurrence. It was wartime, after all, and they dealt with thousands of men on a daily basis, many of whom caroused at night. “Someone will give you a ride back to camp.” Particularly given that he was an officer, there would be no questions asked. Sometimes they gave the enlisted men a slightly rougher time. But officers were always given the respect due their rank. She could see from his uniform that he was a lieutenant, and hear from his accent that he was an aristocrat. It didn’t stop him from being as sloppy as anyone else while he was drunk, and he was reeling slightly as he looked at her.

“I don’t want to go back to camp,” he said stubbornly, “I’d much rather go home with you. What do you say, we stop off and have a drink? What are you anyway? A nurse?” He was looking down his nose at her somewhat haughtily, and trying to focus.

“I’m a medic, and you’re going to need one if you don’t go lie down somewhere.” He looked like he was about to pass out.

“Excellent idea. I suggest we lie down together.”

“That’s not an option.” She looked at him coolly, wondering if she should just walk away and leave him to it on his own. There was no one else on the path, but she wasn’t far from the barracks. By then, everyone had gone home for the night, except those who had the late shift and were driving ambulances or working in the wards.

“Who do you think you are anyway?” he asked, as he lurched forward to grab her, and she stepped back. He stumbled and nearly fell, and looked angry as he righted himself. “You’re nobody, that’s who you are,” he continued, looking suddenly nasty. “My father is the Earl of Winshire. And I am Lord Harry Winshire. I’m a viscount,” he said grandly, but slurring.

“That’s good to know, your lordship,” she said politely, responding to his rank and title. “But you need to get back to camp before you get hurt. And I’m going to my barracks. Goodnight.”

“Bitch!” he said, spitting the single word at her, as she moved past him. The exchange had gone on long enough, and she didn’t want to linger. He was obviously drunk, spoiled, and getting unpleasant from the quantities of alcohol he had consumed. She wasn’t afraid of him, she’d dealt with worse before, but she didn’t want to press her luck. But before she got more than a step farther on the solitary path, he grabbed her and spun her around hard into his arms and tried to kiss her. She pushed him away firmly and fought hard. He was surprisingly strong even though he was drunk.

“Stop that!” she said loudly. But she was shocked by his strength, and the force of his arms.

Suddenly she realized that she was being overpowered by him. He covered her mouth with one hand, and with the other dragged her to the dark doorway of a nearby barracks. There was no one around, and he was covering her mouth so hard that she couldn’t scream. She bit his fingers, but it didn’t deter him, and she fought like a cat, as he knocked her to the ground and lay on top of her with his full weight. He had knocked the wind out of her when she fell, and the hand not covering her mouth had yanked up her skirt and was pulling her underwear down. She couldn’t believe what was happening, and she used all her strength to fight him, but she was a small woman and he was a large, powerful man. And he was suddenly driven by rage and drink and was determined to have her. She had infuriated him by dismissing him before, and he was going to make her pay for it now. All she could see was the black fury in his eyes as he continued to grab her and press her down. He never took his one hand from her mouth, and all she could make were muffled guttural sounds that no one could hear.

The night was quiet all around them, except for the laughter of women and drunken shouts of men as they left the bars. Whatever sounds she made were far too slight for anyone to hear them, and there was terror in her eyes. By then he had unbuttoned his pants with his free hand, and she could feel him hard against her. What Josiah had never been able to bring himself to do, this drunken stranger was about to take from her by force. She did everything she could to stop him, to no avail. He kicked her legs apart with his own, and in an instant, he was inside her, pumping violently and groaning while she kept trying to fight him, but he pressed her hard to the ground, and each time he drove farther into her, she winced with pain, and he smashed her back against the doorstep where they lay. And in an instant it was over, he released himself with a shout, and then threw her away with such force that she lay huddled in the doorway like a battered doll. She couldn’t even scream then, or make a sound. She was too afraid to. She turned over, vomited, and choked on a sob. He stood up, buttoned his pants, and looked down at her with contempt.

“If you tell anyone about this, I’ll come back and kill you. I’ll find you. And they’ll take my word over yours.”

She knew that that was probably true, he was an officer and not only a gentleman, supposedly, but a viscount. Whatever she said or did, no one would ever dare to challenge him, much less punish him, for an incident like this. To him, it meant nothing, and for her, the virtue she had kept all her life, and upheld even through two years of marriage to a man she loved, he had taken and disposed of like so much garbage, which was how he had treated her. She pulled her skirt down as he walked away, and she lay on the doorstep sobbing, and then finally got up, feeling dizzy. He had banged her head on the stone step too as he raped her.

She was in a daze as she walked back to her barracks, and stopped again to throw up, grateful that no one saw her. She wanted to hide somewhere and die, and she knew that she would never forget his face or the look of murder in his eyes as he took her. He vanished into the night, and she almost crawled up her barracks steps and went to the bathroom, relieved that no one else was there. She cleaned herself up as best she could, there was blood on her legs and skirt since she had been a virgin, which mattered nothing to him, she was just another whore he had taken after a lively night in the bars. And there was a terrible throbbing ache between her legs, to match the pain in her back and head from where he had banged her into the stone step, but all of it was nothing compared to the ache in her heart.

And he was right, if she tried to tell anyone, no one would listen or care. Girls claimed that soldiers raped them every day, and no one did anything about it. If they persisted with the authorities or a military tribunal, they were humiliated and disgraced, and no one believed them. They were instantly accused of being whores who had encouraged their attackers. And with a British lord being accused of having perpetrated the crime, she would have been laughed out of any official office. Worse yet, this was wartime, and a medic getting raped by a British officer was the least of anyone’s problems. All she could do now was pray that she didn’t get pregnant. She couldn’t imagine that fate could be as cruel as that. All Annabelle could think, as she crawled into her bed that night, running her mind over what had happened, was that nothing and no one could have been as cruel as the viscount. And as she lay there and sobbed, all she could think about was Josiah. All she had ever wanted was to share a life with him and have his babies. And instead this bastard had turned an act of love into a travesty and raped her. And there was absolutely nothing she could do about it, except try to forget.

Chapter 18

In September, the Germans were soundly beating the Russians. And in Villers-Cotterêts, Annabelle was throwing up every day. The worst had happened. She hadn’t had her period since July, and she knew that she was pregnant. She had no idea what to do about it. There was no one she could tell, no way to stop it. Her back and head and other parts of her had taken weeks to heal, but the effects of what he’d done would last forever. She thought about finding an abortionist somewhere, but she didn’t know whom to ask, and she knew how dangerous it was. Two of the nurses had died of abortions since she’d been at the hospital. Annabelle didn’t dare risk it. She would have preferred to just kill herself, but she didn’t have the courage to do that either. And she didn’t want that monster’s baby. As best she could figure it, the child was due in late April, and she would have to leave the hospital as soon as it began to show. Fortunately, so far it didn’t. And she was working harder than ever, carrying men and heavy equipment, bumping along the rutted roads in the ambulance. She was praying that nature would be kind to her and she’d have a miscarriage, but as time went on, it became increasingly obvious that she wouldn’t. And as her waist and body began to thicken, she stole strips of linen from the surgery, and bound herself as tightly as she could. She could hardly breathe, but she was determined to work as long as she was able. And she had no idea where to go once she couldn’t.

At Christmas, it still didn’t show, but by then she could feel the baby moving gently inside her. She tried to resist it, and told herself she had every reason to hate it, but she couldn’t. The baby was as innocent as she was, even if she loathed its father. She thought of contacting him to tell him what had happened and force him to take responsibility, but she knew that given what she’d seen that night, he would only deny it. And who knew how many women he had raped before, or since? She was just a piece of flotsam that had drifted past him on the sea of war, and he would cast her away just as he had that night, and his baby with her. She had no recourse whatsoever, she was only a woman carrying an illegitimate baby in wartime, and no one would care for an instant that she had been raped.

In January she was still working. She was six months pregnant, and she covered her thickened midsection with her apron. There was no bulge because she was still binding herself so tightly, and from worry and the poor food anyway, she ate very little. She had gained no weight, if anything she had lost some. She had been deeply depressed since July when it happened. And she told no one.

It was a bitter cold, rainy day later that month when she was working in the men’s surgical ward one afternoon, to fill in for someone else, when she heard two of the men talking. Both were British, one an officer, the other a sergeant. Both had lost limbs in the most recent awful battle in the trenches. And she stopped in her tracks when she heard them mention Harry. She didn’t know why, it could have been anyone, but a moment later the officer said that it was a terrible loss that Harry Winshire had died. They talked about what a good man he was and how they would miss him. She wanted to turn and scream at them that he wasn’t a good man, but a monster. She stumbled from the ward, and stood trembling outside in the cold, gulping air, and feeling as though she were strangling. Not only had he raped her, but now he was dead. Her baby would have no father and never had. She knew it was probably better this way, and he deserved it, and as the enormity of what was happening to her hit her again, she was suddenly so overcome by a feeling of raw terror that she staggered slowly like a willow in the breeze, and fainted into the mud around her. Two nurses saw her fall and came running toward her, as one of the surgeons leaving the building stopped and knelt beside her. As always, everyone was terrified of cholera, but when they touched her, they saw that she had no fever. They suspected it was too much work and too little food or sleep, a condition from which they had all been suffering for years.

The doctor helped carry her inside, and she regained consciousness as they put her on a gurney. She was soaking wet, her hair was matted to her head from the rain, and her apron was plastered to her. She was apologizing profusely for causing so much trouble, and tried to get up and escape them. But the moment she did, she fainted again, and this time the doctor pushed the gurney into a small room and closed the door. He didn’t know her well, but had seen her often.

He quietly asked her if she had dysentery, and she insisted she was fine, and said she had been working since early that morning and hadn’t eaten since the day before. She tried to smile brightly at him, but he wasn’t fooled. Her face was the same color as her apron. He asked her name, and she told him.

“Miss Worthington, I believe you are suffering from battle fatigue. Perhaps you need to go away for a few days, and try to recover.” None of them had taken a break in months, and she didn’t want to, but she also knew that her days at the hospital were numbered. Her belly was growing exponentially now and was harder and harder to conceal, no matter how tight her binding. “Is there anything else about your health you haven’t told me?” he asked with a look of concern. The last thing they wanted was their medical personnel spreading infectious diseases or starting an epidemic, or simply dying from overwork and illnesses they had concealed. They were all so conscientious about their work that many of the nurses and doctors hid it when they were sick. He was afraid that was the case with her. She looked awful.

She started to shake her head, and then he saw the tears in her eyes. “No, I’m fine,” she insisted.

“So fine that you just fainted twice,” he said gently. He had the feeling there was something else, but she was determined not to tell him, and she looked as malnourished as many others. He asked her to lie down so he could feel her body through her clothes, and as soon as she lay down, he saw the gentle bulge of her belly and met her eyes. He ever so gently put his hands on it, and could feel the swelling she had concealed with such determination for so long, and he understood instantly what it was. She wasn’t the first young woman to get pregnant by a soldier during wartime. As he looked at her, she began to sob.

“I think that’s the problem,” he said as she sat up, took out a handkerchief, and blew her nose. She looked mortally embarrassed and desperately unhappy. “When are you expecting?”

She nearly choked on the words, and wanted to explain how it had happened, but didn’t dare. The truth was so awful, and surely he and everyone else would blame her, and never believe her. She was certain of it, she had seen it happen to others before. Women who said they had been raped, when in fact they had simply had an affair out of wedlock. Why should he believe her? So, like Josiah’s secret that she had safeguarded for him to protect him when he left her, now she was keeping Viscount Winshire’s. And the one who paid the price for all of it was her. “In April,” she said, with a look of despair.

“You’ve managed to keep it secret for a long time.” He loosened her apron, undid her waistband, and lifted up her blouse, and was horrified when he saw how tightly she had bound herself, and obviously had for months. “It’s a wonder you can breathe.” It was far tighter than any corset, and a cruelty to mother and child.

“I can’t,” she said through her tears.

“You’ll have to stop work soon,” he said, telling her what she already knew. “And the father?” he inquired kindly.

“Dead,” she whispered. “I just found out today.” She didn’t tell him that she hated Harry and was glad that he was dead. He deserved it. She knew the doctor would have been shocked if she said it.

“I see. Will you be going home?”

“I can’t,” she said simply, for reasons he couldn’t begin to understand. She was no longer welcome in New York and Newport, and being pregnant would finish her forever.

“You’re going to have to find a place to live. Would you like me to try and help you find a family where you can stay? Perhaps you could help take care of their children.” Annabelle shook her head. She had been thinking about it recently as her belly grew. She couldn’t go back to the medical school either, at least not for now. But the one place she could think of was the area above Antibes near the ancient church, where she had gone occasionally when she got a break from medical school. If she could find a small house there, she could hide until after the baby was born, and then either come back to the front or go back to school. It was hard to imagine coming back to the front with a baby, and she had no one to leave it with. She had much to figure out, but she declined his help. She wanted to sort it out for herself. And he couldn’t know that she could make her own financial arrangements, and was capable of renting or buying a house if she chose.

“Thank you, I’ll manage,” she said sadly, as he helped her off the gurney.

“Don’t wait too long,” he advised her. It amazed him that she had been able to conceal her pregnancy for six months.

“I won’t,” she promised. “Thank you,” she said with tears in her eyes again, as he patted her shoulder to reassure her, and they left the room. The two young nurses were still waiting outside to see how she was.

“She’s fine,” he told them with a smile. “You all work much too hard here. I told her she needs to take some time off, before she comes down with cholera and starts an epidemic.” He smiled at them all reassuringly, gave Annabelle a knowing look, and left. The other two women escorted her to her room, and she took the rest of the afternoon off.

She lay on her bed, thinking. He was right. She had to leave soon, she knew. Before everyone found out, and she was once again disgraced through no fault of her own.

Annabelle managed to stay in Villers-Cotterêts until the first of February, and then regretfully, she said she had to leave. She told her supervisor that she was going back to medical school in Nice. But no one could complain. She had been there for fourteen months, and she felt like a traitor leaving now, but she had no other choice.

It was a sad day for her when she left the hospital and the people she had worked with. She took the train to Nice, and it took her two days to get there, with sidetracked trains, and long waits in many stations, to allow military transports to pass them by, carrying supplies to the front.

The first thing she did when she reached Nice was go to a small jeweler and buy a gold wedding band. She slipped it on her finger, as the jeweler congratulated her. He was a kind old man, and said he hoped she would be very happy. She left the shop in silent tears. The story she had concocted for herself was that she was a war widow and her husband had been killed at Ypres. There was no reason for anyone not to believe her. She looked respectable, and the country was full of widows by then, many of whose babies had been born after their husbands’ deaths. Annabelle was just one more in a sea of casualties and tragedies caused by the war.

She checked into a small hotel in Nice, and bought herself several black dresses in larger sizes, and was shocked to note that once she no longer wore the restrictive bindings, her stomach was surprisingly large. Not in Hortie’s league, but it was obvious that she was having a baby, and there was no reason to conceal it now. With a wedding band on her finger, and the black dress of a widow, she looked like the respectable woman she was, and the sadness anyone could have seen in her eyes was real.

She would have liked to visit Dr. Graumont at the medical school, but she didn’t feel she could. Later, she would reappear with the baby, with her story of the man she had married and who was then killed. But it was all too new for now. She didn’t feel ready to face anyone until after the baby. And she was not yet sure how to explain that she would not change her name. She would figure it out later. For now, she had to find a place to live, and one day she went back to Antibes, and the little church she loved so much. It was a sailors’ chapel and had a full view of the port and the Maritime Alps. She was leaving the church when she asked the guardian if she knew of any houses in the area, preferably to rent. And the woman shook her head, and then cocked her head to one side with a pensive look.

“I don’t think so,” she said, in the heavy accent of the South. Annabelle’s French was so smooth by then that no one would have suspected she wasn’t from Paris, or any of the northern cities in France. “There’s a family that lived here before the war. They moved back to Lyon, and both their sons were killed. They haven’t been here since, and I don’t think they’ll ever come back. Their boys loved it here. It would break their hearts.” She told Annabelle where the house was. It was in walking distance from the church, and was a small, pretty villa that looked like it had been a summer home. There was an old man tending the grounds, and he nodded when Annabelle spoke to him, and asked if there was a possibility that the house was for rent. He said he didn’t think it was, but was willing to write to the owners for her. He said all the furniture and their belongings were still there, if that was a problem for her. And she assured him that it wasn’t, and in fact she would prefer it.

He could see that she was heavy with child, seven months pregnant by then, and she said she was a widow. She told him she would be grateful to rent it for as long as they wanted, till the end of the year perhaps. She was hoping to go back to school for the fall term, or January at the latest. In September, the baby would be five months old, and she could go back to medical school, if she could make some arrangement for the baby. She might even be able to travel back and forth from this house, if she could find a vehicle to get there. She left the name of her hotel, and the caretaker said he would contact her when he heard from the owners, one way or the other. She hoped he’d feel sorry for her, and press the owners to rent her the house.

And on the way back to Nice, she thought to herself that she could stay at the hotel if she had to, although it wasn’t an ideal set-up for a baby, but it was neat and clean. A house would have been better for her, but if she couldn’t find one, she could stay where she was.

For the next several weeks, she went walking every day in Nice. She walked on the beach, ate as decently as possible, and slept long hours. She found a local doctor through the hospital, and went to see him, telling him the same fabricated tale that she was a war widow. He was kind and sympathetic, and she told him she wanted to give birth at home. She didn’t want to run the risk of running into any of the doctors she knew at the hospital, through her medical school. She didn’t tell the doctor why, but he was willing to deliver her at home.

In March she came back from a walk one day, and found a message from Gaston, the caretaker of the house in Antibes. He asked her to come and see him, which she did. He had good news for her. The owners were sympathetic to her, and happy to rent her the house. They might even be willing to sell it to her eventually, although they hadn’t decided yet. As he had suspected, they said they had too many memories of their children there, and it would be too sad for them to return. For now, they were willing to rent it to her for six months and decide the rest later. He offered to show her around, and she was delighted by what she saw. There was a sunny master bedroom of cozy proportions, and two smaller bedrooms close to it. The three bedrooms shared a single bathroom, which didn’t bother her. The bathroom was old and tiled, and had an enormous bathtub, which appealed to her. And downstairs there was a living room and dining room, and a small glassed-in sunroom that gave onto a porch. It was the perfect size for her and a baby, and maybe a young girl to help take care of the baby later. For now, all she wanted was to be alone.

She penned a letter of agreement to the owners, and said she would have her bank handle the transfer of funds. Gaston was very pleased and congratulated her, he said it would be nice to have life in the house again, and his wife would be happy to come and clean for her and even help her with the baby when it was born. She thanked him and left and went to a bank in Nice that afternoon. She introduced herself to the manager, and had him send a wire to her bank at home, informing them where she was. All they needed to know was where to send her money, since she had closed her account in VillersCotterêts when she left. They had no idea why she was in Nice or what was about to happen to her there, and she couldn’t help wondering how many babies Hortie had had since she left. She still missed her old friend. However badly Hortie had betrayed her, she had done it out of weakness. It didn’t stop Annabelle from caring about her, although they would never be friends again. Even if she went back one day, too much had happened since.

Annabelle moved into the house above Cap d’Antibes on the fourth of April. The doctor said the baby would come soon, although he had no idea when. Annabelle was large by then, and she walked slowly in the hills every day, and went to the church she loved and admired the view. Florine, Gaston’s wife, was cleaning house for her, and cooked occasionally. And Annabelle spent her nights reading her old medical books. She still had mixed emotions about the child. It had been conceived in such violence and anguish, it was hard to imagine not remembering that each time she saw it. But destiny had given them to each other. She had thought of contacting the viscount’s family to advise them of it, but she owed them nothing, and if they were as wayward and dishonorable as their son, she wanted nothing to do with them. She and the baby would have each other, and needed no one else.

In the third week of April, Annabelle went for a long walk, stopped at the church as she always did, and sat down heavily on a bench to admire the view. She had lit a candle for her mother, and prayed for Josiah. She had heard nothing from him now in more than two years, and had no idea where he and Henry were, whether still in Mexico or back in New York. He had let her go, and kept no contact with her. He wanted her to be free to find a new life, but he could never have remotely imagined the twists and turns of fate she had endured.

She walked slowly back to the house in the dappled sunlight that afternoon, thinking about all of them, Josiah, Hortie, her mother, father, Robert. It was as though she felt them all near her, and when she got back to the house, she went to her bedroom and lay down. Florine had left, and Annabelle fell into a gentle sleep. Much to her surprise, it was after midnight when she woke. She had a cramp in her back that woke her, and suddenly she felt a stabbing pain low in her belly, and knew instantly what it was. There was no one to fetch the doctor for her, and she had no telephone, but she wasn’t frightened as she lay there. She was sure that it was a simple process and she could do it alone. But as the night deepened and the pains worsened, she wasn’t as sure. It seemed cruel beyond belief that she had suffered when she conceived the child, and now she would have to suffer again, for a child with no father, whom she didn’t want. All those years she had longed for Josiah’s baby, it had never occurred to her that a child would come into her life like this.

She writhed with each contraction, clutching at the sheets. She saw the sun come up at dawn, and was bleeding heavily by then. The pains were agonizing, and she was beginning to feel as though she were drowning and might die. It made her think of the horror stories Hortie had told her, and the terrible births she had endured. She was just beginning to panic when Florine appeared in her bedroom doorway. She had heard her from downstairs, and ran up the stairs. Annabelle was lying in bed looking wild-eyed, unable to speak with the pain that had gone on all night. She had been in labor for eight hours.

Florine walked quickly into the room, and gently lifted the covers from her, and spread old sheets under her that they had put aside for this purpose. She made gentle cooing sounds to Annabelle and told her things were going well. She looked and said she could see the baby’s head.

“I don’t care,” Annabelle said miserably. “I want it to come out…” She let out a scream then, as the baby seemed to move forward for an instant, and then back. Florine ran downstairs to find Gaston, and told him to bring the doctor quickly. But nothing she was seeing alarmed her, it was going well. And she knew from other births she’d seen that it could go on for a long time. The worst was yet to come, and the spot of the baby’s head she saw was no bigger than a small coin.

Annabelle lay in bed crying, as Florine bathed her forehead in lavender-scented cool cloths, and then finally Annabelle wouldn’t even let her do that. She wanted no one to touch her, and she was crying out in pain. It seemed a lifetime before the doctor came. He had been at another birth, with a woman having twins. He came to Annabelle at two in the afternoon, and nothing had progressed, although the pains were getting worse.

He looked very pleased when he checked her, after he washed his hands. “We’re doing very well,” he said, encouraging his patient, who was screaming with every pain. “I think we’re going to have a baby here by dinnertime.” She looked at him in utter panic, knowing she couldn’t stand another minute of the agony she was in. And finally, as she sobbed miserably, he asked Florine to prop her up on pillows and then brace her feet. Annabelle was fighting them every inch of the way and calling for her mother, and the doctor spoke to her sternly then and told her she must work. The top of the baby’s head was much bigger now, and again and again he told Annabelle to push. She finally fell back on her pillows, too exhausted to do it again, and with that he told her to push even harder than before and not stop. Her face turned beet red as suddenly the top of the baby’s head came through, with a tiny wrinkled face, as Annabelle screamed, and looked down at the child emerging from her womb.

She pushed with all her might, and finally there was a long thin wail in the room, and a tiny face with bright eyes looking at them, as Annabelle laughed and cried, and Florine exclaimed in excitement. The baby lay in a tangle of tiny arms and legs amid the cord, as the doctor cut it, and Florine wrapped the baby in a blanket and handed her to her mother. It was a girl.

“Oh…she’s so beautiful!…” Annabelle said with tears streaming down her cheeks. The tiny little being was perfect, with exquisite little features, graceful limbs, and tiny hands and feet. The doctor had been right, and it was just after six o’clock, which he said was very quick for a first child. Annabelle couldn’t stop looking at her, and talking to her as the doctor finished his work. Florine would clean Annabelle up later, and for now they covered her with a blanket. And with infinite tenderness, Annabelle put the baby to her breast, with perfect maternal instinct. The tiny angel in her arms was the only relative she had in the world, and had been worth every instant of pain, which seemed insignificant now.

“What are you going to call her?” the doctor asked her, smiling at them, sorry for her that she was a widow, but at least she had this child.

“Consuelo,” Annabelle said softly, “after my mother,” and then she gently bent down and kissed the top of her daughter’s head.

Chapter 19

The baby was perfect in every way. She was healthy, happy, easy for her mother to manage. She was like a little angel fallen to earth that had landed in her mother’s arms. Annabelle had never expected to love this baby so much. Any ties to the father who had spawned her vanished at the moment of her birth. She belonged to Annabelle and no one else.

Annabelle went to visit Dr. Graumont at the medical school in July, just after the Second Battle of the Marne began. The death toll had continued to mount shockingly since Annabelle had left Villers-Cotterêts. And once Consuelo was born, she realized that she couldn’t go back to the front. She didn’t want to take the baby with her, be away from her so much, or risk her exposure to illnesses or epidemics. Although she felt guilty for no longer helping the war effort, Annabelle knew her place was with her baby now. Florine had offered to keep her for Annabelle if she did go to the front, but she couldn’t bear to be away from the baby for an hour, let alone leave her for months with someone else. So she had decided to stay in Antibes, for the time being.

She still wanted to go to medical school, and hoped she could arrange to return. She had her story firmly in place when she went to see Dr. Graumont. She told him she had married a British officer shortly after she got to Villers-Cotterêts. They had kept it secret from his family until they could go to England to announce it, and before they could, he had been killed. And because no one knew of the marriage, she had decided to keep her own name, particularly as her family had no heirs now, so she didn’t want to give up the Worthington name, to honor them. It was a stretch, but he appeared to believe her, or was willing to accept whatever story she told. He said the baby was beautiful, and agreed to let her use a small cottage on the grounds for the baby and herself when she returned for the beginning of the next term in September. There were nine students at the medical college, and three new ones who were starting in September. Sadly, he told her that seven of her original classmates had died since they all left. He was relieved to find Annabelle healthy and hearty, and more beautiful since the birth. She looked even more womanly now, and had turned twenty-five that spring. She was clearly prepared to undertake her studies again, and undaunted that she would be thirty by the time she graduated and was fully a doctor. All she wanted now was to get started. The beginning of the term was only six weeks away.

She decided to keep the house in Antibes to go to whenever possible. But she needed someone to take care of Consuelo when she was in class, so she hired a young girl, Brigitte, to stay with them. The three of them would live in the cottage Dr. Graumont had assigned her, for a nominal fee. Everything was falling into place.

And on the appointed day in September, Annabelle, the baby, and Brigitte arrived at the château. They settled into the cottage, and Annabelle began classes the next day. It was more exciting than ever for her, and she was happier than she had ever been. She had Consuelo, whom she loved so dearly, and she was steeped in her studies of medicine again. And working at the hospital in Nice was easier for her now. After all she had learned at the Abbey, and at the hospital in Villers-Cotterêts, as a medic, she was far advanced from where she had been when she left.

The war raged on through September, and at the same time, a fearsome epidemic of influenza began that raged in both Europe and the States, decimating civilians and military personnel alike. Thousands, especially children and old people, were dying.

And finally, at the end of the month, French and American troops began the Meuse-Argonne offensive. Within days General Douglas Haig’s forces stormed the Hindenburg Line and broke through it. Six days later Austria and Germany contacted President Wilson to request an armistice, as British, American, and French forces continued to crush the opposition and turn the tide. The fighting continued for five more weeks, during which Annabelle and her classmates at the medical college could talk of nothing else.

At last, on November 11, at eleven A.M., the fighting stopped. The war that had ravaged Europe for more than four years and cost fifteen million lives was over.

Annabelle stood holding her baby when she heard the news, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Chapter 20

With the war over, people began to drift back to their normal lives. Soldiers returned to their hometowns, married the women they had left there, or new ones they had met in the years since. They returned to their former lives and jobs. The maimed and injured were seen everywhere on the streets, on crutches, in wheelchairs, with missing or artificial limbs. It sometimes seemed as though half the men in Europe were crippled now, but at least they were alive. And those who didn’t return were mourned and remembered. Annabelle often thought of her old classmates who hadn’t come back. She missed Marcel every day, and even Rupert, who had tormented her so mercilessly in her first months at the château, and had become such a kind friend in the end.

New arrivals appeared regularly, and there were sixty students at the château by spring, earnest, determined, wanting to become doctors and serve the world. Annabelle remained the only woman student, and everyone was in love with Consuelo. She had a first birthday party shared by sixty-one adoring medical students, and walked for the first time the next day. She was everyone’s darling, and even touched the heart of the sometimes stern Dr. Graumont. She was seventeen months old as her mother began her third year of medical studies. Annabelle was particularly careful to keep her away from strangers, as the fierce worldwide influenza epidemic raged on. By then several million people had already died.

The medical school became the perfect home for both Annabelle and Consuelo, with sixty loving uncles fussing over her every chance they got. They brought her little presents, played with her, and one or the other of them was always holding her or bouncing her on their knee. It was a happy life for her.

Annabelle eventually had to give up the house in Antibes, when the owners decided to sell it, and she was sad to say good-bye to Gaston and Florine. But Brigitte stayed with them, and the cottage on the château grounds was comfortable enough for them.

Once in a while, as she watched Consuelo flourish, Annabelle thought of contacting the viscount’s family. Now that she had her own child, she wondered if his parents would want some sort of last link to their son through his daughter. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She didn’t want to share Consuelo with anyone. The baby looked exactly like her, as though no one else had contributed to her birth. Everyone who saw her said that she was the portrait of Annabelle in every way.

The years of Annabelle’s medical studies drifted past her at lightning speed. She was so busy and engaged in what she was doing that it felt as though in the blink of an eye it was over, although she had worked so hard to get there.

Annabelle turned thirty the month she graduated from Dr. Graumont’s medical college as a physician. And Consuelo had just turned five in April. Leaving the college, and the cottage where they had lived, was like leaving home again. It was both exciting and painful. Annabelle had decided to go to Paris, and had applied for an association with the Hôtel-Dieu de Paris Hospital near Notre Dame on the Île de la Cité. It was the oldest hospital in the city. She was planning to open an office of general medicine. She had always hoped to work for Dr. de Bré, but he had died the previous spring. And her last tie with home had been severed a month before she graduated. She got a letter from the president of her father’s bank, to tell her that Josiah had died in Mexico in February, and Henry Orson shortly afterward. The man who handled her affairs at the bank thought she would want to know and had enclosed a letter Josiah had left for her. Josiah had been forty-nine years old.

His death, and his letter, brought a flood of memories back to her, and a tidal wave of sadness. It had been eight years since he had left her, and she had come to Europe, seven since their divorce. The letter from him was tender and nostalgic. He had written it close to the end. He said he had been happy in Mexico with Henry, but that he always thought of her with love, and regret for the terrible things he had done to her, and that he hoped she had found happiness too and would one day forgive him. As she read it, she felt as though the world she had grown up in and shared with him no longer existed. She had no ties to any of it anymore. Her life was in France, with her baby, and her profession. Her bridges had long since been burned. The only thing she had left in the States was the house in Newport, which had stood empty for eight years, still tended by her parents’ loving servants. She doubted she would ever see it again, but hadn’t had the heart to sell it yet, and she didn’t have to. Her parents had left her more than enough to live on and assure Consuelo’s future and her own. One day, when she got up the courage, she would sell their old summer cottage. She just couldn’t bring herself to do it yet. Just as she couldn’t bring herself to contact the errant viscount’s parents. She and Consuelo existed in their own world alone.

It was painful leaving the medical college and the friends she’d made there. All of her fellow graduates were dispersing to various parts of France. Many were staying in the South, and she had never been close to the only one going to Paris. For all the years she’d been in Europe, she had made no romantic alliance. She was too busy working for the war effort, and then with her studies and her daughter. She was a dignified young widow, and now she would be a dedicated doctor. There was no room in her life for anything else, and she wanted it that way. Josiah had broken her heart, and Consuelo’s father had destroyed the rest. She wanted no man in her life, and no one other than her daughter. Consuelo, and her work, were all she needed.

Annabelle and Consuelo took the train to Paris in June with Brigitte, who was thrilled to go to the city with them. Annabelle hadn’t been to Paris in years, and it was a bustling city now. They arrived at the Gare de Lyon station, and took a taxi to the hotel on the Left Bank where Annabelle had made a reservation. It was a small establishment Dr. Graumont had recommended to her, which was suitable for two women and a child. He had cautioned her about the dangers of Paris. Annabelle noticed that their cab driver was Russian, and had a distinguished look. Many of the noble White Russians were in Paris now, driving taxis, and working at menial jobs, after the Bolshevik Revolution and the murder of the czar’s family.

It was a thrill when she signed herself into the hotel as Docteur Worthington. Her eyes lit up like a child’s. She was still the beautiful young woman she had been when she arrived in Europe, and when she played with Consuelo, she looked like a girl again. But beneath the youthful spirit was a responsible, serious woman, someone others could confide in, and entrust their health and lives to. Her manner with patients had been the envy of her fellow students and colleagues and had won all her professors’ respect. Dr. Graumont knew that she would make an excellent physician, and be a tribute to his school.

They settled into the hotel. Dr. Graumont was going to send their things later, once they found a house. Annabelle wanted a place where she could establish her medical practice and see patients.

The day after they got to Paris, she went to the Hôtel-Dieu de Paris Hospital, to see about their permission to allow her to put patients there, while Brigitte took Consuelo to the Luxembourg Gardens. The beautiful blond child clapped her hands in excitement when she met her mother back at the hotel.

“We saw a camel, Mama!” Consuelo said, describing it to her, as Brigitte and her mother laughed. “I wanted to ride it, but they wouldn’t let me,” she pouted, and then burst into delighted giggles again. She was an enchanting child.

The Hôtel-Dieu Hospital’s permission had been granted with Dr. Graumont’s recommendation. It was an important step for Annabelle. She took Consuelo and Brigitte to dinner at the Hôtel Meurice as a special treat, and one of the Russian taxi drivers drove them all around Paris to see the sights of the city at night all lit up. It was a far cry from when Annabelle had arrived there during the war, brokenhearted and freshly shunned in New York. This was the beginning of a whole new life that she had worked hard for.

They finally went back to the hotel at ten o’clock. Consuelo had fallen asleep in the taxi, and Annabelle carried her upstairs and set her gently down on the bed. And then she went back to her own room and looked out the window into the Paris night. She hadn’t felt this young and excited in years. She could hardly wait to begin work, but she had to find a house first.

For the next three weeks Annabelle felt as though she were seeing every house in Paris, on the Right Bank and the Left, while Brigitte took Consuelo to every park in Paris—Bagatelle, the Luxembourg Gardens, the Bois de Boulogne, and rode the carousel. The three of them went out to dinner every night. It was the most fun Annabelle had had in years, and was a whole new grown-up life for her.

Between seeing houses, Annabelle went shopping for a new wardrobe, serious enough for a doctor, but stylish enough for a Parisian woman. It reminded her of when she had shopped with her mother for her trousseau, and she told her own Consuelo about it. The little girl loved hearing stories of her grandmother and grandfather and Uncle Robert. It gave her a sense of belonging to more people than just her mother, and always made Annabelle’s heart ache a little for the family she couldn’t give her. But they had each other, and she always reminded Consuelo that it was all they needed. Consuelo commented solemnly that they needed a dog as well. Everyone in Paris had one, and Annabelle promised that when they found a house, they’d get a dog too. They were happy days for all of them, and Brigitte was enjoying herself, flirting with one of the bellboys at the hotel. She had just turned twenty-one and was a very pretty girl.

By the end of July, Annabelle was getting seriously discouraged. They still hadn’t found a house. Everything they saw was either too big or too small, and didn’t have the right set-up for her medical practice. It felt like she was never going to find what they needed. And then, finally, she found the perfect place on a narrow street in the sixteenth arrondissement. It was a small but elegant little house with a front courtyard and a back garden, and a unit with a separate entrance where she could see patients. It was in excellent condition, and was an estate being sold by the bank. And Annabelle liked the fact that it had a dignified look. It seemed wonderfully suitable for a doctor. And there was a small park nearby where Consuelo could play with other children.

Annabelle made an offer on the house immediately, met the asking price established by the bank, and took possession of it at the end of August. In the meantime, she ordered furniture, linens, china, some adorable children’s antiques for Consuelo’s room, and some lovely things for her own rooms and some simple furniture for Brigitte. She bought some serious-looking furniture for her office, and spent September purchasing the medical equipment she needed to run an office. She went to the printers and ordered stationery, and hired a medical secretary who said she had worked at the Abbaye de Royaumont as well, although Annabelle had never met her. Hélène was a quiet older woman, who had worked for several doctors before the war, and was delighted to help Annabelle start her practice.

By early October, Annabelle was ready to open her office. It had taken longer than expected, but she wanted everything to be just right. With trembling hands she hung out her shingle, and waited for something to happen. All she needed was for one person to walk through the door, and after that things would get started by word of mouth. If Dr. de Bré had still been alive, he could have referred patients to her, but he wasn’t. Dr. Graumont had written to several physicians he knew in Paris, and had asked them to refer a few patients to her, but that hadn’t borne fruit yet.

For the first three weeks, absolutely nothing happened. Annabelle and Hélène, her secretary, sat looking at each other with nothing but time on their hands. She went up to the main part of the house and had lunch with Consuelo every day. Then finally, at the very beginning of November, a woman walked into her office with a sprained wrist, and a man with a badly cut finger. From then on, as though by magic, there was a steady stream of patients in Annabelle’s waiting room. One patient referred another. They weren’t difficult cases, they were all small things that were easy for her to handle. But her seriousness and competence and gentleness with her patients won them over immediately. Soon people were switching from other doctors, sending friends, bringing their children, and consulting her on minor and major problems. By January, she had a constantly full office. She was doing what she had trained for, and loving every minute of it. She was careful to thank other physicians for their referrals, and always respectful of their earlier opinions, so as not to make them look like fools to their patients, although some would have deserved it. Annabelle was meticulous, skilled, and had a lovely bedside manner. Despite her beauty, and look of youth, she was clearly serious about her profession, and her patients trusted her completely.

In February, she hospitalized the son of one of her patients. The boy was only twelve and had a severe case of pneumonia. Annabelle visited him at the hospital twice a day, and was gravely worried about him at one point, but the boy pulled through, and his mother was forever grateful. Annabelle had tried some new techniques they had used at the hospital at Villers-Cotterêts with the soldiers, and she was always creative about mixing new methods with old ones. She still read and studied devotedly at night to learn about new research. Her openness to new ideas stood her in good stead, and she read about everything in all the medical journals. She stayed up reading them late at night, often while cuddling Consuelo in her bed, who had begun saying she wanted to be a doctor too. Other little girls wanted to be nurses, but in Annabelle’s family they set a high standard. Annabelle couldn’t help asking herself at times what her mother would have thought of it. She knew it wasn’t what she had wanted for her, but she hoped she would have been proud of her anyway. She knew how devastated Consuelo would have been about Josiah divorcing her, and she wondered if he would have, if her mother hadn’t died. But it was all water over the dam now. And what good would it have been to stay married to him if he was in love with Henry all his life? She had never had a chance. She wasn’t bitter about it, but she was sad. Whenever she thought of it, it pained her with a dull ache she suspected she would carry all her life.

The one thing that never made her sad was Consuelo. She was the happiest, sunniest, funniest child, and she adored her mother. She thought the sun rose and set on her, and Annabelle had created a fantasy father for her, so the little girl didn’t feel deprived. She told her that her father had been English, a wonderful person, from a lovely family, and that he had died as a very brave war hero before she was born. It never seemed to occur to the child to ask why she didn’t see her father’s family. She knew that all her mother’s relatives were dead, but Annabelle had never said that Harry’s were. Consuelo never mentioned it, she only listened with interest, and then one day Consuelo turned to her over lunch and asked if her “other” grandmother could visit her sometime, the one from England. Annabelle stared at her across the table as though a bomb had exploded, and didn’t know what to tell her. It had never dawned on Annabelle that this day might come, and she wasn’t prepared for it. Consuelo was six, and her friends in the park all had grandmothers. So why couldn’t hers visit too?

“I…uh…well, she’s in England. And I haven’t talked to her in a long time…well, actually”—she hated lying to her child—“ever…I never met her. Your daddy and I fell in love and married during the war, and then he died, so I never knew them.” She was fumbling with her words as Consuelo watched her.

“Doesn’t she want to see me?” Consuelo looked disappointed, and Annabelle felt her heart sink. She had created her own mess, and other than telling her daughter that her grandparents didn’t know she existed, she had no idea what to say. But she didn’t want to be forced into contact with them either. It was a terrible dilemma for her.

“I’m sure she would want to meet you, if she can…that is, if she’s not sick or anything… she might be very old.” And then with a sigh and a heavy heart, Annabelle promised, “I’ll write to her, and we’ll see what she says.”

“Good.” Consuelo beamed at her across the table, and as Annabelle went back to her office she was cursing Harry Winshire as she hadn’t in years.

Chapter 21

True to her promise to Consuelo, Annabelle sat down to write Lady Winshire a letter. She had no idea what to say or how to introduce the subject. The truth that her son had raped her, and she’d later had an illegitimate daughter, hardly seemed like an appealing introduction, and wasn’t likely to be to Lady Winshire either. But she didn’t want to lie to her. In the end, she wrote an extremely pareddown and simplified, sanitized version. She really didn’t want to see Lady Winshire, or even to have Consuelo meet her, but at least she wanted to tell the child she had tried.

She wrote to her that she and Harry had met during the war at Villers-Cotterêts, at a hospital where she had been working. That much was true at least, although saying that he had knocked her down on some stone steps and raped her would have been more accurate. She then said that they did not know each other well and were not friends, which was also true, and that an unfortunate incident had happened, extremely true, as a result of which, she had had a child, a little girl, six years before. She said that she had not contacted them until then because she wanted nothing from them. She explained that she was American, had come over as a volunteer, and her encounter with Harry, and the pregnancy that had resulted from it, was one of those extremely unhappy outcomes of war, but that her daughter was a wonderful little human being and had recently inquired about her paternal grandmother, which was extremely difficult for Annabelle too. She said she didn’t want to flat-out lie any more than she already had. She said the child believed that her parents had been married, which was not the case. And Annabelle then suggested that if Lady Winshire was so inclined, perhaps a letter or a short note to Consuelo, maybe even with a photograph, would do. They could let it go at that. She signed the letter “Dr. Annabelle Worthington” so the woman would know at least that she was a respectable person, not that it really mattered. It was her son who had been anything but respectable and should have been put in prison, but instead he had fathered the most enchanting child on earth, and Annabelle couldn’t hate him for it. In her own way, she was grateful to him forever, but he was not a happy memory for her.

After she mailed the letter, Annabelle put it out of her mind. She had a busy month of May, with her waiting room constantly full. She’d had no answer from Lady Winshire, and for the moment, Consuelo seemed to have forgotten about it. She had started school that winter and went there every day, which gave Brigitte time to help them in the office.