CHAPTER XIX
A Parting of the Ways
AFTER Dick Thornton had gone back to his ambulance work, Barbara told Nona that she had made her husband a promise. This was because she felt that she owed it to him to do what he wished of her, and also because Dick’s wishes were a part with her own desire. As soon as there was an opportunity, and Eugenia had no especial need of her services, Barbara had agreed to return home. She would find another nurse in New York and send her to the American hospital, paying her expenses; so that the Red Cross work would not lose but gain by the exchange.
Barbara wanted her home and her baby and would wait there as serenely as she could until the war was over and Dick again at home.
And Nona agreed that in this Barbara would be doing the wiser and finer thing. It is not intended that all of us desert our obvious duties for more romantic and stirring ones, although there is, of course, a war duty for each one of us. The personal sacrifice it may be of one’s love, of one’s money, sometimes only of one’s desire, is what counts in the end.
Unexpectedly, Nona Davis was also to face a difficult problem. She was not aware of what was before her nor would she have said the fact, or rather her acceptance of the fact, involved a problem. But she was to find out very soon.
She and Philip Dawson had continued seeing each other in their former friendly fashion whenever it was possible to meet.
Philip had apologized to Nona for having mentioned the suspicion in camp against Lieutenant Kelley, saying that he himself had met and deserved the fate of all officious persons. However, he added that he was so glad Lieutenant Kelley had been entirely cleared that he was willing to accept his punishment, provided Nona would finally forgive him.
There was no mention between them of Barbara Thornton’s name. Philip believed Nona had told her friend of the gossip involving her name, but realized that she would certainty not wish to discuss Mrs. Thornton with him. Nor was there anything further from his wish.
There were so many other interesting things in this wide world for them to talk about, subjects which had nothing to do with gossip, or scandal or with other people.
Always there was the war and what might take place tomorrow. Always there was an argument of whether peace was six months away, a year, or four years. Then there were the books which Nona and Philip had read, and Nona was obliged to confess that Philip had read a great many more than she had. But then he was five years older and writing was his profession. Besides, there was always the inexhaustible subject of themselves. Nona was really not aware of how much they did talk to each other of their past histories, of their future desires and dreams. But Philip Dawson knew and understood far better than Nona what his own attitude confessed. He had also other reasons for knowing deeper and more compelling reasons. Yet, because he was older and in many ways wiser than Nona, he appreciated the little streak of coldness in her nature, which was really more shyness than coldness, and feared to awaken her too soon.
Fanciful as we may consider the idea, the old Greeks knew the eternal types of women. In many girls, and particularly in many American girls, we find a faint echo of Diana, who, although she suffered fewer fears than other women, was the more frightened before love.
Before speaking of his feeling to Nona, Philip Dawson would like to have waited longer, to have been able to be more sure of her affection. At the present time, however, he was as much under the command of his superior officer as a soldier.
Considering that he owed it both to Nona and to Madame Castaigne’s consistent friendliness toward him, Philip Dawson went first to her.
After their talk Eugenia recognized once more that she had recently permitted herself to become too engrossed in her personal affairs. She had been thinking of asking for leave and taking Captain Castaigne to his own home in southern France. Now she made up her mind that this would be the wisest thing for them to do.
Certainly if anything which was unfortunate for Nona in the future had come about through her carelessness, Sonya Valesky would never forgive her. Then Eugenia argued that Nona was by no means a child and had the right to choose her own life, although what her choice would be Eugenia could not guess.
Yet she did arrange that Nona should see Philip Dawson alone the next evening, which was infringing upon one of the hospital rules. But Philip Dawson had explained that he was forced to leave France almost at once and there was no other time.
Nona only knew, however, that he wished to see her for an important reason, or that he had made the excuse of an important reason. She supposed he was too busy for them to spend an afternoon together.
It was beginning to turn cool and the night had the brilliance of the sky in early autumn. Only the stars were out, but later the harvest moon would rise over many fields of France and other lands which war had laid waste.
Tonight Philip Dawson and Nona were both glad that the country surrounding them had so far remained serene.
Nona had put on a wrap, but wore nothing on her head.
As they were walking up and down the hospital grounds, which were not large, but had a few shade trees and a small garden, Philip Dawson stopped suddenly and looked closely at Nona.
“Nona,” he began almost irritably, for they had almost unconsciously grown into the habit of calling each other by their first names, “I sometimes wish you did not so often remind me of the old fairy story of ‘Beauty and the Beast’ when I am with you. It is not that I wish you less fair, my lady, or that until recently I have ever given much thought to my own unhappy appearance.”
Nona laughed, having by this time entirely forgotten that she had ever considered her companion less interesting and less good looking than she did at present. For, of course, she had come to the frequent feminine conclusion that she infinitely preferred a man to be clever and well bred in his appearance than merely conventionally handsome.
“Don’t stop walking, please, Philip,” she returned, not answering his foolish speech. “We have only a little while together. I promised Gene we would not be long. Surely you haven’t anything uncomfortable to tell me tonight.”
Philip did not walk on, however, so that Nona stood still, but turned her eyes up toward the sky. She had the impression one so often has that assuredly she was seeing more stars tonight than ever before.
“Would you mind looking at me for a moment, please, Nona?” Philip Dawson suggested, and Nona realized that his voice was not entirety steady, in spite of its humorous inflection.
“I hope you may not think that what I mean to tell you is uncomfortable. You see, to me it is as big and as vastly important as the sky over our heads. And this is not so absurd as it sounds. I love you, Nona, and I am going to start to the United States tomorrow. I have some information which the editor of my paper thinks I had best not try to write over here, but must bring to him in person.”
“But you will be coming back,” Nona answered, with the feminine impulse of putting off facing a situation.
“Only if you say you care for me and wish me to come, Nona. As far as my work goes, I have no idea where I may be sent after my return to the United States. But I shall try to come back to France.”
“You don’t mean you expect me to say just how I feel toward you tonight, Philip, when you have never suggested you were in love with me before,” Nona returned almost indignantly.
It struck her that Philip Dawson would not be like a good many other men. If she told him she did not love him tonight, he would not offer his love to her again. The idea made her indignant, and yet if she were never to see him after this—yet how could she know her own desire?
“I don’t think you are fair, Philip,” Nona answered.
“No, I suppose not,” he returned. “You see, Nona, I had not thought of being fair. I only thought, when the news came so suddenly that I must part from you, of how much I cared for you and hoped you felt as I do.”
Crossing his hands behind him, Philip walked up and down with that little trick of having his head slightly in front of him, which amused Nona always and with which she had grown so familiar. It rather hurt her now, as she stood watching him.
Surely in the three years of her war nursing she should have grown accustomed to the everlasting partings for which, among its other sorrows, war is responsible. Yet lately had she not allowed herself to grow dependent upon her friendship with Philip Dawson, believing that as his work was to report the news of the American camp, he would remain in the same neighborhood as long as she remained? But certainly she had not thought of him as her lover. Their friendship had only been more interesting than any other.
“Won’t you marry me, Nona, when I can come back for you, and not let us discuss being fair just at present?” Philip Dawson protested with a kind of whimsical appeal which was also characteristic of him.
But Nona remained silent.
The moment before she had been surprised now she saw what was at stake with almost painful clearness. Whether she was to lose her friend and lover as well, Nona could not answer him tonight. She had been right, Philip had not been fair.
Men are frequently not fair to girls in this self-same way They will suddenly ask her for all she has to give, her love and the hazard of her life as well, expecting her to have understood and made up her mind before he has spoken. Yet now and then, following this plan, girls have made a tragic mistake. Nona had come near this mistake once, but in Philip Dawson’s case she had not repeated it.
“I am sorry to have you go, Philip, and I shall miss you dreadfully, I don’t care to think how much. But I can’t make you any promise, I can’t answer your question now. If you don’t care for me enough to wait until we have been parted and I have time to think——”
Philip Dawson made an impatient movement.
“Nona, dear, of course I’ll wait if I must. You give me no choice. But I do wish you would remember that I belong to the most impatient profession in the world and that it is a great mistake to spend valuable time in life in making decisions. Will you write me to Paris?”
Nona laughed and slipped her arm through her companion’s.
“Yes, I will write you to Paris and you need not inform me how impatient you are. I don’t how a great deal about you, but I do know that much.”
Then for the next ten minutes the girl and man walked up and down in the garden, talking, perhaps, of other things, but thinking only of their farewell. Nevertheless, Nona was obdurate in her decision and it was, perhaps, as well for their future that Philip Dawson learned tonight she could hold out against his wish. There were not many people in his world who did this for long.
There was a gate before the hospital and she said good-bye to him standing outside. Just for an instant as she saw his long, slender figure disappearing, Nona had the impulse to call him back. The United States seemed so uncomfortably far away. Nona resisted her inclination.
Besides, almost at the same time an unexpected sound attracted her attention.
Except for Philip who was moving rapidly out of sight, the road before the hospital had appeared to be empty.
It was about ten o’clock and there were no carts or trucks filled with provisions on their way to the camp. The movement back and forth between the neighboring villages took place in the early morning and during the day.
Yet Nona saw two figures coming from the village toward the hospital and from the opposite direction to the one Philip Dawson had used.
Possibly someone had been taken suddenly ill and was being brought to the hospital for care.
A moment later Nona recognized that the newcomers were women, and then that they were Madame Bonnèt and Berthe.
With an exclamation of surprise she made a little rush forward, trying to take hold of Madame Bonnèt’s hand.
But in her hand and pressed close against her Nona discovered that she held something warm and soft, which fluttered and made gentle noises.
“Why, Madame Bonnèt, is there anything the matter? Are either you or Berthe ill? Won’t you come in and let me find Eugenia?”
Madame Bonnèt shook her head.
“No, my dear, my errand is to you and it is rather a surprising one.”
She held out the carrier pigeon, which she had been holding in her hand.
“Do you remember one day you asked me to name one of my carrier pigeons for you and tied a little coin about its throat so we could know it? Well, I gave that particular pigeon to Captain Martin by his request, when he went away. And tonight, dear, the pigeon came winging back home. Berthe and I found her just reaching the dove cote, after twilight, and bearing this letter addressed to you. We brought it to you at once. Of course the message may be only a personal one, but then none of us know where the American soldiers have gone or what may have happened to them and the word may bring news of importance. I confess I am frightened.”
And Madame Bonnèt paused, a little out of breath from nervousness and her rapid walk.
Nona’s own hands shook as she opened the letter brought her by so strange and gentle a messenger from an unknown place.
She had a flashlight, which she always carried, so that she could read it quickly.
“No, Madame Bonnèt, the letter is only personal. I am sorry you hurried to bring it to me,” Nona explained, wondering if Madame Bonnèt and Berthe were as amazed as she was by Captain Martin’s action, and also wondering how much she betrayed her own confusion.
But, fortunately, Madame Bonnèt and Berthe insisted on returning home immediately, so that Nona could go upstairs to her room alone.
If she had been surprised earlier in the evening, she was the more so now. Captain Martin had written her a letter which one might have believed a poet could have written, never a soldier. Certainly she had misunderstood his character. But then do men and women ever understand each other?
However, Nona’s last thought was that she would ask Philip Dawson to call upon Sonya Valesky in New York—and then if Sonya liked him—
However, Nona really knew that no one’s opinion would make a great deal of difference now that she was infinitely surer of her own mind than she would have believed possible an hour before.
Well, she had kept faith with herself after all, having always insisted if she ever married she wished an American husband, and now she had found him in France.
But France was to set her seal upon American lives and hearts in many ways before this war ended. The American solders’ work in France had only just begun.
THE END.