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Late that day, Dr Rieckcalled Meg into his office.
‘Sister Dorset, take a seat.’
Meg perched on the edge of the wooden chair. Had Dr Hannington complained about her? Was she in for what Davis would call a right bollocking? She gripped her hands in her lap and met his gaze before he opened her file and looked at the top page.
‘Your record indicates you were the sister-in-charge here prior to Sister Platt, and you served with distinction and calm good leadership through several air raids. Sister Platt has also recommended you to fill her position. Congratulations.’
Meg’s lips parted. That was not what she had expected to hear. Gathering herself together, she cleared her throat and said, ‘Thank you, sir. However, I should tell you there may be an obstacle that you haven’t taken into account. Dr Hannington. He was considering reporting me for insubordination in theatre this morning and—’
Dr Rieck shook his head. ‘I appreciate your honesty. He’s already spoken to me about the incident. I told him a few home truths and reassured him he’ll learn more from his experienced nursing staff if he listens to them. He won’t be a problem.’ Dr Rieck tapped his fingers on the desk before he spoke again. ‘Sometimes new surgeons who are feeling their way take out their—uncertainty, shall we call it, on the nearest nurse. Your record is excellent, and two previous MO’s, Lieutenant-Colonel Smythe and a Dr Ransom, thought highly of your work. Now, Sister Platt will be handing over to you at zero eight hundred tomorrow. Is there anything else, Sister?’
‘Nothing, thank you, Dr Rieck.’
##
Meg sat in the messtent with a fresh mug of coffee and took Geoffrey’s latest letter from the envelope. He was good at conveying information that escaped the censor’s black pen, and she gleaned enough from his wry observations of work near the front lines to know how tough things were. But there was a sense of the tide turning, and an exciting new initiative that would link the far-flung forward stations with mainland hospitals.
She read over his news then looked at her reply so far. Happy that she’d answered his questions, she picked up her pen and continued:
I am enjoying being in charge of the operating theatre again (although I miss Gerry greatly), but I feel there is more I can, and should, be doing. Please understand how grateful I am that you supported my desire to return to Townsville. I can never thank you enough for your belief in me, and for the opportunities that has provided. One of these is the medical evacuation unit – MAETU. I have applied to join it when it begins in the early part of next year. There will be challenges galore, I’m certain, but the prospect of flying closer to wounded soldiers and caring for them as we bring them safely home feels like the right thing to do.
Whenever she wrote to Geoffrey, she adopted more formal language. Just why that was, she didn’t know, but it seemed impossible to change now. Maybe her formal tone was appropriate given she still didn’t know what she would say when he proposed again, as she was certain he would.
‘Sister Dorset.’
Meg looked up. The corporal who delivered the mail was pink-cheeked. Sheepishly, he held out another letter. ‘I’m sorry, Sister, but this one is yours too. It got caught up in the MO’s pile of mail.’
Meg held out her hand. ‘That’s fine, Corporal. These things happen.’
He saluted her and slipped away as fast as he could.
The letter was from Gerry and contained a brief note saying she’d be back in Currajong just after New Year. Setting the note aside, Meg looked at two photos Gerry had included. One was of Jennifer in the park with Vera, and the other was her daughter, dressed as a fluffy lamb. On the back, Gerry had written: Jennifer, aged 1, Nativity play, New Farm, Dec. 1943.
She ran a finger over her daughter’s cute costume and cheeky smile then pressed the photo to her lips.
I miss you, sweetheart. Mummy will be home soon.
