A deserted farm, France, mid-August 1916
Finding the depths of love
Despite her pleas over the last four weeks, Albert had refused to listen to her. It had been a gruelling journey, tramping miles and miles across fields, eating off the land, stealing from meagre crops and accompanying those with meat from any animal that Albert managed to trap or shoot.
Edith’s hair was matted and plastered to her head. Sores on her feet rubbed and oozed pus, her teeth were coated and her nails dirty. Occasionally they had washed in a stream, but her clothes were clogged with mud, and the tooth-powder and soap Albert had packed into his backpack had run out a few days ago.
‘We ’ave to keep to the fields, Edith,’ Albert had said on countless occasions, when she’d begged him to allow her to go into the nearest town. If only he would let her, she could try to access some money from her bank account and pay for a hotel and transport to the South of France. She was certain Marianne would help Albert to disappear, and her to get back to the hospital.
‘If we use the roads or enter a town, we may bump into soldiers returning from the front, or others going there. My description would ’ave been circulated by now, especially as they might think I kidnapped you.’
She had been tempted on more than one occasion to scream at him, ‘You did kidnap me! You used emotional blackmail. You dragged me away from my bed.’ But she didn’t. He had enough to carry on his shoulders, and seemed to her to be getting dangerously morose and paranoid. It was all she could do to keep his spirits up.
The sight of a farm in the distance gave her hope. Albert would break in and steal what they needed: food, soap, coffee – milk and eggs even. The thought of it took away any pangs of conscience she might normally have had at such actions. Tiredness seeped into her as they neared the building. Crouching low made her joints ache.
‘We will ’ave to lie low until darkness, Edith. Then I will see what I can get.’
‘Promise me you won’t hurt anyone. I couldn’t bear that, and could never forgive you for it.’
‘I promise. Now come on, let’s make it to that barn for shelter. We might even get some shut-eye while we wait for the owners to go to bed.’
Lying down didn’t give her any comfort. Over the days they had walked and starved, the flesh had dropped from her bones and it was now difficult to position her body without something digging into her.
Though they lay together for warmth and had done on many occasions, Albert had respected her wishes and had not touched her. These hadn’t truly been her wishes, as many times she had lain next to him aching for him to hold and kiss her, but she was afraid and unsure.
Sometimes she’d even dreamed of Captain Woodster, and woke up longing for everything he stood for. He was of her world; he thought the way she did, he loved the same things: medicine, and devotion to the care of others. His conversation was on her level . . . But then she would look over at Albert, curled up and sleeping next to her, and her heart would flip over and she knew he was much more a part of her than she really wanted him to be.
‘Wake up, Edith. Wake up.’
‘What? Oh, I – I didn’t realize I’d fallen asleep. What’s wrong?’ A shiver that wasn’t just down to how cold she felt trembled through her.
‘Nothing – everything is right. The farm ’as been abandoned. And recently, if you ask me. I waited till dark, but no lights came on in the ’ouse and no smoke came from the chimney.’
‘But there’s lights and smoke now – look! Perhaps you were wrong, and perhaps we shouldn’t make so much noise.’
‘That’s my doing. I crept over there and found the house empty. Oh, it’s been ransacked, but I found stuff that made me ’eart sing. There’s canned food, a bottle of brandy and some wine in a flask; and, oh, soap and stuff. I’ve ’ad the water on the stove and ’ad a good wash down, and filled a tin bath for yer to soak in. Come on, and while yer ’ave a bath, I’ll make something for us to eat.’
His breath wafted to her the evidence of him having drunk some of the brandy already, but she didn’t blame him. Nor did she care. All she could think of was how what he’d described to her sounded like heaven to her aching limbs.
‘I must have been asleep for a long time?’
‘Two hours in all. I kept coming and checking on you. And I put that blanket on you.’
She hadn’t noticed the blanket, but now picked it up and wrapped it around her, trying to stop the shivering of her limbs as she walked with him to the farm.
It was all she wished it to be. A typically French farmhouse, just as she’d seen in pictures, and on her travels to Marianne’s. Built of grey stone, all of its windows had shutters on them; some were secure and closed, but a couple blew loose in the breeze and banged against the wall and then banged shut again, creating an eerie feel in the dusk of the evening. That feeling left her as she entered the kitchen. Albert must have worked hard in those two hours, as it was no longer ramshackle, as he described, but had an order to it. The long wooden table in the centre had been cleared and washed down, and now held a lit oil lamp in its centre.
The fire glowed from the grate, joining the flicker of the lamp and giving a romantic hue to the whole room. In front of the fire, and between two armchairs, was what she thought she’d never see again: a steaming hot bathtub. Her insides warmed at the sight of it, but her clothes and hair suddenly turned into sackcloth and straw, as her longing overwhelmed her.
Taking a swig from the bottle of brandy, Albert wiped his hand over his mouth. ‘Go on – it’s all yours. I won’t peep.’ A hiccup accompanied this and lit a tiny flame of fear inside her. If Albert gets drunk, will he be as much in control of his emotions as he has been? Oh God, she hoped so. She wasn’t ready. Not yet.
‘Will you go out of the room, Albert, please? Is there a sitting room or somewhere you can wait for me? I promise I won’t be long.’
‘If that’s what you want, but I ’ad in mind to prepare them salad vegetables I found in the greenhouse – there’s tomatoes and lettuce. Look, I’ll keep me back to you and work at the sink. I’ve opened a couple of tins, and found one contained some sort of meat. I’ll put that on the stove in some wine, with some of them bulbs hanging from the ceiling. They must be French onions or something.’
She giggled at this. ‘Just one clove of one bulb will be enough, Albert. They are garlic. They give a lovely flavour, but are very strong. Anyway that all sounds delicious, and I’ll even have a glass of wine with the meal. But you go easy on that brandy; when you are hungry and haven’t had a drink for a while, it can have a quicker effect on you.’
‘I’m all right – I can drink most men under the table.’
Another hiccup set the nerves in her stomach fluttering, but she couldn’t wait any longer for her bath, so she didn’t argue. Taking off her clothes, she found that the luxury of dipping her toe in the water took away her concerns. Sinking her whole body into the water and caressing it with the soapsuds made her forget everything for a second – even her niggling worry over her health – for the trembling wouldn’t stop and the feeling of fuzziness in her head that she’d thought was down to having dozed off and being awoken so suddenly hadn’t left her. Relaxing back, she closed her eyes.
‘You’re beautiful, Edith.’ This had her opening them again, and relit the fear in her. Albert stood over her. His body swayed a little, his words slurred. ‘I slove you more thans anyshing.’
Her hands covered the tips of her breasts and she hoped the suds hid the rest of her. ‘Albert, you promised you wouldn’t look. You’re frightening me.’
‘Edith, oh, Edith, I can’t ’elp meself I want yer, Edith. Pleash come to me and let me—’
‘I’m not ready, Albert. I’m afraid. I’ve never . . .’
‘I won’t hurt you. I’ll be gentle. You’re a doctor, so you know what it’s all about.’
‘Of course I do. But that doesn’t make it any less frightening. Besides, I wanted it to happen when I was married. I didn’t want to do anything before.’
At this he turned and walked away, and her nerves settled down again. He wasn’t going to impose himself on her. But she would get out of the tub and wrap herself in the blanket as quickly as she could. She couldn’t dress, because all of her clothes were wet and filthy. But she would wash them in the tub and hope they would dry out in front of the fire.
Dinner was a quiet affair at first, as Albert seemed to be sulking, and Edith found it difficult to focus properly on any topic of conversation, as her head ached. When Albert did speak, it was about Jimmy.
‘I can’t get that poor boy out of me ’ead. Why oh why? What’s the bloody good of killing our own – and young lads, at that? Lads as shouldn’t even be there.’
‘I don’t know. It’s a tragedy. But one we can’t change, because those who have the power think it is the right thing to do.’
‘Them like your brothers, you mean? Well, you can tell them from me: they are murderers, just as I am. We’ve all murdered – killed young lads. Oh, it might be that we ’ad to, as we were under orders and are fighting for peace, but each one of them lads ’as a mother, and many ’ave a wife and kids. It fills me dreams, Edith. Gives me bloody nightmares, it does.’
His voice didn’t slur so much as have a tinge of anger to it. She tried to soothe him. ‘I know. I have seen you sweating and tossing and turning, and many times you have called out names in your sleep. When we are safe, we will get some help for you.’
“Elp – I’m not mad, woman! It ain’t me as needs bloody ’elp! It’s the likes of you and your class. Toffee-nosed, jumped-up buggers. You make the rules and we ’ave to stick by them. And you: you’re bloody frigid. Cold as bloody ice! I reckon your feelings are as tight as your arse is.’
The trembling of her limbs increased; she felt cold, and yet sweat stood out on her body. Her voice sounded weak to her own ears when she spoke, her tone begging: ‘Albert, there is no need to speak to me like that. And please stop drinking. It is changing you. I told you: you are frightening me.’
‘Frightening yer – I ain’t going to bloody ’urt yer. I told yer. But I can’t wait any longer, Edith. You’re going to ’ave it tonight, I’m telling yer.’
‘No. Albert, no!’
He must have undone his trousers without her seeing him do so. As he rose, his need was there for her to see. Shock held her rigid as she saw his eyes fill with his lust. Before she could move, his hands reached for her, pulling her to him and holding her as if in a vice. The blanket fell away from her, and his voice, thick and heavy, compounded her fear. ‘Oh, Edith. It’s time. I want you so badly that I’ll ’ave to just take yer.’
His alcoholic breath repulsed her, as his lips came down on hers. His teeth clashed onto hers. His tongue darted in and out of her mouth. But, against her will, feelings welled up in her. Suddenly this didn’t seem wrong, but was something she wanted. She wanted him close to her like this, wanted to feel him pushing against her.
But then repulsion at these thoughts fought through the pleasure. Struggling, she tried to pull away. But she did not have the strength to do so; she felt drained of energy.
‘You want me – yer know yer do. Come on, Edith. I love yer. I want yer so much.’
Those words, said with tenderness, softened some of her resistance. She allowed his kiss, revelled in the feel of his hands squeezing her breasts. But still a little voice said: No. ‘No, no, Albert, this isn’t right. You are drunk. You—’
He took no heed of her. Unable to fight him off, her body went wherever he took it. They landed on the rug on the floor. Bruised and hurting inside, Edith begged him, ‘Please, Albert, not like this. Not like this. Wait . . . please, wait!’
Her pleas made no difference, and her tears were ignored. His weight came onto her. He prised open her legs with his knees and entered her.
A scream came from her that stung her own ears, but only had the effect on Albert of making him thrust harder and groan louder. ‘Edith. Oh, Edith . . .’ The pain of his thrusts lessened. His kisses soothed. His declaration of love and his caresses aroused something in her that she didn’t want to give in to, but could not resist as she listened to his voice. His tone, different from anything she’d ever heard, was heavy with desire. ‘You’re me own love. Me woman. Let me love you.’
Against all she knew to be right, she did relax and knew the joy of him fully filling her. Her body moved with his; her kisses were given willingly and on every part of him she could reach. Feelings grew and grew inside her, till she abandoned herself to the sheer bliss of them and joined her cries of lust to his. Then it happened. A feeling too big for her burst inside her. She stiffened, didn’t want it, and yet wanted it with every fibre of her being. When she allowed it, and it reached a crescendo, she hollered her joy to the world, clenching herself onto Albert so as to hold on to the feeling for as long as she could.
When her body came down from it, she crumbled. Tears tumbled from her. Uncontrollable weeping seized her; this wasn’t the weeping of sadness, but the weeping of release. Of becoming a woman.
They lay still and quiet when it was over. Neither moved for a full minute. The mantel-shelf clock that Albert had wound up and set to the time on their watches ticked loudly. Albert’s breath became steadier with every tick, but Edith found she couldn’t steady hers, and the headache she’d ignored came back with a vengeance, marring the feelings of joy she’d experienced. Or maybe guilt was seeping into her? She’d have to pull herself together. Maybe after a night’s rest she would feel better. Another shiver took her, giving her the thought that she must have a cold coming on. Which wasn’t a wonder given the conditions she’d lived under these last weeks.
Albert broke the silence. Lifting himself onto his elbow, he looked down on her. His face was awash with tears and was holding something that scared her. ‘I’m sorry. Forgive me. I shouldn’t ’ave done that. Oh, God! It is all too much. Go back, Edith. I – I cannot face life any more. I can’t live with all that ’as ’appened, and what I’ve become.’ With this, he rolled over and stood up.
As he fumbled with his jacket, she pleaded, ‘Don’t go. It’s all right, I wanted it to happen . . . Albert? Albert, what are you doing?’ The flicker of a flame from the fire caught the barrel of his pistol. ‘Albert! No!’
The explosion ricocheted off the walls, deafening her. Blood and flesh and bits of brain slapped her body. ‘Noooooooo! No! Why? Why . . . ?’ Her breath held painfully in her lungs as she finished screaming, and as the shock of his action settled in her. Kneeling, she stared at the body, with only one side of a head and a grotesque eye staring at her.
The trembling of her body was uncontrollable now. Its severity caused her teeth to rattle together. Her throat dried. The zinging inside her ears increased, and a blackness enveloped her.
The light was momentarily hazy and then became bright again. Edith found it hard to break through the fog that was clouding her brain. Images clawed at her. She couldn’t breathe without feeling pain. Where am I? Something felt very strange. The smells that surrounded her were not familiar, and she could feel the presence of someone in the room, but not someone she knew. Her head hurt. Her lungs didn’t want to take in their full capacity of air. Sweat dampened her body. Weakness had taken every limb, rendering her unable to move. Forcing words through a sore and dry throat, she asked, ‘Wh – where am – am I?’
An answer came in French, but with an accent Edith didn’t recognize. Memory exploded in her brain, forcing an agonized cry from her.
‘Non, non. Ma chère, vous êtes en sécurité?
Nothing about her felt safe; she felt so weak, so ill. But she had registered that the woman had called her ‘my dear’ and she didn’t sound threatening.
‘My name is Petra Tolenski, and my husband is Aleksi. We are from what used to be Poland.’
It seemed Petra needed to tell her story. She continued, talking about how she came to be living in France. Much of it went in and out of Edith’s focus, but from what she could glean, these people were from the Russian sector of what had been the independent country of Poland just over a century ago.
‘Eleven years ago the Russians recognized us as a country and liberated us, but we could see that the German and Austrian hold on the partition of our country was very unsettled, and we feared for what would happen in the future. And so, with our new freedoms, we took the chance to get out. We have a daughter, Marcelina, who went back to marry her long-time boyfriend. She would not listen to us and is now caught up in the terrible regime of the German Reich and cannot leave.’
Petra’s voice droned on, spinning around with the pain in Edith’s head. It was a pain that threatened to take her back into the blackness, which held nightmares she didn’t wish to visit. But eventually Petra told her how she came to be here. Her husband, Aleksi, had seen lights and smoke coming from the deserted farmhouse whilst he had been in his top field, bedding down his herd of cattle. That had been three days ago. He had gone to investigate. He had taken his barrow and brought her here, and had gone back and buried the young man.
Dizziness sent the room spinning again, as memory tore through Edith’s mind. She wanted to ask: why? Why had they just buried Albert and not fetched the police? But fear that the symptoms she’d been suffering had escalated stopped her, as a realization came to her that she was on the verge of pneumonia. The very word terrified her – she would face the prospect of her own imminent death if she wasn’t treated immediately. If she’d been in an unconscious state for three days, then her brain’s initial coping mechanism must have shut off from reality. Now, it would seem, her body was taking the impact.
A pause in Petra’s story gave her a moment to ask, ‘C – can you g – get a doc – doctor, p – please?’ A fit of coughing almost suffocated her and produced the dreaded frothy sputum she knew to be an indication of how serious her condition was.
‘It is thirty kilometres to the nearest doctor, and our donkey is lame. It would take Aleksi a day or more on foot, and he cannot leave the livestock at this moment; also there is the harvesting. We have been hoping that the goat-herder, who comes along at this time of year, would arrive and take a message for us. But he hasn’t come.’
‘I – I can pay f – for your 1 – losses. Plea – please.’
There was a splitting pain in Edith’s head and her breathing was agony. She knew it wouldn’t be long before she entered the disease state of crisis. Her terror intensified.
‘PI – please,’ she said. It came out as a desperate cry.
Still Petra hesitated.
‘I – I need . . .’ Once more a fit of coughing left her gasping for breath. ‘St – steam . . . roo – room. Fill with st – steam and – and . . .’ Her mind jumbled. Nothing made any sense. A sinking feeling took her. It offered relief from all the pain in her head and chest. Letting go, Edith sank into unconsciousness – a place of swirling peace.