Rule #1 always post the rules. Rule #2 answer the questions the person who tagged you asked, then write 11 new ones. Rule #3 tag 11 people then link them in the post. Rule #4 tell them you tagged them. Rule #5 tell the person that tagged you that you’ve answered the questions
I was tagged by @sadlyoutofideas. Thank you so much!
Here are her questions
1. What scares you?
This space is too small to count them all, right now.
2. This will date me - what, if any, name do you give to somebody who’s tried to pick you up in a bar or elsewhere (assuming you’re not interested) (I know you young folks have apps for this). I called myself “Pam” but my friend, Jeanne, was “Jolene” after a Dolly Parton song of the same name. I loved that.
Julia, I guess, for no particular reason except that it’s one of my favourite names.
3. Have you ever had to call the cops?
Thankfully not. *knock on wood*
4. Are you allergic to anything? (I really am interested as I developed allergies as an adult).
I don’t think so for the moment nor even if I can call them allergies, but I seem to have developed brief negative reactions towards seafood, pizza, and nutella. (I’ve gotten over the first two after some years, still not sure about the latter).
5. Most of you are writers, but have you ever written a letter to the editor or elected official?
Not exactly, but I once wrote to a cable channel because they changed the Gilmore Girls schedule to a time I could no longer watch it and to a store because there was a special event and the organisation was a mess from top to bottom.
6. Have you ever been in a physical fight?
Yes. Some skirmishes with my brother and one with a girl in school where she ‘stabbed’ my arm with a pen. I had the scar for a long time.
7. Did you pursue/realize any goals or dreams you had as a child?
My goals and dreams have changed over the years, so it’s complicated to say. I guess, I could include driving, for instance, but there are some other things that when they took place it seemed like I had outgrown them, like going to Disneyland. When I finally did so, I felt a bit ridiculous and that I wasn’t supposed to be there.
8. Can you juggle?
I can’t and it’s probably best I don’t even attempt it. I’m rather clumsy so I might injure someone, myself, or break something.
9. Will you be doing any international travel in the next year?
It’s being planned but I haven’t been that excited about it, to be honest, and I don’t even know why.
10. Who gave you the best life advice?
I’ve learnt them all from TV Shows. Now, in earnest, I don’t know what to say because so far I’ve never had a moment that felt like ‘take note - this is life advice’.
11. Were you a young, single person in 1920s Melbourne and Detective Jack Robinson asked you on a date, what would you want to do, where would you want to go (before the obvious Jack-in-the-sack end of a perfect evening)?
I think I’d like to have dinner and go to a jazz club afterwards. It seems like it could be fun and the company would certainly be divine althought it might be a bit awkward at first because, like Jack, I’m not someone very expansive, particularly when I meet new people. :D
Consider yourself tagged. I hope you don’t mind I’m copying/pasting the questions I made up in light of foxspirit1928′s tag:
1) What 3 words would you use to describe yourself?7
2) Have you given up any TV show this year? If so, name it, please.
3) Do you read books up to the last page even if you’re not enjoying them?
4) Speaking of books, have you ever bought one for its cover?
5) Do you have a particular pet peeve?
6) What’s your favourite tea, in case you drink it, that is?
7) Are you currently reading something? If so, would you mind naming it?
8) Do you do something specific when you are really stressed in order to try to calm yourself down?
9) What’s your favourite piece of clothing?
10)What usually draws you to a show: it’s story, the characters, or the visuals?
11) If you’re home alone, do you turn on the tv or the radio or do you prefer silence?
Once again, consider all yourselves tagged if you haven’t been so yet, or feel like answering my questions.
I’m catching up on a lot of Tumblr, Instagram, Facebook and personal emails. I got waylaid by NP’s unbelievable legs. As I said in my Instagram comment, I never noticed he took the picture in the bathroom. BTW, weird can be a good thing!
I hope your catching up is going well. I’ve just done the same, @sadlyoutofideas. :D
I believe he’ll regret the place where he took that picture eventually after all its popularity. haha.
I’m sorry for having taken so much to follow through with your idea, @sadlyoutofideas. Here it is now, going way beyond the drabble-recommended length, but I hope you don’t mind it and enjoy it nevertheless.
«Jack met someone in France. He never cheated on Rosie, but fell in love with her.»
Olive.
Jack hadn’t thought of her in years, but it was hard not to, now that Rosie had moved out and he was sitting by himself at the kitchen table, the house so silent he could almost hear his thoughts echoing against the walls. After all, his marriage had been one of the reasons why they hadn’t pursued the feelings that had developed between them.
They had met at one of the Casualty Clearing Stations set by the Allies as back-up for the battle going near Le Hamel.
Jack had walked into it with Private Lewis’ arm slung across his shoulders for support as the younger man limped with difficulty and hoped to God something could be done to save what was left of his right leg, not much more than an amalgam of muscle, bone, and shrapnel.
Lewis was taken away and Jack fell to his knees against wall of the tent. It was swarming with the urgent, desperate movement brought by the arrival of wounded men pouring out from ambulances, but Jack could barely register it, as he could barely register that it had been successful for the Allies; well, as successful as war could ever be.
He took the steel helmet off his head and tried to wipe away the mud on his face with the back of hand, but, instead of cleaned, Jack had blood on his features now as well. With the medics busy with men in even worse state that private and the battle as over as it would for the moment, he hadn’t even thought twice. Jack had attempted to contain the hemorrhage by making a tourniquet with his belt and taken upon himself to bring his subordinate to medical care no matter what it took, which he guessed started with being about more than half a mile away from the nearest unit that could provide it. They had made moderate progress until an ambulance drove by and collected them, even if it was nearly full already.
«Are you hurt, Corporal?», asked a woman’s voice to his right.
Jack slowly turned towards the sound, his head still ringing from the piercing sounds of shots, bombs, and cries.
«I don’t think so», he said to the nurse. Jack hadn’t been very sure of his own body as of late. It was as if he was just carrying that shell around but it didn’t truly belong to him.
«Let’s get you up and try to figure that out», she suggested, an American accent permeating her voice and the Red Cross insignias pinned to her uniform. The woman had tired but kind eyes.
The nurse reached out her hand and helped him to his feet. About his age too, she was taller than what he had believed and her inquiring cornflower blue eyes searched his face for any sign of pain without her needing to raise her head much.
Through a gentle tug of his arm, she pulled him towards a lamp hanging from the tent wall and asked him to carefully turn his face to the light. Then she grabbed his wrists and checked his hands. Apparently satisfied with the results, she helped him out of his tunic and asked him to lift the grey flannel shirt to take a look at his abdomen. She couldn’t see any perforation in the fabric, but she had wanted to make sure that the large bloodstain on his clothes wasn’t the product of some injury missed at first sight.
«Apart from a deep cut on your forehead, above your left eyebrow, you don’t appear to be physically injured», she said as he put his coat back on, insisting on making the difference. Just because the man in front of her was in one piece, it didn’t mean that he might not be shattered in a million ones inside his mind.
«Wait here. I’m going to get you something to clean your face off and some antiseptic and bandages to dress that cut. You can sit on the floor if you want. I’m sorry but I don’t have a bench at hand now», she continued, a reassuring hand on his arm.
«What’s your name?», he asked, willing to never forget a woman who had offered him even the smallest solace in one of the longest days of his life.
«I’m nurse McGowan. I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself right away.»
***
«Nurse McGowan», Jack said with a courteous nod, when he crossed paths with her in the hallway of the Base Hospital nr. 26, in Allerey. He wondered why she was there, but was oddly glad to meet her.
«Corporal Robinson», she said with a polite smile, surprise in her voice. «I didn’t expect to see you here.»
«I am surprised as well.»
«I was with the Clearing Station for two weeks, but this is my original assignment», she said, the light coming through the window hitting the two bottles with cotton gleaming on the tray she was carrying.
«I see. I was sent with some documents to deliver», he replied. Despite how the collaboration between Australian and American forces had gone at the Battle of Hamel, his OC didn’t fully trust the Americans yet and had sent him ahead to make sure those papers got to the right hands. « And since I had some time left yet, I came to visit the soldier I brought to the station the other day».
«Did you find him?», she asked. «I hope he’s as well as possible.»
«I did. He’s not very well though, I’m afraid. His leg had to be amputated and he’s not stable enough yet to be sent home.»
«I’m sorry to know that», Nurse McGowan said. No matter how often it unfortunately happened, it still twisted her stomach to come across such news, not to mention witnessing them with her own eyes. «And your forehead? Have you been taking care of it?», she said.
Jack touched the bandage on it with the tip of his fingers. «As well as it can be arranged», he replied. Among all the grave injuries that took up most of the doctors’ and nurses’ time, his cut wasn’t exactly priority, but he didn’t fault anyone for that.
«Come with me», she said and Jack followed suit.
Being among those men always took a toll on him. He knew he was lucky he wasn’t the one laying in those beds with torn limbs, lacerated organs, eyes that could no longer see and lungs that could barely breathe. Yet, he also wondered if he would be the next one brought in, walking the tightrope between life and death, and that was even worse.
Having met Nurse McGowan didn’t erase those thoughts, but helped keeping them at bay as he was daily sent to the American military hospital centre at Allerey, visited Lewis and got the dressing on his wound changed by her. She wanted to monitor how his cut was healing. In an environment with so much dirt, some grain could get in and cause an infection and «we wouldn’t want that now, would we?», she had said without sounding condescending.
She had always wanted to go to Australia someday after hearing the tales brought home by an uncle with the Merchant Navy and took Jack’s tales from his country with a genuine interest that found a match in Jack’s curiosity about her own country. Minnesota, her home state, with its lakes, rivers, prairies, forests and occasional aurora borealis made it seem even more mythical that the New York, Chicago, Philadelphia, and the cities about which he knew something already but had never visited.
While they shared traditions, history, and recipes, they found themselves away from the muddy blood-stained fields of Europe, a break welcomed by both, especially when they didn’t have as much time to dwell on them as they wished and their interactions were cut short by how Nurse McGowan was needed somewhere else in the hospital. They spoke very little of their own lives, maybe because part of them wanted to cling to the conviction that they were more than people thrust into a war-zone, but it was difficult to keep it in mind and their going through their recollections of happier times helped.
Lewis had been finally transferred to England and Jack’s cut was nearly healed, but he still looked for her nevertheless, saddened by the fact that he would no longer have a reason to be there so often. He didn’t go as far as wishing to be injured just to keep having the chance to meet her, but he couldn’t deny that he would miss her.
Jack hadn’t thought much about what made him feel like that until he started to not be able to shake away the memory of Rosie’s face, which hung over him when he did so. In the beginning, he guessed that even if they didn’t look alike physically, Nurse McGowan’s gracefulness reminded him of his wife and that was one of the reasons why he felt drawn to her as well as her help that day, but he was slowly dreading that it went beyond that: he seemed to be falling in love with her. The thought alone was enough to make him ashamed of himself. He was married, newly-married, he would say given how only two years had passed since the wedding and they were still settling into a life together.
Getting Rosie’s letters was the highlight of his days, but meting Nurse McGowan was starting to take some of its joy for itself. Maybe it was that: as empathetic and devoted as Rosie was in her letters, she was across the world away while Nurse McGowan was much closer, not only in actual distance but experiences as well. No matter how explicit Jack was in his own telling, his words could never be any more than a shadow of the fear, exhaustion, frustration, bravery, honour, and duty he felt on a day-to-day basis and that shadow was everything Rosie would be in the know of.
Sometimes an understanding silence and a sympathetic ear was enough for Jack and Nurse McGowan to convey that the other knew exactly what they were feeling and was going through.
Jack wasn’t the only one who was craving for those conversations. Olive McGowan had vowed never to get attached to the patients beyond than the will to work towards their wellbeing. She hadn’t set that only in light of those who were practically dead when they came through the door; as insensitive as it could sound, sympathy and competent care were the only things left for the medical staff to offer them. Her stance was valid to the ones that were taken care of and went away soon as well as the ones who would stay with them for a while until they could be placed in convalescence homes or sent back home. She wasn’t a machine, but she acknowledged she had to protect herself or she would be the one to break and she wouldn’t be of use to their recovery whether in France or back home, worrying herself sick in a way that not all Red Cross gatherings, sock-knitting, and bandage-making could drown. But Olive had never thought about what to do if she found herself in a situation like the one she was currently in with Corporal Robinson. Be gentle, was the mantra she recited every time when she got up from her cot. She had been gentle with him, she was gentle with him, and there were definitely other feelings tingeing their growing closeness. For a brief moment, she had wondered if the thankfulness he felt might have tricked him into thinking he was in love and the chivalrous and genuine way with which he talked with her and conducted himself wasn’t clouding her judgment as well but she then deemed both of them too hardened for that, even considering the extraordinary circumstances they were in. But it couldn’t be, it couldn’t be.
***
«Nurse McGowan», Jack called when he recognised her among a group of three that were exiting the hospital.
«Olive, please. I’m not on duty now», she said, perhaps too hastily. Jack could see that. The Red Cross insignia was still attached to her clothes and she was still wearing an uniform, but her grey cotton crepe dress and white apron had been replaced by a dark blue Norfolk skirt suit with a high-necked silk white shirt and her blond hair was covered by a matching dark blue straw hat instead of the white cap.
«I’m sorry for calling you», Jack said. It had been nearly instinctive to do so when he had seen her, her head slightly turned to the side as she listened attentively to what the brunette next to her was saying. «I didn’t mean to bother you or to keep you from your friends.»
«We were going to the Red Cross recreational tents for a little bit. Diana’s sister plays the piano there. Would you like to join us?», Olive asked, certainly too hastily.
«I have to hand in these documents, but I could meet you then.»
Jack had been taken aback by her invitation, but not as much as he was when he had finished talking. He had decided he wouldn’t seek her anymore.
«I don’t mean to keep you from your duties», Olive said, raising a hand.
«I have permission to stay for a little longer», a reward his O.C. gave him for his competence, but that, in that moment, Jack wished he hadn’t been given. He could always walk away and go back to camp and yet…
«See you in a while then. Do you know where the hut is? The Red Cross one, I mean?». OIive was feeling twitchy and it was showing in the way she talked.
Jack nodded, guilt starting to overwhelm him, but it was too late now. Rejecting the invitation now would be impolite and he could sense Olive’s friends’ eyes stuck on him.
***
The recreation hut was exactly that in principle at least. A warehouse-like wooden long cabin with beamed ceilings, a stage at the far end, a small counter on the left, and an odd assortment of long tables running as long as the building as well as small groups of four chairs and a square table.
Jack found Olive sitting by herself at one of the latter, set in the far corner, the chairs once occupied by her colleagues vacated now while they smoked outside.
«May I?», Jack said, motioning towards the chair across from her.
«Oh, yes. I’m sorry I didn’t notice you before», Olive said, her eyes meeting his face now. He discerned that something was troubling her and it appeared to go beyond the tiredness derived from her long and exhausting shifts.
«I don’t mean to interrupt your thoughts», Jack said, sitting down. Lately their conversations seemed to have grown into a sequence of «I don’t mean to-s».
« I have a fiancé», Olive said over the music and the voices chatting around them.
For a split second, Jack felt disappointed and even something akin to angry. But as quickly as the feeling hit him, it also faded away. It was true that they seemed to be attracted to each other, but he had never told her he had a wife either. If anything, he should be disappointed in himself for having omitted Rosie’s existence for so long.
Olive wasn’t oblivious to the weight of the invitation she had ended up making. For all the easiness that permeated their conversations as they went by, their meetings had been framed by the very particular rules of the hospital setting. Taking them outside its confines was opening it up to a more personal outcome, undesirable in the long run for very specific reasons, like that one to start with.
She would miss Jack and revealing Everett’s role in her life would probably put an end to the already limited run of their interactions, but she couldn’t do it otherwise anymore. Theirs might be a secret engagement so it wouldn’t prevent her from volunteering with the Red Cross overseas, but for her it was a serious engagement all the same and regret was starting to consume her as if she had moved forward and actually cheated on him. Not knowing if any of the planes soaring over her head was his or if he had been buried somewhere in that strange land meanwhile was worry enough.
«I’m sorry if I lead you on in some way», Olive continued, struggling with deciding if she should say that it hadn’t been her intention when both appeared to have been attuned to the feelings simmering underneath. Nevertheless, she was relieved for not having to keep the secret anymore.
«Don’t be. I’m married», said Jack, clutching the brim of his hat with his hands under the table.
Olive’s breath got caught in her throat. She hadn’t meant to, but she had been surprised even if she had already considered highly likely that he would have a girlfriend at least. Hearing it from his own mouth still hit her harder than what she had expected, even in light of her own circumstances.
Silence fell over them. That was a strange limbo to be on – they were saying goodbye to something that had never even begun but had been charged for a while, despite the fact that neither of them knew if they could actually cheat on their partners.
Olive didn’t want to excuse it with the war. She had tended to many men and falling in love with one had never even crossed her mind until then. Jack hadn’t said anything, but he didn’t either. It would be too easy and he didn’t like too easy exits when the situation was as complex as the one they were in.
«My unit will move southwards in less than a week, so we wouldn’t have the chance to meet again often», Jack said eventually. Since nothing was settled yet and that change was little more than a rumour flying around the camp yet so far, his words were probably one of those too easy exits he dreaded, but he didn’t know what to say and he had to say something or he would scream instead. Not only because of Olive, but because of everything that had built inside him since he had set foot in Europe more than two years ago.
«I wish you the best. Honestly and from the bottom of my heart.», Olive said, meaning every word. She hadn’t wanted to let it out loud, but she truly hoped he would make it back home as safe and sound as possible, back to his wife included. Besides, she was starting to feel her eyes sting with tears and she would do her best to keep them at bay from him and from her colleagues. Their questions about the dashing Australian had been quenched by her insistence that he was someone whose wounds she had changed the dressings for a while, but they wouldn’t be so easily appeased if they came back and found her crying.
«I wish you likewise». Jack wondered if he should say ‘Olive’ or ‘Nurse McGowan’, but saying nothing at all was probably the best option. «I better go back.» There was no need to apologise behind schedules or by the sudden necessity of being somewhere else.
Olive nodded. Jack got up from his chair and left.
***
Jack hadn’t thought of Olive out of some vain exercise of «what if». As he sat there, he had found himself going over the decisions that might have influenced the sad turn his marriage had taken. There was little doubt that for all the issues Rosie and he had ever had, the toll the war had taken on him had been the final tear, but if he were to go back in time, he would still have fought for his country.
He could have tried to find Olive through the American Red Cross, but he never did. More than failing, Jack feared he would succeed just to find out that she had died, whether by fire or due to the flu, as it had happened to many nurses, before she had been able to go back home and fulfill her numerous plans.
Letting her live in his mind, if not somewhere else at least, might be another easy exit but this one, he could live with.
The End
I hope you enjoyed this foray into another episode from Jack’s time in the war.
As usual with fics that require a certain level of research, I hope you can forgive any mistake that may have happened nevertheless.
According to wikipedia, a Casualty Clearing Station «is a military medical facility behind the front lines that is used to treat wounded soldiers. A CCS would usually be located just outside of the range of enemy artillery and often near transportation facilities.»
The AEF set a camp in Allerey, including nine base hospitals and other structures. Base Hospitals ( part of the casualty evacuation chain, further back from the front line than the Casualty Clearing Stations) were generally composed by people associated with the same Hospital back home, since it was believed that having similar training would make everything more efficient and it was easier to get people to contribute in many ways to the unit set by the institutions from their hometown).
«Base Hospital No. 26 was organized in May, 1917, at the University of Minnesota, Minneapolis, and was mobilized at Minneapolis on December 13, 1917.» (x) I had set that Olive would come from the Minnesota even before I read all these details, but curiously,the School of Nursing at the University of Minnesota was founded in 1909 as the nation’s first continuously operated university-based school of nursing. According to the backstory I set for her, this is where she would have studied.
Still in light of the influence by religious hospitals and orders and in order to turn nursing into a respectable profession, a particular set of rules had defined who could be considered for the schools and most nursing schools were so strict, for long. They were, like I read somewhere during my research, nearly like ‘civil’ convents, something that kept on as the students graduated and found work. As time went by, the rules loosened a bit and nursing became one of the few options for unmarried woman of working and middle-class, but the Red Cross still had very particular requirements when it came to accepting volunteers to serve overseas. Besides having to be white, :
«All applicants had to be between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five, unmarried, in good health, and capable of hard physical labor. There
were height and weight restrictions. The applicants could have no German or Austrian relationships by birth or marriage and could not be the daughters, mothers, or wives of anyone serving in the united states Army or Navy, stateside or abroad. Vaccinations against smallpox along with inoculations against typhoid and paratyphoid were required. The volunteers had to be willing to sign a one year contract and go wherever they were assigned. Nurses were required to have graduated from an accredited training school with a two-year residency in a hospital of at least 100 beds that had male patients. They also needed to hold a membership in any of the organizations affiliated with the ANA. Nursing aides had to have graduated from, or be willing to take, a specific ARC course in elementary hygiene and home care of the sick. Knowledge of French and previous hospital experience were considered pluses. These were
rigid criteria for volunteer positions.»
Johnson, Katherine Burger, "Called to serve : American nurses go to war, 1914-1918." (1993). Electronic Theses and Dissertations. Paper
701.
There were nursing units in the US army, but their number was little and reserves were supplied by the American Red Cross, as well as personnel for other non-nursing activities, like canteens. recreational structures, motor units, for instance. Despite it not being a military organization, their volunteers had uniforms to wear when they were not in their ‘work clothes’.
«O.C» means Officer Commanding.
Thank you for your time and incredible support over this prompt thing. I hope you enjoyed this story as well.
sadlyoutofideas replied to your post“Drabble prompt meme pt. 13. As with the ‘Jack’s night terrors’, this...”
Oh my God, wah-pah. That was so beautiful! I love Hazel! I'm so sad for her and for Jack. You really did a great job on this. I'm at work and really should have saved reading this for later, but I had to finish. I'll re-read when I get home.
Thank you so much, sadlyoutofideas. :) I’m very pleased to you know you found it beautiful and loved Hazel. I was rather sad when I finished writing this as well.
I hope reading this while you were working didn’t derail your workday much. I’m honoured you felt you had to read it right away and I hope you don’t find the story unworthy of surviving a second read.
I haven’t finished writing the other yet. I guess I’m very into Jack’s previous love life and hadn’t realised it until you had presented these prompts to me. haha.
As with the ‘Jack’s night terrors’, this prompt was sent by sadlyoutofideas as well. Since it didn’t fit the list and I wasn’t being very particular about the size of the stories anyway, I let this run its course. I hope you enjoy it even if it does get as emotional as requested (or so I wished it to)
«A woman in Jack’s past, not Rosie, with whom he was in love. There is a sad, heartbreaking, actually, story in their past.»
Jack rarely accompanied his mother to the greengrocer, but now that his brother had gotten married and moved to his own house, it had fallen upon him to help her carry the shopping home.
«Good afternoon, Mr. Bevan», said Mary Robinson, greeting the shopkeeper.
«Good afternoon, Mrs. Robinson. How do you do? You brought your other boy along today, I see. »
In other circumstances, Jack would have wanted to hide behind the stack of tinned biscuits on his left after hearing words like those, but someone else had drawn his attention this time.
«It’s always nice to see when children are up to helping their parents. I don’t know how we would get by around here sometimes if Hazel didn’t lend a hand. »
The girl smiled shyly at her father, finding herself always at sea when he made this sort of remarks.
(I’m very pleased he thinks so, but I feel so awkward! But I always do when people talk about me, she had once told Jack when they were hiding behind the trunk of an old, large oak at the Barkley Gardens. Sitting side by side, her head leaning on his shoulder and his head on her forehead, a slight floral perfume drifting from her chestnut hair. Even when I’m the one praising you?, he had asked. What makes you think you are so special?, she had said, laughing heartily, a sound he was so sure he would never forget but which memory was getting more and more faded as years went by. Am I not? A little, she had replied, another laugh already brewing in her throat, before looking to her left and to her right and daring to kiss him.)
«What can we do for you, Mrs. Robinson? », Mr. Bevan asked, getting out from behind the counter and leading her further inside the shop.
Jack didn’t listen to her mother’s requests.
Behind the counter, Hazel was unfolding brown paper bags, small for the vegetables and fruit, larger ones to contain all the purchases. Yet the gestures that had seemed so secure just a few instants ago were taking longer now.
They had crossed paths around the neighbourhood sometimes, but they were both so shy they couldn’t bear to look at each other for long without feeling engulfed by the hot rush of embarrassment.
She too had noticed the Robinson boy before and had liked the look in his eyes, a certain soulfulness and truth that had ruffled her unexpectedly.
Jack wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what. He had seen her sing in the St. Ignatius choir, but he wondered if she did so because she liked it or because her parents had made her to. (That’s why he rarely spoke. For every pro he came up with, he could always find a con.)
Hazel was struggling with words as well, so she kept unfolding the bags, raising her eyes between hand motions and smiling when their gazes met.
«Is that book yours?», Jack asked eventually, meaning the book on the counter, nearly regretting having said anything mid-sentence, even if the girl hadn’t given away any sign of displeasure.
«It is», she replied in such low tone of voice, she doubted he had heard her, «It is», she repeated, hoping it had been more audible this time. «Have you ever read it? »
«Not yet, but I would like to someday. I liked Cranford well enough», Jack said, trying to appear more reassured than what he actually felt.
«You’ll like this too, I think», Hazel replied. She had never met a boy who had read Gaskell without deriding it, arguing that she only did so for the love story. Given the social issues and its undertones depicted, she thought they were much more than that, even if she did like the romance as well. Would they consider it the same if she was named Elliot instead of Elizabeth? «I haven’t read much yet though. I’m only able to do so when there’s nothing to do here, but there’s always something else to do».
«Not that I’m complaining», she added after a small pause, «I like to help my father». It was always the same. One of the reasons why she was always so quiet was because when she was not, she managed to say something that came out differently than what she had meant.
«Don’t worry. I understood», Jack said, finding himself smile.
«And what else can I help you with? », they heard Mr. Bevan say as he approached the counter, followed by Mary.
«I think this is all», she said, looking in her handbag for the wallet and handing the grocer the money.
Jack and Hazel had stopped talking, their boldness having left them meanwhile.
«And here’s your change. Let me know what you found of the cabbage», Mr. Bevan said as Hazel packed the bags.
«I will. Thank you», said Mary, motioning her son to pick one of the bags. His mind was still so caught by Hazel, he hadn’t reached to it right away.
Books were the first getaway to get them talking. ‘North and South’ was followed by Shakespeare’s works, by the Hound of the Baskervilles, by Miles Franklin’s My Brilliant Career, Christopher Brennan’s poetry as well as Adam Lindsay Gordon’s. They still got quiet when their parents were close by, but as Mr. Bevan and Mrs. Robinson went outside to pick vegetables from the boxes on display on the pavement, Jack and Hazel had gotten more comfortable around each other and even the silences that still rose were getting less and less awkward.
«Would you like to go for a walk?», Jack asked her one day when he had come to pick up the groceries by himself, his mother too busy making a new dress to a neighbor who needed it for a wedding next week. He had had rehearsed those eight words over and over again, but they had still come out more reticent than what he would have liked.
«I’ll have to ask my father», Hazel said. As much as she wanted to go (and oh how much she wanted it!), she would never risk angering her parents or putting herself in a position where her reputation might be at stake.
Jack waited outside, his heart beating so fast he feared he might faint.
«I’ll walk with you to the end of the street», Hazel said with a shy smile that didn’t do justice to how happy she felt. She had a straw hat on her head and Jack noticed she had taken off the white apron she always wore over her dresses.
The scrape of a broom on the step warned him that Mr. Bevan wasn’t very far way, ready to sweep the pavement in front of his shop very thoroughly until his daughter was back. Jack took note of thanking him next time he came shopping.
They made their way down Bridge Road with a respectful distance between them. It was quite a step and they kept in silence for the first part of their walk, but as quickly as their nerves gave way to the realization that they were losing precious time, they went back to talking like they did at the shop, their conversations not only about books anymore, but also about themselves as well; small revelations of their dreams and hopes, past and fears that stretched over many days.
Jack had started to come by to pick up the groceries by himself more often, leaving his mother grateful for not having another task to add to the many already at hand even if she had noticed how much Hazel Bevan contributed to her son’s willingness.
She didn’t mind it much. The girl seemed to have a sound head on her shoulders, was polite, and appeared to make her parents proud. Mary had never broached the subject with Mr. or Mrs. Bevan, but it was implicit that they didn’t object to the match either. Mr. Robinson loved his son, but was still amazed that Jack had been talkative enough to ensure the girl’s preference though.
«You look very beautiful», Jack had said one day when they were far from the grasp of Mr. Bevan’s hearing. He hadn’t exactly planned to say it in that particular occasion, but those words had been dancing on his lips for a while. Today it had been harder to contain them when her green eyes looked even more lively than usual and her orange dress matched the specks of the same colour on them, when her cheeks were slightly flushed from laughing when he had had to do something close to juggling the bag in order to pick a stray apple that had fallen from it.
«Thank you», she had replied, breath caught in her throat. Other people had told her she was pretty, but the compliment had a different weight coming from Jack. She didn’t know if this restlessness that took hold of her when they were together and that still lingered when they were away was the ‘love’ she had read about so much, but, even with her limited experience, Hazel felt confident enough to say that it wasn’t friendship only either. When she laid at night in the dark, she found herself imagining a future where she was running the shop and Jack were a policeman and they were married and as happy as two people had never been. What a perfect life it would be and even if was still far away (why were they only 16?), this would definitely be the beginning.
They had gotten to the end of the street. Mr. Bevan had put his sweeping on hold for a while to tend to a customer that had arrived meanwhile. Carefully so he wouldn’t drop the bag, Hazel held Jack’s hand. Both swallowed dryly. Her hand might be covered by the delicate grey glove, but it hadn’t mattered. Both had felt shaken to the core.
«I have to go», she said, regretful, when she saw her father outside again.
Jack had too. He was starting to be late, his mother needed those purchases to cook dinner, but he wasn’t able to bring himself to turn away from her and he stood there until Hazel was inside and he could no longer see her running to her room, above the shop, unable to stop smiling. It was such a broad smile her face hurt, but she didn’t care.
Their walks to the end of the street kept going on, eventually developing into a stroll around the circle of Citizens Park, under the watchful eyes of the elderly denizens that spent most days there. They didn’t need to be asked to check on what happened, willing to see everything firsthand and to convey what seemed untoward to the families of the involved.
It hadn’t been easy for Jack to gather the courage needed to ask Mr. Bevan if he could take Hazel there, but the expectation of being able to bask in her company for a little longer had prodded him forward.
When their schedules and their parents allowed it, they would walk around and sometimes even eat an ice-cream if the weather wasn’t too cold. Once in a while, Jack would gift her wooden trinkets he had made at his father’s carpentry shop: a small box, a comb, a picture frame. Hazel was a very talented sketcher and gave him drawings of himself or of her, of their walks and of his favourite scenes from the books they read.
But all that perfect bliss came suddenly to a halt. Hazel had dismissed her pallor with tiredness, but Jack noticed she was getting short of breath rather often and coughed frequently. One day, she had taken to her bed, unable to get up when morning light came through the window, a very worrying sign since she was always the first to rise at home. The doctor was called and medicines were taken and applied, but Hazel’s fever wouldn’t go down, her strength was decreasing by the day, and the intense coughing robbed her of the little amount she still had left.
Even if they were as close as betrothed without actually being it, it would be inappropriate for him to visit her in her room, so Jack wrote her many letters where he conveyed his hope in her recovery and talked about how much he loved her and mentioned all the books they would read, all the plays they would see, and the places they would visit once she restored her health.
Hazel was too weak to read them by herself most times, so her sister did so aloud. There were moments when they seemed to calm her, but there were others when Jack’s words unleashed a torrent of tears, probably because Hazel knew that those books would never be read, those plays would never be seen, and those places would never be visited.
In one rare moment of relief, she had pleaded with her parents to let her see Jack one last time. Set in the decision that since they couldn’t save her, they would do whatever they could to give her as much happiness as possible Mr. and Mrs. Bevan had accepted it.
Crushed by how different the circumstances were from what he had expected for that moment, Jack climbed the stairs and knocked on the door. Her sister opened it and let him in, getting outside afterwards. She was supposed to stand by, but she wouldn’t disrupt their privacy. The context was disruption enough, she thought.
Hazel was laying in bed, the covers pulled up to her neck. Her brown hair had been tenderly combed by her sister and framed her face in two long parts in front of her, extending for what Jack estimated would be elbow-length. He would have never guessed that her artfully-made hairstyles concealed so much.
«Hello », he said.
A flicker of a smile passed across Hazel’s face. The green eyes he had admired so much lit up from behind heavy lids.
«Hello», she replied. Hazel might be nearly lost in a haze of illness, but she could see that he didn’t look very well either. Dark circles rested under his eyes and he seemed about to cry at any moment.
Jack moved to the chair her sister had left by the bed and sat down.
«Thank you for the letters. I like receiving them very much», Hazel said, speaking slowly to avoid behind hit by the necessity to cough again.
«I like writing them», he said with a sad smile. It was true. For some moments it almost felt that everything was alright, that she had simply gone to visit her godmother in New Zealand as she had said she would like to and he was writing to keep her updated and to will her back to him.
Hazel took her hand out from under the covers and stretched it to him, struggling so much to do so both of them nearly broke into tears. Jack took it in his.
«It was a pleasure meeting you, Jack Robinson», she said slowly once again, « I hope I made you happy half as much as you made me. »
«You did. You made an utterly happy man out of me», Jack said, gently squeezing her hand in his. She had long elegant fingers, but in that moment they seemed so small.
«I’m glad to know that», she said, taking in the feeling of his touch, «but you will be happy again, sooner or later. And you will be the best policemen I ever knew. »
Hazel winced in pain. She tried to hide it, but she was too weak to completely camouflage the suffering that flashed across her features.
Jack rose to his feet and kissed her tenderly on the forehead, a brief moment of peace shining again in her eyes.
«Jack», she mumbled, offering him her lips and the chance of a parting kiss, which he took with the heaviest of hearts.
This may not be a very original take, but I hope you enjoyed despite it being rather sad. Thank you again for sending it to me, sadlyoutofideas.
I hope to start working on the next prompt tomorrow.
Thank you so much for reading it. As always, feel free to react. :)
