Time for Silence

My mother looked at me sharply. I think she had an inkling of my feelings for Marcus. I was beginning to realize I was rather naive. I had probably betrayed them.

The days passed—one very like another. I spent more time in the hospital now as I had greater leisure without Miss Carruthers’s lessons. I walked a good deal in the forest and I felt very melancholy during those days.

It was December. As my father had prophesied, Lloyd George had taken over the Government. Marcus had not come to Marchlands, in spite of his promise to do so.

I told myself I should have known by now that he did not mean half of what he said. Had he not admitted that to me on one occasion? He had said he told people what they wanted to hear.

We celebrated Christmas at the hospital, and then it was a new year, 1917. And the war was still with us, showing no more sign of ending than it had two years ago.

The days passed slowly. How I missed Marcus! I think many people did. He had added a gaiety to the place. He was right, of course. He said the things people wanted to hear and made them laugh and be happy—as long as they remembered he did not really mean them. He joked about most things and that made life pleasant.

I thought of him continually during those long and dreary winter days.

News filtered through—mostly gloomy and bringing little hope of an imminent victory. There was a gleam of hope with the coming of April when America declared war on Germany. Soon they would be coming to stand beside us.

Everyone was saying that this must be the beginning of the end.

It was late April when news arrived to cheer me. My mother came to me in great excitement.

“What do you think? I’ve heard from Gerald. Robert’s coming here.”

My first thought was, he’s been wounded.

“Is he badly hurt?” I asked.

“It’s his leg. He’s been in hospital in London for about two weeks, Gerald said. He’s well enough to come here to convalesce. Gerald said it will do him good to have a spell with us.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!”

My mother smiled. “Yes, it will be. You’ll enjoy his being here. You two were always special friends, weren’t you? Gerald said Robert can’t wait to get here. He’ll be coming tomorrow.”

My mother was looking at me with that expression of apprehension which I had known over the years. She understood my feelings for Marcus, for I had been simple enough to betray them. So she was delighted that my good friend Robert would be here to cheer me up.

I rose early the next morning. We had discussed where we would put him. “In one of the four-bed wards,” said my mother. “Dear Robert! We must do the best possible for him.”

“As if we don’t for everyone!” I replied.

“Oh, but there is something special about Robert.”

He arrived in the early afternoon. When I saw him standing there with his crutches, I felt overcome with emotion. He had the same grin, but was thinner, which accentuated what Annabelinda had called his disjointed look. He was paler and somehow he looked vulnerable.

I ran to him and threw my arms around him.

“It’s so good to see you, Robert,” I said.

“And for me to see you.”

“We’re so glad you have come.”

“Your uncle said you would be.”

“And he was right.”

My mother came out and kissed him.

“We were so delighted when we heard the news,” she said.

“You can imagine how I felt,” Robert replied. “You both look wonderfully well.”

“It’s the thought of having you at our mercy. We are going to give you the special treatment, aren’t we, Lucinda?”

“We are,” I replied.

I felt I had been lifted out of my melancholy.

The great matter for rejoicing was that he was not badly wounded. He could go out into the garden and did not have to rely completely on the nurses. We found that patients who could help themselves recovered more quickly than the others.

He knew Marchlands well, of course, and it was for him, he said, like coming home.

I was happier now. Robert’s presence had made a great difference. I no longer brooded on my folly. It was wonderful to be with someone as uncomplicated as he—someone I could understand and be sure that he meant what he said.

I could see that my mother was delighted. She could not conceal her feelings from me, any more than I could mine from her. So Robert’s coming had made a difference to us both.

In the afternoons he would sit in the gardens. The spring days were delightful—long and warm, with just a slight nip in the air to remind us that summer was not yet with us.

We used to sit together, but not under the sycamore tree. I did not want to be there with Robert because I still remembered too much of my conversations with Marcus. I said I preferred the seat under the oak on the other side of the lawn, and that was enough for Robert. He always made his way to the seat under the oak.

We talked. We spoke of the old days, recalling incidents which I thought I had forgotten. We laughed a good deal—laughter that meant a happy contentment, because Robert was safely home for a while and we could be together as we had been in the old days.