Laine swallowed past the lump in her throat. This grand woman who ran the hospital like a well-oiled locomotive knew she was guilty as charged and was still trying to protect her.
Matron picked up her fountain pen and began to write. “Friends of mine, a missionary doctor and his sister, are working with cholera vaccines in an out-of-the-way spot in the Madras Presidency. It’s in the jungle, a fair distance from the nearest city, and they need a nurse who isn’t afraid of rustic circumstances. It’s temporary, but if this trouble with the local Hindus doesn’t simmer down, your military career is over.”
Matron cleared the roughness from her throat. “I’m writing Rory that you’re on your way. And Laine, I understand the charity in your heart to help a child in such a horrific environment, but you must stop meddling in things you can do nothing about. That’s all for now, Lieutenant. Dismissed.”
“Thank you, Matron. It has been an honor to serve with you.”
All sternness left Matron’s face. “God-speed, Laine.”
The office door and outer hallway ran awash with her blurred vision. Thank goodness the other sisters were busy on the wards, and she slipped into the office to retrieve her belongings before they noticed. One more good-bye and she’d crack. But this time she couldn’t blame the good-bye on anyone but herself.
~*~
The smell of castor oil soap along with perfumes lingered in the hallway of the nurses’ quarters. Her roommate Violet was on the wards, and Laine had the place to herself. Here in these rooms, she’d dreamed of a second chance at love with Reese, hoping he could help her forget her first love and the moonlit nights of Madras from before the war.
She shut the door behind her and leaned against it. The train for Bombay would leave soon, and if she and Eshana had really been spotted, then Eshana’s life was in more danger than her own. It wouldn’t take her long to pack, and she’d better get a move on. There was no time for regrets. Only the regret of removing her QAIMN cape for the last time.
She unclasped the scarlet cape from under her chin, drew it from her shoulders to fold and carefully place on the bed.
Half an hour later her bags were packed. All she needed were clothes to wear, a few of her medical books, and snapshots of days long gone. Lastly, she placed in her trunk the small case holding her Royal Red Cross medallion with its image of King George V engraved into the metal backing.
Her eye ran over the room and the things she was leaving behind for Violet, her gaze snagging on the leather-bound poetry journal that Adam had sent her when he studied for his First at Oxford. Next to this she had propped his copy of the Aeneid that he’d given her for her twenty-first birthday. She should have disposed of them years ago. All the same, she reached for the book. It fell open and her finger followed his favorite line from Virgil. I recognize the signs of the old flame, of old desire.
She snapped the book shut, stuffed it into her trunk and squeezed down the lid. She’d dispose of his poetry journals some day, but not today.
~*~
The narrow bazaars teemed. Someone lit a stream of firecrackers as the crowds prepared for the Hindu celebration Diwali, and the smoke teased Eshana’s nose.
She made a mental note to buy more oil for the little clay lamps to set alight for the children at the mission. And sweets. Jelabis and halva. If only she could find some coconut burfi like they had in the south of India. That would delight the little ones, and perhaps bring a smile to young Chandra’s eyes. Later she would have time for these purchases, but not now. She had to hurry back to the mission in time for Dr. Kaur’s visit.
Eshana pushed her way through the crowd. Temple bells rang, copper pots clanged, along with the joyful din of people shouting and bargaining. The colors of the wares brought a shimmer to her within, a shimmer that resembled the ripples of light on a bolt of scarlet silk that a merchant unfurled. Red, the color of joy. Did she feel this way because of her anticipation of seeing Dr. Jai Kaur? If that were the case then she must stop this foolishness straightaway. There could never be anything between them other than their mutual respect.
Only one street from the mission, a hand gripped her around the elbow. She whirled to face who accosted her in the street.
The man looking down at her took her speech away. So many years had gone by. It could not be. Her Uncle Harish, Papa’s brother. Her heart tore in two, and she dropped to the ground to touch his feet in respect. To see a member of her family after so long brought tears to her eyes.
He took a step back, and she rose to look upon his face. The last time she had seen his dark eyes, they had been filled with tears for her. Papa and Uncle had shaken her awake in the middle of the night. Uncle had removed the long string of pearls that at thirteen years old she had worn even to bed. His words from that night came back to her, “These wedding jewels must be given back to the groom’s family.”
Then Papa and Uncle had bundled her into a bullock cart and taken her from her home to another village, to abandon her like a shameful thing at an ashram for Hindu widows. She had not even been allowed to say good-bye to her mother.
Now Uncle Harish stared down at her in this busy Amritsar bazaar. Turmoil filled his gaze. What was he doing so far from their family home in Madras? His eyes widened as if he watched the dead come to life. “It is you, is it not? Eshana?”
She yearned to embrace him. “Yes, Uncle, it is I, your niece.”
“We had thought you dead all these years. The women at the ashram informed us you had left one day. We had asked them this when your mother demanded news of you.”
At the mention of her mother her heart leaped. Amma had demanded news of her?
Uncle’s gaze took in her sari, not the coarse white cotton of a widow, but the exultant shade of mimosa yellow. Her hair ran in all its glory, a thick plait down to her waist.
He dropped his manacle hold around her elbow as if the touch of her stung his hand. “What is this vile thing you are doing, not dressed as a proper widow? You should be in the temple in constant prayers for your deceased husband, not prancing about the bazaar.”
Eshana looked around her. This was not the place for such a discussion. She could not explain to him here that despair no longer shackled her, but that Christ had set her free. And Dr. Kaur would be waiting for her to discuss Chandra’s case. If the unhappy past did not lie between her uncle and herself like an abscess, she could have invited him to the mission. But something held her back from telling him where she lived.
She placed tentative fingers on his arm, but he jerked a step back, his gaze wide with fear and yet with sadness. “Uncle, I cannot speak with you now. It is my dearest wish to explain to you the wondrous joy in my life. May I come to you tomorrow and tell you all?”
He shook his head, quivering. “I cannot be having you come to my place of business. Surely you would not wish such bad luck upon me.” His face contorted with the jumble of emotions. “But for your mother’s sake, I will meet you here tomorrow and I will listen.”
His face hardened, just as it had that early dawn when she was thirteen years old and he and her father had left her at the ashram. His shoulders had heaved with his sobs then. But as he turned from her today his shoulders sat rigid as he stalked away.
She ran along the bazaar and at the corner turned to look behind. Uncle Harish stood not far off, his eyes following her. The look of his gaze did not hold the love he used to have for her, but something else, as if he held her in contempt. Or was it fear?
FIVE
Jai Kaur looked up from examining Chandra, when Eshana burst into the clinic at the mission. She nodded to him while a wavering lamp of a smile lit her eyes. Yet something in her manner disturbed him. She breathed hard as if she had been running, and her gaze darted to the window.
He put up a hand to stroke his beard. “Is there someone