Soldier On

by Erica Nyden

  “There’s a Guy Lombardo record in there somewhere with a festive song or two.”

  She found the disc and placed it on the gramophone.

  He chuckled. “Would you look at that?”

  “Look? What are you talking about? Look at what?” After so much wine, perhaps the brandy had been a bad idea.

  His index finger pointed heavenward. “Mistletoe. And we’re both under it.”

  Indeed, mistletoe hung above them, but nowhere near where he pointed. A foot away, suspended from the overhead lamp in the room’s center, the tiny berries gleamed like pearls amongst dusty green leaves.

  “How in the world?”

  “After my brilliant idea of giving you the necklace, I supposed it fitting to keep a few other Christmas traditions alive this year, too—the pagan ones, anyway. Mrs. Pollard helped, of course.”

  “I see.” Her mouth was as dry as a burnt mince pie.

  “It’d be a shame to pretend it wasn’t there.” Candlelight danced in his mischievous eyes. “So may I kiss you, Olivia?”

  She wanted to kiss him again, but not like she had in the dining room. Not like a girl, too self-conscious to give a real kiss. But that’s what she did. Rising onto her tiptoes, she started out strong, one hand on the side of his face, but her lips barely brushed his. Too bashful for another go, she dropped back, flat on her feet.

  She caught the disappointment in his weak smile. “The perfect gift, then: a kiss from a beautiful woman. That’s two in one night.”

  She tried to sound unaffected, but her voice squeaked out unnaturally high. “Beautiful? My dear William, I’m afraid when your sight returns, you’ll be sorely disappointed.”

  What a child she was—a fool who couldn’t keep quiet and let the night’s events unfold as they would.

  “We’ve been over this before. You must think more highly of yourself. But in all fairness, perhaps I should learn for myself. Would I be out of order if I—” He raised his hands. “May I?”

  “Be my guest.”

  He found her eyebrows first, smoothing each before tracing the rings of bone around her partially closed eyes. Fingertips soft as rain tapped along both cheekbones until his left hand slipped behind her neck. With one rotation, he amassed her hair in a loose coil before tilting her head. Feather-light caresses along her exposed jawline shuttered her eyes and unfurled her lips. As if sensing the shift within her, his fingers skimmed first her top lip, then the bottom before supplanting them with his open mouth.

  Unhurried and indulgent, his lips brought all her romantic fancies to life. This was how she imagined herself with him, caught in an embrace so passionate it eliminated everything wrong with the world. Fireworks exploded instead of bombs. Peace and happiness reigned, and no one cried over loss or pain.

  William withdrew his lips and rested his nose against her forehead. She sighed, savoring their closeness.

  “Dance with me, Olivia.”

  On their makeshift dance floor, he guided her with awareness and agility. Twirled, dipped, and swayed, her new love of dancing had everything to do with her partner. Though the upbeat tunes were fun, she preferred the slower songs like “Auld Lang Syne” and “Shadow Waltz.” She could stay forever locked in the sanctuary of William’s arms, where his whispers caressed her ear and his breath massaged her neck.

  “How are you?” he asked, attending to the slow sway of her hips with a steady hand.

  “Happy.”

  He kissed the top of her head, showering her in disbelief. “You fit nicely in my arms, Nurse Talbot, have you noticed?”

  Olivia relished his possessive hold and the electricity that sparked wherever he touched her. “Actually, sir, I noticed the first time I danced with you.”

  “Really? And you’ve been too shy to share this observation with me?”

  “I—I can’t say. Perhaps.”

  Eager to swim in his ocean-blue eyes, even if they reprimanded her for her reticence, she raised her head. But his blind eyes were squinting, and he inhaled shallowly as if in pain.

  She froze. “What is it?”

  “It’s nothing.” But he threw his head left to right like an angry toddler.

  “I don’t believe you. Come, sit down.” She tried to lead him to the sofa, but with another great breath he doubled over and crumpled to the floor. “Is it your head?”

  He grunted and circled his fingers over the small space of his temples.

  Her fingers joined his, and she pushed as hard as she could. “Is that better?”

  He nodded and made a soft moan.

  “Has your head been bothering you all night?” she asked, her voice spiked with irritation.

  “A dull headache, really.”

  This was more than a headache, and if she hadn’t been caught up in unrealistic fancies, she would’ve noticed his discomfort sooner. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I wanted to have a nice evening. More importantly, I wanted you to have a nice time. I didn’t want to burden you with this.”

  She took a deep breath and digested his sentiment. Stray currents of desire wound themselves around her hips, shoulders, and neck. But this wasn’t about her; this was about him and his health.

  “All right, let’s get you to bed. Can you stand?”

  She left him upstairs on his bed whilst she retrieved a bottle of aspirin. By the time she returned, he was flat on his back, both hands squeezing the front of his skull as if juicing a grapefruit.

  “I’m calling Dr. Butler,” she announced.

  “It’s Christmas Eve. Don’t call him tonight.” His eyes were nailed shut, his face scrunched. “What are you going to tell him? That I have a headache?”

  “Headaches, plural. You’ve had them in one form or another ever since you started that new medication. Here, sit up.” She thrust a glass into one hand and deposited two aspirin tablets into the other. “What else have you noticed since then?”

  He swallowed the pills. “That I feel better.”

  “Better? How do you feel better? Please be specific, because if the medication is triggering your headaches yet helping you in other ways, you’ve got a tough decision ahead of you.”

  “It’s hard to explain, but it’s like I have hope in my life again. But that’s not because of the medicine.” Through his agony, he offered a wan smile. “It’s because of you.”

  “William—”

  “When you first arrived, I was alive in the sense that I could eat and drink and my heart still pumped blood through my veins. But inside, I was dead. I didn’t know who I was or why I was even here. And Olivia, I didn’t want to be here.” He whispered the last part, his free hand searching for her. She took it. “I couldn’t recall what it meant to be happy. But you’ve helped me remember.”

  Yes, she’d been there for him, but their friendship had taken time. For weeks he hardly spoke to her. She’d been uncertain of his recovery before Dr. Butler’s visit, after which everything had changed. The attention, the flirting, his mother’s necklace, and the incredible kiss—they were all because of the blasted medicine. How could she have been so stupid?

  She took his glass and rubbed his forehead; the other hand pinched the bottom of his skull. His eyes rolled upward, then closed.

  “I’m flattered you want to credit me with your change in disposition,” she said, “but it wasn’t me. It was your medicine. And now it’s likely giving you severe headaches. If that’s the case, I think you ought to stop taking it.”

  “Fine. Take me off it. Don’t you see?” His smile became dopey, like a drunken fool’s. “I don’t need—oh, that feels good.”

  Why was he talking in riddles? She took a deep breath. “What do you mean? What don’t you need?”

  He cocked his head and grinned as though he’d never been in pain. “I no longer need the medicine because I have you, Olivia. Knowing you’ll be here every morning when I wake gives me something to look forward to. And I haven’t looked forward to anything for so long.”

&
nbsp; Chapter 11

  Confident that William would soon drift to sleep, Olivia returned to the library. Numerous candles still flickered in what had become a romantic setting. The fire was petering out, yet a handful of coals still glowed against the soot-stained brick. From behind the late colonel’s desk, she watched flames flare up then die as quickly. In her ear, Dr. Butler’s house telephone rang and rang. It was only ten o’clock—not too late, considering it was Christmas Eve, though she couldn’t be positive he’d be home.

  “I’m sorry, no. My father is still in London.” The girl on the line offered her father’s London contact information, a phone number she already had and that rang with no answer. She’d try again in the morning.

  In the meantime, she rang her father. She hadn’t planned to speak to her parents until Christmas Day, but surely they wouldn’t mind hearing from her a day early.

  “Sweetheart!” her mother exclaimed once they were connected.

  “Happy Christmas, Mother.”

  “Livvy, what is it?” She knew her daughter well.

  “Is Daddy available? It’s about Wi—the major. I can’t reach Dr. Butler.”

  “What’s the problem? Is he all right?”

  Speaking to her mother could be like traversing a country road with hairpin turns and endless bridges to cross. “I’m worried about the pills Dr. Butler prescribed. They’re giving him terrible headaches. At first they came and went, but tonight he’s got the most severe one yet. He can’t even stand. I’m thinking of taking him off them.”

  “What are they for?”

  “Depression. Anxiety. Sleep.”

  “And are they helping him?”

  Olivia took a deep breath. “Well, yes, remarkably well. Is Dad at home?”

  “No, dear, he’s not.”

  She should’ve guessed.

  “He’s taken a double shift tonight. In fact, I’ve just returned home myself. Since the holiday is so different this year”—her voice caught—“with the war intensifying and without …”

  Unable to bear the sorrow in her mother’s voice, Olivia said, “So you both decided to work for Christmas.”

  Mother sniffed. “We miss you, Livvy.”

  “And I miss you both. Listen, you go to bed, and I’ll phone tomorrow to wish you both a happy Christmas.” She rested her forehead in her palm. “By the time I talk to you again, I’ll have been in touch with Dr. Butler.”

  “All right, then. Your letters seem to find you in good spirits. Does Cornwall truly suit you?”

  She glanced up at the mistletoe. The ghost of William’s lips on hers nudged her toward disclosure. “It does. There’s no other place I’d rather be.”

  The remnants of the evening’s revelry had been cleared, and Olivia lay wakeful in bed like so many of England’s children, hopeful for what the next day would bring. Some lay in bomb shelters with their toys and perhaps a sweet treat and a stuffed companion. Others like her lay in beds that weren’t their own, living with people they hadn’t known a year ago, and missing their families. Olivia hoped they still found magic in the holiday, that they could set aside their fears for at least one glowing evening. The world wasn’t always a scary place.

  Light from the small lamp in the corridor caught her eye. Sure she’d be up and down throughout the evening, she’d left it on. But William’s faint breathing from across the hall relaxed her, and she smoothed the stone at her throat. That he wanted her to have his mother’s necklace was proof he shared her growing affection.

  But even as bliss sought to elevate her, the weight of dread dragged her down. William’s affections as of late were a result of his medication. As soon as the effects wore off, he’d undoubtedly reject her—a blow her heart could never withstand. The last year had brought enough pain as it was.

  From now on, she’d ignore her silly flutters. Memories of his kiss must be stowed away, as well as the way his arms held her as though she belonged there. She tucked the moonstone beneath the neckline of her nightgown and rolled onto her side, brushing at her cheek, and dutifully steered her mind to the reason she was there to begin with: The major was ill. It was her job to see he recovered, whether he cared for her or not.

  On Christmas morning, Olivia took a tray of tea, toast, and two boiled eggs to the major’s room. There hadn’t been a peep from him all night, which was a good sign.

  “Happy Christmas, William,” she said, surveying his every movement from the blink of his eyes to the rate of his breath.

  “Hmm.” Hand already at his forehead, he breathed in sharply. “Happy Christmas to you.”

  He was no better after all, and until she spoke with Dr. Butler, she was at a loss of what to do. Some nurse she was. “You’re still hurting.”

  He coughed, squinting in discomfort. “Mm-hm.”

  She poured his tea and helped him eat his breakfast in bed. She dispensed more aspirin. “I’m not sure if these are even helping you, but they can’t hurt. I couldn’t reach Dr. Butler or my father last night, but I’ll try again soon. I will not, however, give you another anti-anxiety pill this morning.”

  “You’re the nurse.”

  Her second call to Dr. Butler was equally fruitless. She explained her situation and left a message and phone number, stressing that this was indeed an emergency. Next, she phoned her father. She was glad for his sympathetic voice, but he was no help.

  “I’m afraid I haven’t heard of it, Livvy. It must be new, and sadly, communication in the medical world is mostly through word of mouth these days. Do away with the pills if they’re causing such adverse side effects. I say the major is lucky to have you there as his nurse.”

  She closed her eyes. She neither wanted nor needed to hear this.

  “Dr. Butler says you’re doing an excellent job, and your mother says you’re happy. That’s more than I ever wished for.” His voice dropped. “I’m proud of you, Livvy.”

  She wasn’t sure if she could handle a second conversation like this in less than twenty-four hours. Nevertheless, she thanked him and told him how much she loved and missed him.

  Just as William considered her his savior, her parents’ pride was undeserved. The guilt was numbing. This time when she hung up the phone, her tears were a mere trickle—nothing like the deluge the night before.

  Chapter 12

  After two days without his prescription, William’s pain came in pounding waves threatening to pull him under. Olivia was still trying to contact Dr. Butler, but he hadn’t returned her telephone calls, and she remained steadfast in her decision to keep William off his medication.

  Still, like faithful Jasper, she stayed close. When he was awake, she rubbed his head where the pain was most severe. Her diligence in keeping him comfortable these past few days was irreplaceable, though his anguish kept him from thanking her with the sincerity he would’ve liked. He felt useless, like a sailboat with a broken mast. Did she think him, too, dead in the water?

  It took three full days before he could make it downstairs to eat at the table. At Olivia’s suggestion, they went outdoors for a dose of fresh air. Snow had made another unusual appearance in Cornwall last night, but the sparkling white blanket she described was melting rapidly. Water dripped from Keldor’s rooftops, splashing in a percussive patter.

  He clung to Olivia on their way down the slippery stone staircase. She reminded him to take it slowly, but she needn’t have worried. After days in bed, he moved at a snail’s pace no matter where he was. Arm in arm, she led them down a narrow path south of the house. If they followed the entire quarter mile, they would arrive at Steren Cove, a favorite childhood landmark—nowhere he wished to visit today.

  “The path is steep and hazardous enough without the addition of this snow,” he groused. “Besides, Captain Dinham said the cove is marred with barbed wire fencing and who knows what.” The thought of his beloved cove in such a state angered him to the point that his eyes filled. He lowered his head, hoping to hide his bitterness. It wasn’t Olivia’s fault he’d
no interest in going there.

  He raised his head for a deep breath when the darkness blazed white.

  “What the devil?” he shouted, his body frozen. “Did you see that?”

  “See?” Her voice twisted with emotion. “What did you see?”

  “A flash. There.” He pointed to what he knew was the ocean beyond. “You didn’t see it?”

  “Like a reflection?” Her skepticism made the question come out sounding playful.

  “No, no, much more powerful than a reflection.” She stood right beside him. How could she have missed it? “It was like lightning, or an explosion.”

  “An explo—”

  “There it is again!” He squeezed her arm and squinted at the brightness. The enemy was here. In Cornwall, and coming for him. “Olivia, we must return to the house.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “I have a bad feeling.” The tremor in his chest traveled quickly to his perspiring limbs. “Something’s going on down there, and the sooner we’re away from it, the better.”

  “Down there? Down where?”

  “Steren Cove.” He took firm hold of her face once he found it. “We need to get back inside, and I need to ring Captain Dinham. Now.”

  “Y-yes. Of course.”

  Confident with his cane, William strode toward the house. It was the fastest he’d moved in days.

  “Wait, William!” Olivia scurried behind him to keep up. Her tugs on his arm did little to slow his momentum. “What do you think is happening? Perhaps your vision is returning and there wasn’t a flash at all—it’s your eyes beginning to work again.”

  “I know what I saw.” Did she really doubt him?

  “But William, I thought you couldn’t see anything!”

  “Olivia!” He wheeled around. “This has nothing to do with my vision. I know something’s amiss because I can feel it! Please, help me up the steps. I need to make a telephone call.”