Lifeblood
By Mike Kanner
I am the second Mrs. Roberts. Death brought us together.
# # #
LONDON 1910
I was a staff nurse assigned to the delivery ward at the Royal London Hospital. This was mostly a joyful experience with me helping new mothers and children. But there were times when the result was a tragedy.
It had been a difficult birth, and both the mother and child were lost. The doctor asked me to accompany him when he gave the husband the news. The waiting room was filled with men and a few children. Many looked up when the doctor entered. They knew his presence was probably not good news, and each hoped it was not their name that would be called.
"Mr. Roberts?" The doctor announced. A pale young man with jet black hair nervously twisting his flat cap in his hand stood up and came over. "My wife?"
"I'm sorry…." The doctor started.
The young man knew how this sentence ended. He briefly moaned before asking. "And my child?" The doctor shook his head. The poor man collapsed into the nearest chair. Others avoided looking at him to give him some privacy in his grief.
"Mrs. Childs here," the doctor nodded in my direction, "will stay with you if you have any questions. Again, I am sorry for your losses."
The doctor left, and I took a seat next to Mr. Roberts. Fortunately, I had already changed my blood-soaked apron.
"How?" The young man looked up and asked.
Although I'd attended a few births where women bled to death, I never knew how to soften the account. "There is normally some bleeding when a child is born. Unfortunately, with your wife, it didn't stop."
"And my child?"
"The doctor thinks that the stress of the delivery was too much. It was a girl, by the way."
He stared ahead of him. "June wanted a girl. She said she was going to have a girl." He went quiet for a minute or two and then turned to me. "Can I see them?"
"That can be arranged." I knew that the bodies were on the way to the morgue. So instead, I moved them to a private room and then returned to the waiting room to collect Mr. Roberts and bring him to the room. One of the other nurses had done her best to make it look like they were just asleep. I showed him in and then waited outside the room so he could mourn in private.
A quarter-hour later, he came out, took a seat in the hall and just stared at the floor.
"Would you like a cup of tea?" I asked. "We have an urn at the nurses' station."
"Ta."
I got us two mugs of tea. When I got back, I gave him his and sat next to him. He sat up and sipped his tea.
"Do you have any children?" He asked.
"No. My husband died before we could have any."
"What did he die of?" I would generally have been upset at this personal question, but I felt it might help if I shared my grief.
"Blood poisoning. He cut his hand at work, and it went bad quickly. He was dead within a few days." My memory was sitting next to him in the hospital, wishing there was something to do to stop the infection.
He continued to stare ahead and sip his tea. "Do you still grieve?"
"I do."
He finished the tea and stood. "Thanks for the tea. I'll be going now."
I looked into his eyes and saw how filled with misery they were. His whole world collapsed as mine had when my husband died. I touched his arm. "It can be rough. If you need to talk …."
"Again, thanks for the tea." He handed me the mug and left.
# # #
I was working the evening shift a week later when Mr. Roberts came by.
"Mrs. Childs?" I turned and saw the young man. His face still showed his pain. "You'll not be remembering me, but you sat with me when my wife and child died."
"I remember." I recalled his leaving and hoping that he found some way to survive his sorrow.
"Well, I wanted to come by and thank you and the doctor. I know you did all you could." He turned to leave.
"I'm about to go to dinner," I announced. "The canteen isn't much, but they serve a decent meal. That is, if you'd care to join me."
He gave a faint nod. "That would be nice."
We walked down to the canteen in silence and got a bowl of stew and a roll before finding a table where we could sit. I brought over two mugs of tea.
We had been eating for a few minutes when he spoke. "I miss this."
"The stew's not that good." I joked.
He grinned. "No, I meant eating with someone."
I nodded in agreement. "It's the small things."
"June always complained that I ate too fast." He said. "That I didn't appreciate how hard she worked to fix a meal. She would only serve me small amounts at a time so that I would slow down." He went quiet for a time. "Funny what you remember."
"It is." We finished our meal and sat there while he looked around and sipped his tea. Unfortunately, the wall clock showed that our time was up. "Sorry, my dinner break is over. I need to be getting back."
"Of course." He picked up our bowls and returned them to the kitchen.
"Thanks." He said while walking me back to my ward. "This felt good. It felt normal."
I knew what he meant. After my husband died, I lost weight because I didn't want to eat alone. "We could do this again if you'd like."
"Maybe. I don't want to put you out."
"No trouble."
He pulled on his cap and left.
# # #
Two weeks later, I was picking up an order from my butcher when I saw a flat cap pulled tight on a crown of jet-black hair. The man underneath seemed lost.
"Mr. Reynolds."
He turned. "Aye, Mrs. Childs. How are ya?"
"Good. How are you getting on?"
"A little better each day, but there is still a big hole."
All I could do was nod in sympathy. Although my Harry had been dead for three years, I still missed waking up next to him or crawling into a bed with a warm body if I had been working nights. Seeing him study the butcher's array of cuts, I thought he could use some help.
"They're all quality bits." But, unfortunately, that did not seem to help. "Let me guess. You've never had to cook for yourself?"
He shook his head. "No, I went from my mum's to married. June did all the cooking. Mum died, so there's no going back there for my meals."
"What have you been eating?"
"A bit of bread and cheeses for brekkies. The factory serves a lunch, and I usually get somethin' at the pub or open up tinned meat for dinner."
"That's not healthy or cheap."
"It's not. Which is why I thought I'd try my hand at cooking. But all this?" He pointed at the display case and the hanging meats. "They look familiar, but I've no idea what to do with them."
"Okay." I turned to the counter. "Sausage is the easiest, especially if you're cooking for one. A link or two with some bread and a veg makes a nice meal. All you have to do is throw the sausage on a pan over low heat until the center is cooked. If you cut them up before you throw them in the pan, it only takes a few minutes."
He sighed in relief. "That's a help."
"You can also ask Mr. Weiss. He'll tell you the best way to cook any meat he sells."
"That would be grand, but I'll just stick with the sausage now."
# # #
Two weeks passed before I saw Mr. Roberts again. And again, it was at the butcher.
"Mr. Roberts! Still on a sausage diet?"
"Mrs. Childs." He turned and grinned. It was the first time I had seen him smile. He was very handsome. "No, although the first few were not much more than charcoal. I think I've got the hang of it now."
"Aye," Mr. Weiss chimed in. "The lad's advanced to steaks and chops." He placed a package in front of Mr. Roberts. "And here you go. Now remember, you need to mind them unless you're partial to shoe leather."
"Ta." Mr. Roberts handed over the coins to cover his bill.
"Well, I'm glad to see you're getting on."
"Mrs. Childs." He began to stammer. "I was wondering. I mean, if it's no trouble. If you could …."
"Perhaps you should just come out and ask."
He took a breath. "You see, it's June's birthday this Sunday, and I was going to visit her grave. I don't want to go alone, and I don't know many people."
"And you would like me to accompany you?"
He sighed in relief. "Aye. I know it's probably your day off and everything. I'd buy you tea for your troubles."
I nodded. "Mr. Roberts, I would be honored. Where is she buried?"
"East London Cemetery."
"My husband is buried there as well. I can visit his grave at the same time. When would you like to meet?"
"She's not far from the Princess Alice memorial. If we could meet there about two."
"I will see you then."
# # #
I arrived a little past two to find Mr. Roberts already there pacing. His eyes lifted when he saw me. "I thought you'd not come."
"I promised I would. By the way, I brought some flowers for the grave." I handed him one of the two bouquets I was holding.
"Thanks, much appreciated." He sighed and then pointed to a row of freshly dug ground. "They're over there. Our baby is buried with my June."
We walked over and stood quietly. Mr. Roberts placed the flowers on the temporary headstone that marked the grave.
After a few minutes, I thought he needed time to himself. "I'll give you some time alone. We can meet back at the Monument." He nodded, and I walked over to my husband's grave. I cleaned some of the leaves and dirt from the headstone and placed the other bunch of flowers on it. After a few minutes, I walked to the Monument to meet Mr. Roberts.
He was wiping what I assumed were tears from his eyes.
I touched his arms. "It's okay."
"Hard to think that's her and our baby down there."
He gave his eyes a final wipe and pulled on his cap. Then, nodding toward the entrance, we walked through the cemetery in silence. When we got to the gate, he turned to me. "Ta for coming. Now, I promised you tea."
"It's all right if you'd rather not."
"No, I'd like some company."
I put out my arm for him to take. "My friends call me Abigail."
He took my arm. "Thomas."
"Please to know you, Thomas." We then walked out in search of a cafe for tea.
# # #
Tea that afternoon was followed by regular walks in the parks, dinners, and the occasional music hall. We celebrated happy times like birthdays and holidays; and found solace with each other in our shared losses. Over the next four years, my affection for him grew.
At first, I took his quiet for grief but found that he was a thoughtful, peaceful man with a lovely smile. When he did talk, his voice had the lyric hints of his native Wales. He was kind and always willing to listen to my complaints about work or my grief over a lost patient. He wasn't overly romantic, never expressing affection with more than holding hands or walking arm in arm. I remember his embarrassment one Christmas when I caught him under the mistletoe for a kiss. However, I also remember him embracing me so it lasted and the tender look in his eyes when we parted. Over the next four years, I found myself looking forward to spending time with him. No matter how tired I was from work, I was restored when I saw him in my landlady's front room, all cleaned up and smiling.
What we had wasn't passion, but over time I thought of it as love.
# # #
As it did for many, the declaration of war changed things for us. My hospital was designated a receiving hospital for wounded from the Front, and as a more experienced nurse, I was placed in charge of a recovery ward. Thomas enlisted in the 1st Royal Welsh (Territorial). Between my increased responsibilities and his military training, scheduling time to see each other was difficult.
It was late October before we could spend time together. We met, as we often did, at a small tearoom near the hospital.
Arriving first, I secured us a table for two in what was already a crowded room. He came in a little while later, saw me and came over to sit.
"You are looking very smart, Thomas."
He placed his hat on the table and took a seat. "Ta. You're a welcome sight, Abigail."
The waitress came over and took our orders.
"So, how is it in the Army?"
"Training's a bit stiff, but my officer and sergeant are all right. My Welsh is coming back." He gave a slight grin. "The chaps use it when they don't want the officer to know what they're on about."
"Does that work?"
"They thought it did. But he stopped them cold on parade when he gave the commands in Welsh." He laughed. "Turns out he's a right Taffy raised in Cardiff. Caught them on the back foot. The rest of us couldn't stop laughing." His grin grew. "It was worth the extra quarter-hour of drill."
Our tea arrived with a choice of cakes. Harry took two and dug in. He still ate quickly, which probably served him well in the service.
"And everything else? Have they told you when you will be going over? What it will be like?" I had already seen what the war did to young men's bodies. I didn't want to think about that for Thomas.
He stopped to answer. "They all secret about the when, but I think it will be soon. They've been less about the drill and more about trench fighting." He was quiet again.
I reached across to squeeze his hand and left it there. Harry stared at our joined hands.
He looked up. "You're nursing soldiers now."
"Aye."
"How bad is it?"
I sighed and took my hand back. "I'd rather not."
"Sorry, I was out of line for asking."
"It's just …."
"No, you're right. Today should be about the good."
We finished the rest of our meal in silence. When we were done, Thomas went to pay and was told the elderly gentleman in the corner had already covered it. We went over to thank him. He stood up as we approached and stuck out his hand for Thomas. "Sergeant Higgins, Grenadier Guards, retired. Thought you and your gal deserve a free meal before you go over."
Thomas blushed at the mention of me being 'his gal.' I answered for us. "Thank you so much. It is very kind of you."
"My pleasure. Now you two enjoy your time together." He turned to Thomas. "That's an order, Private," and patted Thomas on the back.
The weather was still lovely, the leaves had just started to turn, and we decided to tour one of the public grounds. Unfortunately, Hyde Park had been turned into a military training site, so we took the trolley to Victoria Park instead. I took Thomas's arm as we toured the garden.
"It didn't embarrass you?" He asked. "What he said about you being my gal?"
"No, why should it? I would be proud to be the girl of a fine soldier such as yourself."
Thomas stopped, turned to face me and took both my hands in his. "What about being his wife?"
"What?"
"Abigail, I'm asking you to marry me."
"But …"
"I know I'll be going over soon, and I'm not expecting to bed you. It's just I want to have someone to come back to. I want that person to be you."
"I will be here for you, married or not."
"I know. You're a good woman and a grand friend. I don't know what I'd done the last few years if you hadn't been there."
"I look forward to our time together. But why marriage and so suddenly?"
Thomas was quiet and took both my hands in his. "I talked to one of the men that'd come back. We'd hoisted a few, and he told me it's a bloody mess. He's the only one of his squad still alive and in one piece. Well, if I catch it, I want you to have my benefits. I've no one else to give them to."
I looked at this sweet man, and tears started to form. "Thomas, I would be proud to marry you. And when I do, I fully expect you to come back to me. I'd rather have you than all the jewels in the Tower."
"Oh, that's grand!" Thomas pulled me close for a kiss. It surprised me but was welcome. I hadn't realized how much I wanted him.
Apparently, our display upset a passing matron. "Soldier or not, this is no place for that type of behavior."
"It's the very place," he declared. "This lady just agreed to marry me," and went back to kissing me.
# # #
Because we did not know when he would be going over, we got a special marriage license. Thomas got a 24-hour pass, and his regimental chaplain married us. Since neither of us had family nearby, it was a small wedding with just a few of my fellow nurses and some of his squaddies. Afterward, there was a tea and cake reception in the Church Hall. We had a picture taken with him in his uniform and me in the one good dress I had to wear.
That night we returned to my rooms. Thomas stopped in the front hall as he always did when we'd been out. "Well, I'll be off."
I toyed with the bridal bouquet I was still holding. "Thomas, you can come up, you know."
"But your landlady." He nodded to her room.
"Thomas we're married now. She'll have no objection."
"Married. Right. We are."
I leaned in and kissed him before taking his hand and guiding him up to my room.
# # #
We only had the one night together because Thomas' regiment went overseas within a week. I saw him off at Victoria Station on my way to a shift at the hospital.
"Now you listen to me, Thomas Roberts." I started to cry. "You are to come back to me. You're not to make me a widow again."
Thomas held me and let me cry into his shoulder until they were called to formation. "Now, Nurse Roberts, give us a kiss and a smile to remember you by."
I pulled him so close I could almost feel his heart beating and kissed him until his sergeant called out. "Miss, now you need to release my soldier, or I'll have to charge you for holding up the war."
# # #
Even though mail to the Front was slow and there was little chance of hearing from Thomas, I wrote daily. The first letter included our wedding picture.
At the hospital, we began receiving soldiers injured during what was called the "Race to the Sea" as if it were a school relay. With each soldier I tended, I prayed that Thomas was safe. Listening to them talk gave me more information about the war than what the papers were allowed to print.
I was changing the bandages on a young soldier with part of his arm amputated due to gangrene. The smell of rotting flesh meant the operation was not successful. Nevertheless, I tried to smile and keep a cheerful appearance.
"You're a pretty one." Good-natured flirting was expected with the young soldiers. "Please tell me you're not married."
"Sorry, private. Married to a soldier. He's in France with the Royal Welsh Fusiliers." I showed him Thomas's uniform button that I wore on a necklace since we hadn't time to get a ring.
"Royal Welsh." The man in the next bed, whose eyes were bandaged, noted. "Those poor buggers are catching hell up in Ypres."
"Here now," the soldier I was bandaging exclaimed. "No need to be worrying her." He turned back to me and gently spoke. "I'm sure your man's making sure he's safe. Look at what he's coming back to." I gave a weak smile in response.
# # #
It had been a long shift. As soon as a bed was emptied, another soldier filled it. On my way home, I had stopped by the shops to buy socks, a scarf, a sweater and other items the newspapers said soldiers would want. I hadn't heard from Thomas but told myself he was busy and the mails were slow.
My landlady was in the front room.
"Hello, Mrs. MacDonald." She stood and turned. It was then that I saw the telegram in her hand.
"No!" I fell to my knees in tears.
Mrs. MacDonald came over and helped me to a chair. "Would you like me to read it for you?"
I could only shake my head. I knew what it meant.
"Here, let me help you to your room."
Once alone, I opened the telegram. It was to the point. "The War Office regrets to inform you that your husband, Private Thomas Roberts, Royal Welsh Fusiliers, was killed on the 22nd of November near the La Bassée Canal, Belgium."
I spent all that night crying while staring at our wedding picture and the telegram. I was twice widowed before the age of thirty.
# # #
A week later, I received a letter from his commander along with a package. The letter said that Thomas was a good soldier, well respected and liked by the other men in the company. He had just taken a position in an observation post when a German sniper shot him. Death had been immediate, and he had not suffered. His loss was felt by all members of the company.
I opened the package and stared at his blood-soaked kit. His paybook with our wedding picture was on top. He was buried in Belgium along with other members of his company.
Tomorrow, I'll lay flowers at the graves of his first wife and my first husband.
Death brought us together once. Soon, death will bring us together again.
Mike Kanner writes short stories and does not limit himself to one genre. He has published historical fiction, literary fiction, romance, and fantasy in anthologies and magazines in the US and England. He has also published academic articles on decision theory and teaching. Before turning to fiction writing, he was a career officer and a university lecturer. He likes to spend his free time hiking and biking the Colorado Foothills.
