Outpost Hospital (12 page)

“You miss it very much, don’t you, Andrew?”

“Yes, Kathie, I do,” he admitted with a sigh. “This place has its own beauty but sometimes I long for the lochs and the wooded slopes and the tumbling streams. You’ll love it. In summer the lanes are fringed with honeysuckle and wild roses.”

“It sounds beautiful.”

“It will be more beautiful to me because you will be there seeing it with me, Kathie.” She laid her head on his shoulder and they were silent for a moment quietly content, he completely happy, she happy in his tender love, having pushed away all other thoughts for a while. But suddenly she remembered something that shattered the peace of the moment. She straightened up.

“Andrew!”

“What’s the matter, my dear? You look bothered.”

“Have you told your sister—about our engagement?” she asked hesitantly.

Andrew’s face clouded. “Yes,
Kathie, I told her last night.”

“She hasn’t said anything to me about it,” said Katherine unhappily, “though I’ve seen her several times today. So I wondered if perhaps you had pot told her yet.”

“It’s no use my pretending Mary is pleased about it, though for the life of me I can’t think why she should not be.”

“I have tried not to do anything to upset her, but I’m afraid she doesn’t like me very much,” said Katherine, adding to herself, “and that is putting it mildly.”

“Oh, it can’t be that,” Andrew assured her. “How could she fail to like you when you’re the sweetest, dearest girl in the world?”

Katherine smiled. “I’m glad you think so, Andrew, but it is possible that not everyone would agree with you.”

“No one in their right senses would disagree,” he declared stoutly. “No, love. I don’t think it’s anything personal that makes Mary seem unfriendly. It’s as I’ve said, she needs a holiday. She’s never liked this place and the climate is very trying, especially after a couple of years without a break. I told her that I was saving my leave for our wedding and honeymoon and tried to persuade her to go home for a while but she refused. I am sorry about this, Kathie. It spoils things just when I want more than anything for you to be happy.”

She raised her arms and clasped her hands behind his neck. “I am happy, Andrew,” she said fondly, “and I’m not going to let anything spoil things. So stop worrying.” She laughed. “What a pair we are!” Fretting over all sorts of things we can’t do anything about.”

“You’re quite right,” said Andrew, kissing her lightly on the forehead.

“Let’s forget everyone and everything but us,” Katherine said. “Tell me about your life before you came to Nigeria, Andrew. I know very little about you really.”

“There’s very little to tell. That’s the usual answer when one person asks another to tell them about themselves. But it’s quite true in my case. My life has been uneventful—before I came to Nigeria especially.”

“Why did you come here, Andrew? I mean, what made you decide to come, not what you came for—if you know what I mean?”

“I know, Kathie. Since I was a child I’ve heard about missionaries, put my pennies in boxes to help send them abroad and sometimes one would come to talk about his work to the Sunday school. I thought it was wonderful of them to go out to the far corners of the earth to spread the Gospel. Then when I was on vacation from the university, a missionary from Africa came to Ardrishaig. He stayed at the manse and we talked for hours, and by the time he left I’d made up my mind.

“Didn’t your parents mind you going so far away?”

“My mother died when I was twelve and father was all in favor of my coming. In fact he rather envied me. I think he would have liked to be a missionary himself when he was younger.”

“He is a minister too, isn’t he?”

“Yes. He came to Ardrishaig straight from university and he’s been there ever since. He’s really happy there; he loves the place and the people but sometimes, I fancy, he feels a bit restless.”

“Tell me about when you were a child.”

“Well, let’s see. Looking back it seems as though I had two lives. One was my life as the minister’s son, quiet and well behaved—going to the kirk three times on Sundays and handing round scones when we had visitors to tea; then there were the times I was just me. I’d go fishing or riding or roaming about the countryside—usually with Mary.”

“Didn’t you go to school?”

“Not until I was ten. Father gave us our early education. Mary went away to school when she was twelve.”

“You must have missed her when you’d always been together.”

“Yes, I did, for there weren’t many children in Ardrishaig. But soon after Mary went to school a new doctor came and he had a daughter just a bit younger than me. We became great friends.”

“Are you still great friends?” asked Katherine, teasingly.

“Oh, yes,” replied Andrew innocently: “We write to each other as often as we can. Fiona tells me everything that happens at home. Makes me feel not so far away.”

“What’s she like?”

“Fiona? She’s a nice girl. Fine horsewoman. She’s a school teacher.”

“What does she look like?” asked Katherine, picturing a hearty, well-built young woman in jodhpurs.

“What does she look like?” Andrew repeated, scratching his head as if to help his concentration. “Well, she’s a bit taller than you and she has fair hair and blue eyes. Just a minute, though—“He put his hand into his inside jacket pocket and took out his wallet. “I’ve got a photo of her. There, that’s Fiona.” Katherine took the photograph and saw, to her surprise, a full-length picture of a very pretty girl sitting on a pouffe. She was slender, with a small heart-shaped face framed by a lot of wavy hair. There was nothing written on the photograph. She handed it back to Andrew.

“She’s lovely.”

He glanced at it. “Yes, I suppose she is,” he said, as if he had not noticed before. “I have an enlargement of this in my room if you’d like ...
er...
”
he hesitated, looking rather embarrassed, “but this is big enough to let you see what she looks like.”

“And this one has no affectionate message written on it,” added Katherine with a smile. “Come along now, confess.”

Andrew laughed. “Och, what a girl you are, ferreting out my guilty secret. Well, now you know all.”

“Hm. I wonder. I have grave suspicions that this is just the start. For all I know Scotland might be littered with brokenhearted young women simply pining for you.”

“What an outrageous thing to say,” cried Andrew, affronted. “There may be a few—there’s Flora, Maggie, Annie, Jeannie—”

“Please, spare me further anguish!” pleaded Katherine. “You’re nothing but a Scottish Don Juan, a ... kilted Casanova. But to get back to Fiona—don’t think I’ve forgotten her—”

“You don’t mind me writing to her do you, Kathie? Seriously, as I told you, we’ve known each other since we were children.”

“Of course I don’t mind, Andrew.”

“Do you want to see the other photograph?”

“No, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“She had this photo taken for my birthday and—you know how it is—when people are far away they get a wee bit sentimental.” Katherine felt there was more to it than that. She suspected that the girl in the photograph cared more for Andrew than he knew.

“I should think she misses you very much. She would be sorry when you left Ardrishaig.”

“Oh, she’s too busy to have time to miss me,” he declared. “I
thought she had her hands full before, with her teaching all the week and in Sunday school and singing in the choir. But every letter I get seems to tell me of some new job she’s taken on—doing her. father’s clerical work, forming a class for Scottish dancing or keep-fit exercises...”
It did not need much imagination to see that this was a lonely girl’s way of filling in her time, reflected Katherine.

“Have you written to her about our engagement?” she asked.

“Yes. You’ll be getting a letter from her. You might even meet her before long.”

“When we go home, you mean?”

“No, perhaps before that. For some time she’s been thinking of coming out here to help with the school. She wanted to come with me when I first came but her mother was ill. Now that Mrs. Graham is well again I’m expecting Fiona to write and tell me that she has applied to the Mission Society to be sent here.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

T
he next few days dragged slowly by. Mark Charlton seemed preoccupied and unable to concentrate; he did his work but was often irritable with the staff; he complained about the lack of space and the poor facilities, which he had never done before.

Katherine tried to carry on in the normal way but she felt on edge all the time, expecting every day that Mark would tell her that he was leaving Ngombe, and as each day passed and he had not said anything, wondering if perhaps he did not mean to go. But she would tell herself that this was a waste of time. One only had to look at Elizabeth Frayne to see that the matter had been decided in the way she had intended it should be. After an unsettling week Katherine went into the office to give Mark the report of the day’s work. It was 8:30 and he was sitting at his table with his head resting on his hands. When she entered he rubbed his face and looked up at her.

“I’ve brought the report, Doctor. Tegu is running a high temperature and I think Joseph is a bit nervous about him. He would feel happier if you had a look at the boy.”

“It’s time Joseph learned to stand on his own two feet,” Mark snapped. “I can’t be everywhere at once.” Katherine was astonished at the sharpness in his voice. He noticed this, and said more gently, “I’m sorry, Nurse. I didn’t mean to bite your head off. I’ll go and see the boy in a few minutes. Sit down will you? I have something to tell you.”

Katherine sat down, feeling depressed. This was it. At last he was going to tell her something she had been expecting for what now seemed a very long time.

Mark did not look at her as he said quickly, “I’m writing to the Mission Society to tell them I wish to leave Ngombe. I’m asking them to send someone to replace me.” He stopped and waited for her to say something. Katherine did not know what to say, She was feeling sorry for him. He was not happy about this.
“I ...
I’m sorry, Doctor,” she stammered. He nodded, aimlessly tidying some papers on his table. “Yes. Well, so am I, in a way. But I think the job I took on was beyond me. There’s so much to do. It’s been rather like trying to keep back the tide with a broom. One gets very discouraged, especially with the constant shortages of everything.”

“You never used to get discouraged until ... I mean, until recently,” said Katherine, distress making her brave.

“Perhaps not,” he conceded, “but probably that’s because I’ve been too busy to think. Anyway, I wanted to tell you straight away. You’ve been a wonderful help, Nurse. I would never have been able to do even as much as I have without you. Of course, I won’t be leaving yet. It will take time to find a doctor to take my place here and I’ll stay long enough to show him the ropes.”

“Thank you for telling me, Doctor,” Katherine said. There seemed nothing else to say. She stood up.

“You will stay on and help the new doctor won’t you, Nurse? Then when your leave is due he will have become used to the routine and the other nurses will take over your work.”

“I’ll do all I can, of course, Doctor.”

“Thanks, Nurse, I know you will. Good night. I’ll go and see Tegu now.”

Feeling very despondent, Katherine returned to the house. She had been prepared for the news she had just received but, still, to have it expressed and made final had been upsetting. Now she knew exactly where she stood, which was what she had wanted. In a few weeks, or it might be months, Mark would leave, and it was unlikely that she would ever see him again. Perhaps that was a good thing. She might be able to forget him. She had Andrew who loved her and she must think about him and try to make him happy. As she passed the living room she heard someone playing the piano. It was a Brahms waltz. The pianist was Elizabeth Frayne for Andrew did not play so well.

As she washed and changed in her room, Katherine thought about Elizabeth Frayne. Did
she
really love Mark? If she did, surely she would not have put her career first when he asked her to marry him. But if she did not, she would not have come here to Ngombe; unless she had come just to prove to herself that she could get him back any time she wanted to. Well, if that was why she had come, Dr. Frayne must be feeling very pleased with herself.

Having achieved her object in coming to Ngombe, Elizabeth Frayne did not intend to stay a moment longer than was absolutely necessary and began to make arrangements for her return to civilization at once.

The night before she was to leave she was in high spirits, though a bit put out because Mark had said he could not go with her as far as Makurdi. When the others had gone to bed and they were alone in the living room she tried to make him change his mind.

“Do come with me, Mark,” she pleaded. “It will be weeks, perhaps months, before we see each other again.”

“I can’t possibly, Elizabeth. It would mean two days away and I’m too busy just now.”

“Oh, very well,” she said grudgingly, “though I do think after all these months you should be able to take two days off.” As he began to protest, she went on quickly.

“All right, keep calm, I’m resigned to the situation, but I hope it won’t be too long before we’re together again and for always.” She went to him. “Darling, darling Mark,” she breathed, clinging to him. Their lips met in a long passionate kiss. Breathless, she leaned against him.

“You won’t make me wait a day longer than you must, will you, Mark? You know how hard it will be—every minute will be like an hour; every hour a day, until you come to me.”

Holding her tightly, his cheek against her soft hair, he whispered, “I’ll come as soon as I can, I promise you, my love.”

“You’ll leave here when the new doctor arrives, won’t you?”

“Not at once, darling,” he said gently. “I shall have to stay until he knows his way around. It’s not the same as handing over an ordinary practice. There are dozens of things to be delved into before I can leave him on his own.”

She frowned. “You won’t be leaving him entirely on his own. There’ll be the invaluable Nurse Marlowe to help him and things will be much easier for him than they were for you. There is a hospital of sorts and a staff.”

“All the same, I’d rather see him properly settled in before I go, and as for Nurse Marlowe helping him—of course she will, but I can’t leave her to do what is my job. She has quite enough to do and she ought to have more time to herself not less, especially now that she’s engaged to Kennedy.”

“The girl must be crazy, tying herself to a penniless missionary,” replied Elizabeth Frayne scornfully. “Imagine spending your life in a place like this.” She shuddered. “In ten years she’ll look and feel like an old woman. There’s no sense in it.”

“No sense, no reason,” he said quietly, and something in his tone made her look at him keenly, “like a thoughtless prodigal.” Seeing her bewilderment, he smiled, “It’s just something Nurse Marlowe said to me once.”

“Nurse Marlowe? You surprise me. She doesn’t seem the lyrical type.

“I don’t think she is, but she was annoyed with me that day,” he explained with a smile.

Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up. “You surprise me more than ever. Did that little mouse actually get angry with you and let you see that she was angry? I wouldn’t have thought she would dare.”

“Nurse Marlowe may be quiet and shy, but she has plenty of spirit. In fact, I don’t know anyone with a stronger character than she has—I know I haven’t.”

“You’re not still worrying about leaving here, are you?” she asked impatiently.

“I can’t help it, Elizabeth,” he admitted. “It will be some time before I get over the feeling that I’m letting a lot of people down.”

“Well, we’ve been into all that more than once, haven’t we? You have the right to live your life as you want. Stop thinking so much about everyone else and think about us—you and me.” She kissed him lightly on the cheek. “What did you do to upset little Miss Nightingale anyway?”

“We were talking about two young patients who had married when the girl was ill. When she recovered and her husband’s condition worsened I told her she must go back to her people and consider the marriage at an end. But she refused and said she intended to stay with her husband, even though it meant risking her own health and never seeing her family again—he suffers from leprosy and so far no treatment has been effective. So I asked Nurse Marlowe what she thought I ought to do.”

“And she said ‘Love is all!’ or words to that effect,” scoffed Elizabeth Frayne.

“You’re quite right,” he told her. “What she actually said was that love doesn’t reason but gives its all like a thoughtless prodigal or something of the sort. I said that was sentimental tosh.”

“I see, and do you still think so or have you changed your mind?”

“I’m not really sure what I think,” he answered slowly, “but it is a nice idea, isn’t it?”

“Oh yes, it’s a nice idea, but one must be a bit practical even where love is concerned.”

“I suppose so,” he agreed with reluctance.

“I don’t understand—” she began.

“I know you don’t, Elizabeth, but don’t worry about it.” He pulled her to him. “You’re beautiful; so beautiful you don’t need to understand.”