Soldier On

by Erica Nyden

  “We made it!” she announced, slowing her steps and then stopping altogether.

  William’s shoulder slammed hers, and they crashed into the wooden door. He was about to apologize but she was still laughing.

  He chuckled as well, wiping his matted hair back from his forehead. “An adventure, see?”

  The doorknob squeaked, but neither she nor the door moved. Olivia grumbled.

  “Hang on.” He lifted his left arm and thrust the door open.

  Inside, the rain echoed as it pounded the glass panes above their heads. The wind whined through tiny chinks like curlews during breeding season. The damp, earthy smell again conjured his mother.

  He waved left. “She started herbs on this side.” Though the space felt cavernous, it was easy to picture the fragrant greens that had once crowded it from floor to ceiling. He gestured right, where at one time succulents, orchids, and a variety of palms had held sway. “Her tropical plants grew up front, here.”

  Nurse Talbot was quiet. Perhaps she had no interest in plants. Or perhaps the place was so gloomy she was having a hard time picturing what he described. Best to change the subject.

  “One year ago today, Nurse Talbot, what were you doing?”

  “From today? I have no idea.”

  “Okay, then close to a year ago. Where were you? What was your life like during the war’s infancy?”

  “Let me think.” Despite the rain’s hammering, her voice rang clear, as though she stood close. “I had been at St. Mary Abbot’s for two months. I lived onsite, and my hours were long. My biggest worry was whether I’d see my family at Christmas.”

  “And did you? See your family at Christmas?”

  “I got away for two days. We were all together, except for John. He was unable to get leave. I don’t suppose Christmas will ever again be like it was before the war.”

  He agreed, though he didn’t say so. He liked hearing her talk about her family and hoped she didn’t find the subject too painful.

  “What were you doing a year ago?” she asked.

  “Me? I was conducting combat training north of here.” He lowered his head. “Sometimes I feel this war has already lasted a decade. To think it’s just been over a year.”

  “When did you get to North Africa?”

  This was unexpected. “Not until May. I was in Norway before that.”

  “What was your assignment there?”

  The patter of rain muted his courageous inhalation. “In North Africa? To gather information. Years before the war, I’d trained the Egyptians on how to strengthen their army whilst keeping watch over the Suez. When the war started, Egypt remained neutral. We still had plenty of people there, but rumors of Italy joining the Nazis began to surface. A friend of mine in Cairo, a man I’d met in thirty-seven, knew people, so because of our friendship and his connections, I went back—not as an officer, mind you, but a sort of spy, I suppose.” He scratched his upper lip, ready to talk about something else. “You know, I wish I had a cigarette. You don’t have one, do you?”

  “Sorry, I don’t smoke. My father’s convinced they’re deadly.”

  “Hmm.” He frowned. “Do you see drawers over that way?” He pointed down what he remembered to be the narrow walkway.

  “I do.”

  “Would you look through them for me? Perhaps the bottom one? There may still be a pack shoved in the back somewhere.”

  Several bumps and knocks said she was struggling with the drawer as she had the glasshouse door. Before he had a chance to assist, he heard it slide open.

  “You hid smoking from your father?” she asked.

  “When I was fifteen, yes. Did you find them?”

  “You really want one of these?”

  “Why not? And you’ll join me?”

  “I might, if they weren’t twenty years old.”

  “There’s no harm in old tobacco.”

  He accepted the cigarette she placed between his fingers. He put it in his mouth and waited. A scratch followed by a weak sputter. She said the second fizzled almost as quickly as the first.

  “I think you’re out of luck. These matches are too damp.”

  Finally, the tang of sulfur reached his nostrils.

  “Got it, sir. Here’s your light.”

  He took a drag. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a cigarette. His father preferred a pipe, but William enjoyed cigarettes, mainly in social settings like parties or in pubs. The girls he knew liked to smoke. Was the last time he’d smoked in London, then? With Clementine, the night before he left for North Africa?

  He held the smoke in his lungs. Visions of a pretty face dissolved into darkness. All he smelled was burning tobacco. All he felt was pain.

  He exhaled and dropped the cigarette. “You were right, these aren’t very good. In fact, that was positively dreadful.” He opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, as if the air would strip away the foul taste.

  “I have chewing gum. Care for a piece?” Her voice dropped. “It’s pretty old—well, not nearly as old as your cigarettes. It’s from my stocking last Christmas. I had a feeling gum would be rationed first. Like chocolate.”

  “I couldn’t take your last piece,” he said, though at this moment, he would’ve killed for it.

  “It’s not my last piece. I’ve a few more.”

  He thanked her and popped the minty strip into his mouth.

  “What’s Egypt like?”

  He was finished thinking about Egypt. He was finished talking about Egypt. But he wouldn’t be rude to her, not again. “Dry and hot. I missed this cool, wet place, but I got used to the climate. There were more important things to focus—oh!”

  Sharp pain assaulted his head as though someone was stabbing his temples with an awl, over and over. He bent forward.

  “What is it?”

  “A pain above my eyes. My temples, too.” He pressed his palms to his head. He’d had headaches lately, usually in the middle of the night, but none this brutal.

  “You should sit. Let me help you.” She placed an arm around him and squeezed gently, the way his mother would when he needed her most.

  The pain vanished.

  Still standing, he sniffed and tilted his head left then right. He almost laughed. “The headache—it’s gone. I can’t believe it.”

  “Brilliant! But let’s go back so you can lie down, should it return.”

  It was as though the pain had never come. Had she healed him? It was a ridiculous thought, surely.

  “Sir?”

  “I—er, yes, let’s go.” He offered his left arm. “Lead the way, Nurse Talbot.”

  Color was returning to the major’s face. That was good because the rain had yet to cease. The wind remained as well, and he’d need all his energy to make the trek back.

  The water dripping down the back of her neck chilled her, yet Olivia was glad they’d ventured out. She’d never seen the major more at ease than he had been today. He’d answered questions about North Africa, too, a milestone that even his fleeting headache couldn’t diminish. If he hadn’t puffed that dreadful cigarette, he likely wouldn’t have experienced it in the first place. Headache aside, she hadn’t missed the other effect smoking had on him: the trembling hands, his face a white sheet.

  With the major at her side, she tugged the glasshouse door open. The house felt miles away beneath the downpour. She led the major around the beds and through a stretch of long wet grass. Jasper trotted in their wake, undeterred by the wind that pummeled them head-on. The major’s white cane bobbed with every step, and in his haste to keep up, he lost his hold on it. Down went the cane, and Major Morgan followed, his arms instinctively extended to break his fall.

  Attached as they were by the arms, Olivia fell with him.

  “Sir!” she shouted from the ground, the piercing rain stinging her face.

  The major’s right arm was draped across her hip, and he was laughing. Uproariously. “I don’t know what happened!” His face bore the biggest, most
striking grin she’d seen on him yet. He shifted his weight, unwittingly pulling her toward him.

  His nearness sent her head spinning. She tilted her face back and caught a whiff of his warm, minty breath. Did he know they were this close?

  “Nurse Talbot?” he asked softly, his nose a whisper from hers. Concern swept his handsome face. “Are you all right?”

  “I am. Are you?”

  “Yes.”

  In a Hollywood picture, this would have made quite a scene: two lonely souls thrown together by tragedy, impervious to the pouring rain above and the river of wet grass below, making passionate love …

  Until a wet dog interjected his nose between the unsuspecting pair.

  Laughing hard, the major rolled onto his back to allow Jasper to lick his face properly. His hand came free from Olivia’s hip, breaking the spell. She sat up as well, no longer cold but more than a little muddled.

  The mirth continued as she retrieved the major’s cane. Arms crossed, she loomed above the two cutups still lolling in the grass.

  As lightheartedly as she could, she asked, “Are you quite finished? I’m soaked through and dying for a cup of tea.”

  Chapter 8

  “Shall I tell you about Jenna, Nurse Talbot?” William asked as they finished their supper in the dining room.

  Two weeks had passed since he’d scolded her for meddling in his affairs regarding Peder’s sister. She hadn’t brought the subject up again, but guilt over his mistreatment of both women had nagged him ever since.

  “Sir, that’s entirely up to you.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t call me ‘sir.’ ” She was his companion, for heaven’s sake, not his servant. “If I tell you about Jenna, it may ease my conscience a bit, and perhaps you’ll no longer think of me as a heartless bastard.”

  “But, s—I don’t think of you as a heartless bastard, Major.”

  “You’re incredibly kind.”

  But first, he needed a drink. He found the wine carafe easily. Glass clinked glass, and once his wineglass felt full enough, he took a mouthful.

  “I’ve known Jenna her entire life. Peder and I were at Blundell’s School together, and once upon a time, our families were rather close. But Jenna, you understand, was always younger and therefore a pest. Whilst Peder and I plotted to conquer the world, she would spy on us, then unleash taunts and run away, hoping we’d follow. For close to ten years, whenever I visited their family home, she proved to be a large thorn in our sides. But then, after years of not seeing her, all of that changed. She grew up. The quintessential squirmy caterpillar had transformed into the most beautiful butterfly.”

  He almost hadn’t recognized her that day he called at Tredon and she answered the door. Having returned from holiday in Ibiza with her eccentric yet wealthy aunt, Jenna’s sun-kissed skin and curvaceous figure stirred desires he’d never before associated with Peder’s sister.

  She was exquisite. Whereas Peder had to remind himself to be charming (William had caught him speaking to himself in the mirror once before walking out with a girl), Jenna’s allure was inherent, like the sapphire-blue eyes that glimmered no matter what her emotion.

  He drank. “Meanwhile, I’d worked a lot and perhaps played just as much. My father was miserable during his years alone, and I refused to go down that same path. So upon seeing this beautiful, striking woman whom I’d always known, the answer became obvious. Why shouldn’t I spend the rest of my days with her?”

  He recalled it as though it’d happened yesterday. “Remembering how she’d followed me like a puppy dog when we were young, I pursued her confidently. I imagined her face lighting up as I went down on one knee.” His voice caught; he wanted to tell the story, not relive the pain. “I’ll never forget the look on her face. She acted as though I was out of my mind, my proposal ridiculous. Seems she’d learned of my less-than-prudent behavior as a younger man and concluded I wasn’t tame enough to be her husband.” His forced smile did little to hide his bitterness. “Of course I wouldn’t take no for an answer and spent weeks groveling for her affections. It took me a while, a long while, before I finally got the message.”

  He chuckled, remembering his audience. “But that’s men for you. I’m not sure if you’re aware, Nurse Talbot, but we aren’t very clever when it comes to love.”

  “Not at all, Major. What happened after that?”

  “I left her alone, threw myself back into work. When the war started, I went north for a few months. Surprisingly, the day after I’d returned, she arrived at Keldor.” He emptied his glass. “She told me she changed her mind—she did in fact want to marry me. Much to my father’s disappointment and hers, I didn’t jump at the offer. I was leaving for Egypt soon, and the trip would give me time to determine if marrying her was something I still wanted. That’s why I chose to wait to announce our engagement.”

  His glass was empty. He tipped the carafe—empty as well. Bloody hell.

  And then Nurse Talbot was securing his fingers round a glass sloshing with wine. He nodded his gratitude and drained it.

  “Do you understand why I’ve so easily let her go?”

  “I think so. You’re convinced that because she initially turned you down, she didn’t really love you, even though later she claimed to have a change of heart.”

  “Correct. She didn’t love me then. And she doesn’t love me now.” Of this he was certain. He’d seen love in the way his mother gazed at his father. He’d seen it in the eyes of the few girls whose hearts he’d broken over the years. But he’d never seen it from Jenna—curiosity, maybe, but not love. And if he’d seen her face weeks ago, the look would’ve been pity.

  No matter. He hadn’t loved her, either.

  “But—”

  “Humor me for a moment. If you were Jenna and you’d been informed that the man you were meant to spend the rest of your life with had been found, that he wasn’t dead like everyone believed, what would you have done the day you came to Keldor?”

  “I would have come to you. Nothing could have kept me from it.”

  He’d been right—it wasn’t ridiculous to expect more from true love. He slapped his hand on the table. “Exactly! And that is why I will not write her and why I will not ask her to return. I won’t allow anyone to have me out of pity or guilt, most of all my wife.”

  Habit brought the empty glass back to his lips. He returned it to the table and covered his face. Nurse Talbot must think him a fool. Perhaps he was.

  Perhaps he was destined to be alone.

  “Polly, what did Father do with my gramophone? I’d like to dance,” the major said, breezing into the library.

  Over supper he divulged his relationship with Miss Werren, and now he wanted to dance? Olivia halted at the double doors.

  Standing beside a newly lit fire, Mrs. Pollard looked from him to Olivia. “Dance, sir? And who is it you’d be dancing with?”

  “Well if you won’t dance with me, Polly, then maybe Nurse Talbot?”

  He was serious. She stepped into the room.

  “I enjoy the idea of dancing, but I’m not good at it, I’m afraid.” As soon as Olivia uttered the words, she wished she hadn’t. Any time the major expressed a desire to do something other than sit and listen to the damned wireless was a time to be taken advantage of. “But I suppose I could give it a go.”

  “Your gramophone is here, Mr. William, where you left it, with all your music.”

  “Perfect.” Hands out like feelers, he found his way to Mrs. Pollard’s voice, bumping a chair here and a table there. “This is ridiculous. There’s no room in here! Polly, find James, would you? See if he’ll move this furniture. We need an open space.”

  Mrs. Pollard grumbled through her radiant smile and went to fetch James. In no time, they moved the sofa closer to the hearth, freeing a portion of the room’s center.

  “I’ll leave you young people,” the housekeeper said once the major approved the new arrangement. “And good luck, Nurse Talbot.”

  With a
wink, she closed the double doors behind her.

  “Good luck?” the major called through the closed door. “And what would she need good luck for?”

  “Good luck, indeed,” Olivia murmured. She shuffled through a plethora of vinyl records individually wrapped in thin paper. The collection surprised her. She’d never have guessed that the man she’d met weeks ago would be interested in anything as diverting as modern music. “What would you like to hear, Major?”

  He settled on Billie Holiday’s “Fine and Mellow.” Soft, rhythmic crackling filled their ears until the first notes hit the speaker.

  The major held out his open palm. “Nurse Talbot?”

  Not sure what she was getting herself into, she took it.

  The major turned her body into his with remarkable confidence, holding one of her hands aloft whilst wrapping the other in the tidy bow of her dress at the base of her spine. He nudged her closer. Hoping to avoid his feet, she yielded. His jawline, so close, hosted a small cluster of stubble she’d missed that morning. Wafts of his aftershave filled her nose. Though she’d smelled it dozens of times before, this was the first time its piney undertones caught her attention.

  Then he took his first step. She hadn’t been lying when she said she wasn’t much of a dancer. Every time she’d danced with her father, she’d failed to step properly and eventually tripped on his feet. He often teased her until her brothers joined in and they all had a good laugh at her expense. She stiffened.

  “Major, I’m really not a dancer.”

  “There’s nothing to it. Leave everything to me.” The hand on her back pulled her nearer. “Allow me to guide, for once. Relax.”

  He carried her into measured currents, up and around and side to side, as light as a feather. Even without sight, his steps glided them smoothly where he intended. Reassured, she released all restraint and focused on the music. The tune was slow and sultry. Heavy with saxophone, the melody enveloped them in a sweet embrace as Ms. Holiday’s hypnotic voice carried Olivia away from war, depression, and the fear of not being a good dancer.