Free The Walnut Tree by Charles Todd Page B

said, grateful that she hadn’t seen my cousin Kenneth’s letter on the stationery with the embossed coronet at the top.
    A week later as I was checking the identity cards on the more seriously wounded, I saw a head of red hair covered with a very bloody bandage and felt the shock of instant recognition. It was Rory, and I went quickly to him, looked at his card, and then said, “Can you hear me? It’s Elspeth, my dear. You’re home. In England.”
    He opened his eyes. They were dazed with pain, but with a head wound, there was no relief that could be offered.
    â€œElspeth?” He frowned, trying to see my face clearly. “Is it you?”
    â€œYes, of course it is,” I said, smiling. I could see how a bullet had scraped his skull, the skin raw where the bandage ended. “Would you like some water?”
    â€œWhy are you dressed like that?” he asked. “Is there a costume party?” And after a moment he added, “My father did write, didn’t he? I’d forgot.” He fought the confusion, and then his mind cleared. “Yes, I’m very thirsty.”
    I held him so that he could drink, and he said as he finished sipping the cool water, “You shouldn’t be doing this sort of work.”
    â€œI’m good at it. I want to do it,” I told him. “Please, Rory, don’t tell your father. It’s important to me.”
    â€œAll right. I won’t give you away.”
    â€œIs there any word of Bruce?”
    â€œYes, thank God. He was a prisoner, but managed to escape.”
    I felt a guilty rush of relief. So far our family had fared better than most. So many hadn’t been as lucky.
    And then I was called away. When I came back, Rory had been put on the train and there was no time to go and search for him.
    I wanted to write to my cousin Kenneth that night, to tell him that Rory had been wounded but that I believed he wasn’t in any danger. But how could I, without explaining where I’d come by such information? I was supposed to be in Cornwall, not in Dover. The Army would inform him soon enough, surely.
    I fought a battle with my conscience over my decision.
    In the end, I asked Sister Tomlinson to write the letter. Curious, she wanted to know why I couldn’t attend to it myself.
    â€œAfter all, you saw this officer. You judged his condition.”
    I hadn’t realized that my decision to become a nursing Sister would be so fraught with peril. I was becoming quite adept at lying.
    â€œI know his brother,” I said finally. “I shouldn’t care to have the family think my letter was an attempt to curry favor.”
    She laughed. “An Earl’s son? You’re remarkably foolish, Elspeth. How could you not wish to have them in your debt?” But she wrote the letter as I dictated it, and I was grateful.
    There was always the possibility that with his multitude of contacts in the War Office, the Home Office, and the Foreign Office my cousin would hear that his ward was in the Nursing Service. And if he didn’t approve, he could easily put an end to it. What I hoped was that by the time he discovered the truth, I’d have had a chance to demonstrate my skill, to prove that I was a good nurse, something to weigh in the balance against his disapproval. A very small hope, but all I had.
    The opportunity that I’d been waiting for came sooner than expected. With only twenty-four hours’ warning, seven of us were ordered to France to relieve Sisters who were being rotated home with the next convoy. I sent word to Mrs. Hennessey to hold my letters until I knew where I’d be posted and boarded the next ship to make the crossing to Calais.

Chapter Five
    T he first person I saw as we made our way out of Calais toward the Front was Henri Villard, arguing with a British officer in the middle of the road.
    Our ambulance driver was on the point of sounding his horn when I put a hand on his