Soldier of the Horse (24 page)

An hour later the troop topped a rise and Tom had a clear view of a broad valley, with fields and woods in a random pattern. Lieutenant Harrower showed Tom his map. Directly below them, the road led to the village of Castel and a bridge over the Avre River, which flowed roughly south to north. On the far or eastern side of the Avre was the village of Moreuil, a mile or so away, and on top of the ridge east of the village was a large wood, the Bois du Moreuil. The lowering sky lent a gloomy atmosphere to the scene, made more sombre by the rumble of desultory artillery.

Movement at the north end of Moreuil Wood caught Tom's eye, directly across the valley. He could just make out a group of horses and men, tiny in the distance, and perhaps even a red pennant. The pennant would be the flag of the Canadian Cavalry Brigade, marking General Seely's position.

The Dragoons led the way down the slope toward the bridge at Castel, the Strathconas and Garrys clattering down the cobbled road behind them. They crossed the stone bridge and started up the eastern hillside toward General Seely's headquarters at the northern edge of the wood. The horses worked hard, pushed by their riders. Suddenly, a trumpet sounded and the brigade thundered ahead at the gallop as they came under fire.

Bullets whistled by Tom, seeming to come from his right, the general direction of the forest. Out in the open, he felt like a target in a shooting gallery. Bending low over Toby's neck, he tilted his helmet to protect his face from the flying clods of earth and stones thrown up by the hoofs of the horses ahead of him.

Something to the right caught his eye. He turned his head and saw a horse down, not moving. A soldier sat on the ground, legs stretched out in front of him, back against the saddle still on his horse's body. The trooper waved an arm as the riders swept by.

Tom concentrated on the horse and rider ahead of him as fear rose in his belly, clenching tight. A bullet could find him at any moment, and he'd be down on the ground, trampled by the following horses. There'd be no stretcher-bearers on this open hillside, raked as it was by enemy fire.

He heard a cry behind him and looked back to see a horse and rider break ranks and quickly fall behind. He didn't know who it was, but he thought of the new men in the troop and the fear they must feel, with no experience to fall back on. Tom, Toby, and the brigade spurred on, up the hill, following the lead riders toward Moreuil Wood.

Nine days before, German forces had broken through where the French and British lines intersected. They were advancing in a southwesterly direction, looking to take the key city of Amiens, which was so close it could be seen from Seely's headquarters. One hundred kilometres south of Amiens by arrow-straight railroad was Paris, the grand prize. The Canadian Cavalry Brigade—Dragoons, Strathconas, Fort Garrys—had been ordered into the breach.

For those nine days the cavalry had fought skirmishes and delaying actions, usually in formations of a squadron or troop. A hundred, or thirty-five men and horses, or even fewer. The nimble cavalry could dash in, fight, and retreat. But this time the whole brigade was committed, and they were already under fire.

♦  ♦  ♦

Ellen sat in the foyer of her father's house, her blue coat on, one knee crossed over the other to allow a black, low-heeled, fashionable walking shoe to bounce up and down. Confining her hair was a matching blue bonnet that she thought of as jaunty, but she didn't feel at all jaunty as she drummed her fingers on the arms of her chair. The otherwise somnolent house was disturbed only by the ticking of the tall clock down the hall and the vague scent of bleach and furniture polish, a leftover from the cleaning lady's ministrations earlier in the day. She tried to calm her chaotic thoughts, impatient for Harry to arrive.

Just when she was ready to leap from her chair and throw something at the wall, she heard approaching footsteps. Confident steps, that crunched on the frosted front walk. She waited until the knocker banged, counted to ten, rose, and opened the door.

“Harry,” she said. “I was waiting for you.” Annoyed that he was late but relieved he had showed up, wanting to bring things to a head.

Harry gave her a hug, but she turned her head as he tried to kiss her, so his lips brushed her cheek.

“Let's go. I've been looking forward to seeing you.” Harry had a broad smile on his handsome face, his eyes dancing.

They set off on their walk. Ellen had agreed to see Harry yet again; he was fast becoming part of her life. Since their first kiss Ellen had melted. She was torn by Harry's ardent attentions and the fading memory of Tom. She had a picture of Tom in her room, where she kept his letters. She gazed at the picture and reread the letters when her mental picture of him faded, but it was harder and harder to relive the joy she had felt with him.

Harry held Ellen close, one arm around her shoulders. She kept her hands in her pockets as if they were cold, refusing to let her body relax against his.

Only the night before, during the night shift at the Winnipeg General, Ellen had been taking a tea break with her friend Winnie when they were joined by two other girls, Sharon and Carol. They volunteered on another ward, though they had jobs elsewhere, and Ellen had come to know them at the hospital.

Sharon had the reputation of being a bit fast but she was always good company. “Guess who has a new boyfriend?” she asked, glancing sideways at Carol.

Carol was a short, curvaceous blonde. “He's not a boyfriend. I hardly know him.”

“Tell them about it,” teased Sharon.

“Never mind.”

“Then I will. Carol was working last Saturday and had to stay late to put away some stock. She was bending over a shelf in a storeroom when a man came up behind her—and when she straightened up he grabbed her and kissed her.”

Carol was beet-red. “He didn't grab me. I wouldn't stand for that. But he did kiss me, and I kissed him,” and she shot a venomous look at Sharon. “And you'd better not tell anyone else.”

“And just who is this new man of yours?” asked Winnie.

“I wouldn't call him my man, but I can't wait to see him again. He works for the Bay too, in the accounting department. He's really good looking. Harry something.”

Ellen had somehow kept her composure, as blood rushed to her face and her hands shook. She wanted to reach across the table and slap Carol, the lying little . . . little . . . hussy. My God, what if it's true? She could hardly bear to sit and drink her tea, and as she finished her shift, she kept her mind busy with work.

Now, as she walked with Harry, her feelings welled up again. It wasn't that she had totally made her mind up about him, but she didn't want to be made a fool of, either. She planted her feet. Harry, surprised, stopped and looked at her. She stood, tall and rigid, chin elevated, searching his face.

“What? What is it?” he asked.

“Do you know a girl named Carol?”

“The only girl I know named Carol works at the Bay.”

“Did you kiss her?” Ellen's voice cracked. “What does she mean to you?”

“Did I kiss her? Did
I
kiss
her
? Absolutely not.”

“That's not what I hear.”

Harry looked like a dog that had been kicked. “I don't know who you've been talking to, Ellen.” His voice got stronger as he went on. “All I know is some girl named Carol, who's a part-time salesgirl, has a crush on me. She left me a note, for heaven's sake. Of course I threw it away. I've never been near her.”

“You didn't kiss her and hug her in the stockroom?”

“Is this some kind of joke? Is someone out to get me, making up stories like that?” Harry ventured to put his arms around Ellen to give her a brief hug. “Come on. Let's walk.”

Ellen stalked beside him, hands still in her pockets. She wanted to believe him, and it was hard not to. He had looked her in the eye and was genuinely upset, she could see that. She knew some girls could make up stories about relationships. But yet . . . They went west along streets lined with elm trees, naked of leaves. Patches of snow clung to the dead grass on the river's banks.

As they came to a cul-de-sac with a small clearing that looked out on the river, Harry fumbled in his pocket, then grasped her left hand. “This may not be the best time for this. But the fact is, Ellen, no other girl means anything to me. I love you, and only you.”

He turned her hand palm down, and produced a ring which he slipped over her third finger.

Ellen was in shock. Her mouth flew open, and she covered it with her right hand.

Harry still held her hand. “Marry me, Ellen. I know there was someone else—I know all about him. But you know we have so much in common. Together we could make a home, move anywhere we want. We can raise a family. I can afford it—I have a promotion coming . . .”

She put her right hand up in the air, palm toward him. “Harry. This is too much. I need to think.” She took off the ring and held it out to him.

Harry took her hand in his, folding her fingers over the ring. “Keep it. I am going to convince you. You are going to put it on one day soon, and I'll be the happiest man in the world. Keep it.”

Once again, Ellen found herself searching Harry's open, assured face. The blue eyes, dark hair, elegant nose, and broad mouth. There was a lot to like.

Harry walked her home and kissed her at the door. Ellen was glad her father was not at home. She knew he approved of Harry, but she was in no mood to listen to his advice. She ran up the stairs, put the ring in a drawer, and sat on the bed, her face in her hands.

After a while she straightened and shook her head. When Ellen felt at a loss she always turned to the memory of her mother, wondering what she would have done in her place. This time, her mother had no answer for her.

♦  ♦  ♦

When the Strathconas arrived at the northwest corner of the roughly triangular Moreuil Wood, the Dragoons were already engaging the enemy on the west side, between the forest and the village of Moreuil, and had swung into the wood itself. Lieutenant Harrower ordered a halt and gathered the men and horses of his troop in a rough circle around him. He and Tom walked their horses from man to man, checking that none of them had been hit, that they were ready for action.

Tom stopped his horse in front of Reg Simpson, who was pale and staring at the ground. “You okay, Simps?” he asked.

Simpson didn't answer. His eyes slid from side to side, not focussing on Tom.

Tom pushed Toby ahead so he was right beside the private, reached out, and gave him a punch on the thigh.

Simpson jumped and met Tom's eye. He looked surprised.

“Okay, Simpson?”

Simpson swallowed. “Okay, Sergeant.”

Tom and Toby trotted back to where Lieutenant Harrower waited at the head of the troop. As they got there, a messenger galloped over from the general's headquarters a hundred yards away.

“Lieutenant, you are to report to General Seely immediately for a scouting assignment. Sergeant, you are required as well.”

Tom was surprised at the request if it meant that both he and Harrower were to be sent off on tasks away from the men of their troop, depriving them of experienced leaders. The brigade was stretched thin, with the Strathconas in reserve, expecting to be thrown into the battle at any moment. Even as he and Harrower trotted by, A and B Squadrons of Strathconas were receiving orders to join the battle in Moreuil Wood. Tom could hear rifle and machine gun fire from the south, where the trees of the wood approached the village of Moreuil. In the distance, aircraft buzzed and droned, circling the forest like buzzards around a sick animal.

Tom and Harrower dismounted at the corner of the wood where General Seely's temporary headquarters had been set up. The general's signal troop and adjutant were in attendance, along with the commanding officers of the three regiments. Messengers were constantly pounding up while others were being dispatched. The general spoke to Harrower and sent him off; he was to take eight men and reconnoitre to the east, to try to gain intelligence of German movements.

With Lieutenant Harrower away leading a scouting party, Tom, as troop sergeant, would take over as troop leader in his place. But it seemed he also was to be sent somewhere, so the next senior noncom, Corporal Dunnett, would assume command. Perhaps this meant the troop would be held in reserve until Tom and Harrower returned to refill the gap in leadership.

Tom didn't like leaving Dunnett in charge. He was a conscientious soldier but too inexperienced to be senior man in a troop of independent-minded men and horses, even if their numbers had been reduced to fewer than thirty by casualties suffered in previous days.

General Seely was gesturing at a map and then at the wood to the south, while the brigade major and Lieutenant-Colonel Macdonald looked over his shoulder. Macdonald turned to Tom.

“Look here, Sergeant,” he said, and pointed at the map. “That's Moreuil Wood, and down to the right of it, at the bottom of the hill, is the village of Moreuil and the Avre River that we crossed to get here. The Dragoons are already engaging the enemy in the wood. We need intelligence, Sergeant. We've had no word back from the Dragoons. How bad is it? Can they drive Fritz out the far end? How many Germans are in there, and what artillery or other support do they have?” He gestured at the general, who was speaking to a private manning a radio. “We can't get a clear picture from the flying corps—radio's not working worth a damn. And they can't see much from the air anyway, given the thick woods. You are to get into the woods and make contact with the men in there, preferably some of the Dragoon officers. Find out what you can, and get back here fast. The general needs to know whether to commit more troops or hold onto a reserve. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Off with you then, Sergeant.”

Tom leapt into the saddle and urged Toby into a canter toward the main part of the forest, only a quarter mile away. The field around him was marked by the passage of horses and men, but he could see breaks in the trees where the Dragoons had pushed into the forest. He slowed Toby, and reined him along the nearest face of the wood until he came to an opening, a slot between the trees.