While My Heart Beats
Synopsis
Johanna Lennox, a working-class Scottish nurse, and Ellie Winthrop, a Voluntary Aid Detachment recruit from a wealthy British family, are thrown together in a general hospital in France during World War I.
When Johanna’s mother dies unexpectedly, Ellie is there to offer the comfort she desperately needs, and their feelings for each other grow into an attraction neither can deny. Johanna is convinced they can’t have a future together and throws herself into her work to escape her pain. She volunteers to serve closer to the front and almost loses her life before being sent home.
When Ellie refuses to give up hope and goes to find her, will Johanna be able to trust that a love born amidst the horrors of the Great War can survive in a post-war world?
What Reviewers Say About Erin McKenzie’s Work
Where Love Leads
“[F]antastic writing for a first book, and I cannot wait to see what McKenzie does next. If you love a feel-good romance that’s built of more than just fluff, you definitely want to read this book.”—Rainbow Book Reviews
“Where Love Leads is an enjoyable book, the characters well developed and the contrast between the fast and furious young love of Kat and Bridget and the slow smoldering mature looks of affection and understanding between Sarah and Lauren was wonderful.”—Lesbian Reading Room
“Though this book touches on some tough subjects, there are plenty of heartwarming moments, and it speaks to the power of healing and surrounding one’s self with supportive and loving people. I’d recommend it if you can handle the tougher parts. It’s worth it in the end.”—Kissing Backwards
While My Heart Beats
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While My Heart Beats
© 2020 By Erin McKenzie. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-63555-590-5
This Electronic Original Is Published By
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, NY 12185
First Edition: May 2020
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Ruth Sternglantz
Production Design: Susan Ramundo
Cover Design by Jeanine Henning
eBook Design by Toni Whitaker
By the Author
Where Love Leads
Taking Chances
While My Heart Beats
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to the Bold Strokes team, whose professionalism and support are much appreciated. To my editor, Ruth—your encouragement and expertise mean the world to me, and I’ve become a better writer thanks to you. To my first readers—Tricia, Mary, and Sarah—thank you for your time and valuable input. To the many authors and readers I’ve met since I began this journey, you inspire me to keep writing, and you’ve enriched my life tremendously. Lastly, to my family—you give me your love, support, and the time and space to accomplish this writing thing. I couldn’t do it without you, and I am deeply grateful. Love you to the moon and back.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to the memory of the nurses and Voluntary Aid Detachment volunteers who gave exemplary service during World War I under difficult and dangerous conditions. Their acts of extreme bravery and compassion saved countless lives and forever changed the role of women in wartime. The impact of these largely unsung heroes was immeasurable, and I am proud to honor them.
Chapter One
October 1915
Ellie watched the driving rain form rivulets on her bedroom windowpane, blurring the massive stone griffins that stood down below, guarding the manor’s main entrance. It was a nasty day, but the foul weather did nothing to dampen her enthusiasm. She was off to join her friends today, but in truth she’d welcome any excuse to get out of the house and away from Mother’s incessant nagging.
She stood before the gilded oval mirror, straightening the collar and smoothing the skirt of her emerald green dress, which showed a bit more ankle than her mother condoned. Violet Winthrop had chosen every bit of decoration that adorned the house, but Ellie drew the line at being another of Mother’s ornaments. She pinned on her new velvet cartwheel hat at a jaunty angle that matched her rebellious mood. Smiling, she glanced around her bedroom, every ornate inch colored in shades of rose, ivory, and gold. Someday, she thought, she’d have her own home, and it wouldn’t be quite so…pretentious.
She headed down the corridor and descended the wide marble staircase into the front hall. While pulling on her coat, Ellie poked her head into the parlor. Her mother and younger brother were having afternoon tea.
“I’m heading into town for a bit. I expect to be home in time for dinner.”
Mother was perched on the edge of the settee, her back ramrod straight, ever the proper English lady. She wore her second—or was it her third?—outfit of the day, a blush-colored dress with a high ivory lace collar that might have been a bit too tight, if the look on her face was any indication.
“For heaven’s sake, Eleanor, why would you want to be gallivanting about in this weather? What’s going on in town?”
“I’m meeting my friends for a little get-together.” In fact, they’d begun meeting a few months earlier to discuss women’s rights and the vote, despite the fact that wartime suffragist rhetoric had necessarily shifted to talk of patriotism and peace.
“Don’t tell me you’re still hanging around those rabble-rousers clamoring for women’s rights. What a ridiculous waste of time.”
Ellie couldn’t help but rise to the bait. “The suffragists’ cause is not ridiculous, Mother. Why shouldn’t women be allowed to vote? This is our country, too.”
“Well-bred and respectable young women should not concern themselves with such things. Your father has provided all you will ever need, and someday soon, God willing, a fine husband will do the same,” Mother said. She nodded and looked away, as if the matter was settled.
“I say let the women vote,” her brother said, his mouth full of cake. “Then when some dodgy MP gets in there and mucks things up, they can share the blame.”
“Theodore, use your manners.”
Theo swallowed his cake and grinned at Ellie.
“I just don’t see why you would want to associate with such people, Eleanor,” Mother went on. “Those so-called ladies we read about in the papers are nothing more than common criminals. What do you do at these get-togethers, exactly?”
“We sit in Katherine Piper’s parlor, have tea, and talk. That’s hardly a crime.”
Mother sniffed. “I never liked that girl. Far too opinionated, if you ask me.”
Theo snorted a laugh, nearly spilling his tea. Mother gave him a sharp look, and he coughed a couple of times, pointing to his throat.
“Wrong pipe.”
Bless you, little brother. Ellie seized upon his diversion, needing to disengage before she lost her temper. “Let’s agree to disagree, Mother. Bailey’s got the car waiting, so I really must go. Have a lovely afternoon.” She heard her mother grumbling as she hurried away.
Outside, the chauffeur stood beside the front entrance, umbrella in hand.
He protected her from the rain as they walked to Papa’s old Model T and held the door open for her.
“Thank you, Bailey. Please take me to Number Nine Pritchard Street.”
“Very good, miss,” he said, touching his cap. He cranked the engine and drove slowly down the long drive.
“Have you got errands in town while I’m visiting, Bailey?”
“Well, miss, if you think I’d have the time, I thought I might look in on my boy and his wife, now they’ve had their baby. The little lad is my first grandchild, you know.”
“Oh, but of course you must, Bailey. Do give them my congratulations. What’s the baby’s name?”
“They’ve called him James, after me. Isn’t that fine?”
Ellie could hear the pride in his voice, and she smiled. “Yes, it is. Take your time visiting, Bailey. As long as we’re back before dinner, Mother won’t fuss too much.”
“Thank you, Miss Eleanor.”
They rode on in silence, Ellie’s thoughts turning to her impending visit. She was very interested in the idea of women’s rights, and having other people to share that interest was wonderful. She’d certainly not have such discussions at home.
Eight young women had gathered at Katherine Piper’s home, and the parlor was buzzing with chatter. Three-tiered serving plates were filled with sandwiches of smoked salmon, ham, or cucumber, cinnamon scones, and various tea cakes. The guests mingled and sampled the fare, sipping tea or raspberry cordial, until the hostess called the meeting to order. Ellie took a seat on a lovely blue velvet and mahogany armchair with her glass of cordial and turned her attention to Kate.
“Ladies, thank you for coming,” Kate began. “For today’s topic, I thought we might discuss what our roles should be in the ongoing fight for women’s suffrage. There are many things we can do here in Surrey to give our support to the movement. I learned a great deal when I heard Emmeline Pankhurst speak in Manchester before the war. She was brilliant, I tell you. She doesn’t stand by, quiet and meek, in the face of injustice.”
“Maybe so,” Helena said, “but setting fires and inciting violence isn’t the answer, either. The suffragettes are making it more difficult for the law-abiding suffragists to be taken seriously. And what about those women who were force-fed in prison? How awful!”
“I agree,” Ellie said. “Poking the tiger won’t make him any less inclined to eat us.”
Jeanne laughed. “So true. I say peaceful, intelligent conversation is the answer. True change takes time.”
“How many men do you know who think women are capable of intelligent conversation?” Millie said. “My mother hasn’t bothered to voice an opinion for years, just to avoid my father’s condescending replies.” She shook her head in disgust. “I tell them this is a quilting circle, so I don’t have to listen to his nonsense about a woman’s place and all that.”
Jeanne looked sympathetic. “We’ll never change everyone’s mind, but some can be convinced, I’m sure.”
“The war may be doing the convincing for us, in a way,” noted Kate’s cousin, Rose. “With so many men off fighting, Britain must rely on women to do what we’ve never done before. Women are building airplanes, and running their own hospitals, and driving ambulances in the war zone. Imagine what else we can do.”
Ellie turned to see her friend leaning forward in her chair, her face alight with excitement. Rose usually didn’t speak up at these meetings, as her cousin tended to demand the spotlight, and Ellie smiled at her enthusiastic conviction.
“Yes, Rose, that’s all well and good for them,” Kate said, “but not everyone is cut out for such labor. I for one prefer not to get my hands too dirty. Imagine what Jonathan would think if I had grease under my nails.”
Rose blushed as the others laughed, and the conversation veered inexplicably to the topic of men. As much as Kate liked to talk about suffrage, Ellie suspected that she would run off and join the circus if her new beau asked. She wondered if the other girls were here because they wanted to be in Kate’s inner circle, supporting her social cause du jour, or if they truly believed in the rights of women. She listened politely but wasn’t the least bit interested in all the talk of the most eligible bachelors and how dashing they looked in uniform. Rose caught her eye and beckoned with a pat on the cushion beside her. As the others giggled and gossiped, Ellie joined her on the settee.
“Well, that didn’t take long,” Rose said, rolling her eyes.
“Which part? Kate pooh-poohing your idea or Kate gushing about Jonathan?”
“Both,” Rose replied. “Thank goodness you don’t go in for such drivel. I need a kindred spirit who can keep me company in moments like this.”
Ellie laughed. “I’m happy to be of service. But really, Rose, why do you keep coming when Kate irritates you so?”
“Because my mother insists I get my nose out of my books and socialize. If I didn’t come here, she’d find worse fates for me, like taking tea with dotty old Aunt Tillie, who smells funny and is always pinching my cheeks too hard.”
Ellie giggled. “That sounds unpleasant.”
“You’ve no idea. So you see, I’d much rather come to Kate’s. I think she resents having to babysit me, but I can handle her. Plus I enjoyed the earlier conversation, short as it was.”
“So did I, but our book chats are much more fun. You’re the only person I know who reads as much as I do. Besides, all this talk of boys is tiresome. I know most of them anyway, and the majority are quite irritating.”
Rose laughed. “How refreshing it is to hear you say that. My mother is constantly after me to tidy my hair or stand up straight, in case a young man happens by. She’s even threatened to move us to London to increase my prospects. I’m only seventeen, for God’s sake. It’s maddening.”
Ellie knew exactly how Rose felt. “Our mothers must be cut from the same cloth. Mine is forever saying, How will you ever catch a husband if you…blah-blah-blah. I’m sure you can fill in the blanks. My mother thinks I’m already past my prime and is mortified that I’m not yet married at my advanced age of twenty-two.”
Rose widened her eyes and put her hand to her mouth in mock horror. “How perfectly dreadful!”
Ellie laughed. “What do you want, then, if it’s not to catch a husband?”
“I want to teach literature. I’m particularly interested in feminist writings at the moment. It’s refreshing to read about strong, independent women, rather than the weak, simpering ones who cannot function without a man.”
Ellie’s curiosity was piqued. “That sounds interesting,” she said, “though I’m fairly certain I won’t find anything like that in the library at home. If you’re willing to lend me a book or two, I’d love to read them.”
“Yes, of course. It would be wonderful to discuss them with someone who doesn’t find the subject matter appalling,” Rose said.
“Appalling? How so?”
“Well,” Rose said, lowering her voice, “besides the headstrong women part, some of the writers refer to intimate partners of the same sex.” Ellie couldn’t hide her surprise, and Rose noticed. “Now I’ve made you uncomfortable,” she said, looking away. “I’m sorry.”
“No, no, it’s quite all right. I’ve heard of such things—I just never knew people would dare write about it.”
“There are several—Gertrude Stein, Oscar Wilde, Henry James. Of course, when it comes to works about women, the poems of Sappho were likely the beginning of it all.”
“Your knowledge of literature clearly exceeds mine. I know little beyond what is in Papa’s collection,” Ellie said. “I’m afraid I’ve lived a much too sheltered life. Now you’ve enticed me to broaden my literary horizons.”
“Well, then, perhaps I’ve done my part for the cause today,” Rose replied with a smile. “I have a book with me from an American writer I’ve newly discovered, Natalie Clifford Barney. You could take it with you if you’d like.”
Ellie smiled back. “I’d love to, thanks.” She accepted the slim volu
me Rose pulled from her bag. “So, what is your take on feminism?” she asked, warming to the subject.
“I think it’s a very empowering idea. We are human beings with the same capacity as men to think, create, make decisions, and lead others. That’s exactly why most men are so against it, in my opinion,” Rose said.
“Because they don’t want to lose control,” she replied.
“Precisely. That’s why I’m in no hurry to marry. If I was stuck with a man who told me what to do and think all the time, I believe it would crush my soul. I could never be happy with someone who didn’t respect me.”
“My goodness, Rose, you’ve just expressed what I’ve always felt but could never quite put into words. How exciting to have a name for it.”
“It is exciting, but take my advice, Ellie. There are a great many opponents to the idea of feminism, both men and women. Be careful who’s listening when you discuss it.”
“I’m sure I could put my mother in that group. If she was listening to our conversation, I bet she’d faint dead away,” Ellie said, giggling.
“Mine, too, but if she keeps pushing me to marry before I’m ready, I’ll have to put my foot down sooner or later. You know, I don’t understand why my mother is so adamant. She was pushed into a marriage that was the talk of the society pages, but she and my father can barely tolerate each other. You would think she’d want her only daughter to avoid making the same mistake.”
Ellie reached out and clasped Rose’s hand in a gesture of solidarity. “You won’t, and neither will I.”
* * *
Ellie began to read her borrowed book on the way home, enthralled by the poems describing love between women. She’d read the likes of Lord Byron, Tennyson, and Shelley, yet had never been so captivated by their words of love. There was a strange but not unpleasant tension in her belly as she read, and her cheeks flushed hot as her mind conjured images to match the verses. This was not a book she could leave lying about for prying eyes to find.
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