Eugenia stayed later at the hospital than she expected. The patient she had left a few hours before was not so well and wished her to be with him. So she sat holding the boy’s hand and talking to him gently until he had fallen asleep. It was curious that Eugenia, who was always so stern with well persons, was wonderfully sympathetic with her patients. She was firm, of course, but only when she felt it necessary for their good. For Eugenia was not a “butterfly” nurse, the name that has been applied to the fashionable society women who have been caring for the wounded as much for their own entertainment as the soldiers’ good. So somehow, in spite of her American French, the boy she had been tending preferred her to remain by him rather than his own countrywoman.
[104]
She was very tired when she slipped away. She had come to the field hospital at eight o’clock in the morning, worked until four, then spent two hours in the trenches and afterwards another two hours at nursing again. For it was after eight o’clock when she started for home.
Naturally no one appreciated that Eugenia was returning alone. Of course, in war times the Red Cross nurses had grown accustomed to caring for themselves as well as other persons. Nevertheless, this evening the circumstances were unusual. Eugenia was a stranger in a strange land. She had only recently come to this portion of France, was unfamiliar with the country, which was filled with regiments of soldiers. Moreover, the night was uncomfortably dark. Had the doctors or attendants at the field hospital known of her departure, one of them would have insisted upon accompanying her.
However, no one is sensible when tired. So for some reason, although a little nervous at the prospect ahead of her, Eugenia got away without being seen. She was[105] determined to give no trouble. Of course, if she had been Barbara, or Nona, or Mildred she would have considered it fool-hardy, almost wicked, to have attempted walking a mile in the darkness alone. But with Eugenia Peabody the case was different. No one had ever thought of looking after her in her life, and surely no one would begin now.
The first part of her trip home was along a path through the open fields. As Eugenia hurried on toward their little adopted home she began wondering if the girls had missed her at supper time. This was the pleasantest hour in all their day. Then possibly because she was weary she decided that they had probably been glad to be relieved of her presence. For no one of the American Red Cross girls really cared much for her. Of this Eugenia was convinced. Nona and Mildred both tried to be kind and Barbara behaved as well as she could, except on occasions when she felt especially antagonistic.
Once or twice Eugenia stumbled, not because there were difficulties in her way[106] but because she was thinking so deeply. What could be the trouble with her nature? As she was in a mood of severe truthfulness with herself she realized that no one had ever loved her a great deal in her entire life.
Left an orphan when she was a few years old, she could not recall her mother or father. Of course, her Aunt Rebecca, who had brought her up, had been reasonably fond of her. But Eugenia was convinced that she had never been an attractive child.
Yet why, tonight of all nights, should she fall to thinking of herself? And why in this darkness and in a foreign land should she have such a clear vision of the little girl in the old New England town?
One thing she recalled most distinctly: she must have always looked old. Strangers used to discuss her and people used always to expect more from her than from the other children of the same age. Moreover, she had always been painfully shy and this shyness had colored her whole life.
As a child she simply had to pretend to feel superior and to be serious-minded,[107] because she did not know how to play and laugh like the others did. Since she had been grown up, and for the same reason, she had gone on behaving in the same way.
Often here in Europe with the other Red Cross girls she had wished to be as gay and nonsensical as they were. Yet she never knew how to relax into a frivolous mood.
Once the tears actually started into Eugenia’s dark eyes. She realized that now and then she had even been jealous of her three companions. Nona and Barbara were so pretty and charming and Mildred had qualities finer than these two possessions. Besides, the three girls made her feel so dreadfully old. This is never an agreeable sensation after twenty, however much the teens may aspire to appear elderly. Then Eugenia managed to smile at herself, although it was a kind of twisted smile. It occurred to her to wonder if she had failed to like Barbara Meade because it was Barbara who had first suggested that she must be a great deal older than the rest of them.
Deliberately Eugenia now began to walk[108] slowly. She did not wish to arrive at home in her present mood. Having passed through the fields, she was now on her way through the lane that led through an open woods directly to the “House with the Blue Front Door.” Dozens of times Eugenia had made this trip in the daytime, but a country road has a very different appearance at night. Moreover, the trees made the lane seem far darker than the path through the open fields.
It was stupid not to have brought her electric flashlight! However, nothing had so far disturbed Eugenia’s progress. Not one wayfarer or soldier out upon leave had she encountered, although the neighborhood was thickly populated with men and women living on the outskirts of the entrenchments.
Eugenia hoped that if she should meet a passerby he might be a soldier. There were but few of them who would not respect her uniform. However, she was beginning to forget her previous nervousness, for this lane was not a frequently traveled one. It merely led past their[109] little house into the heavier woods beyond, where Barbara and Nona had told of their discovery of the deserted hut and the pool of Melisande.
There was no moon and Eugenia was making little noise. She had a fashion of being able to get about almost soundlessly, a characteristic she had cultivated in the sick room until she could move almost as quietly as an Indian.
Then suddenly she began to feel more sensible and cheerful............