Soldier On

by Erica Nyden

  Was it selfish to disagree? More than anything—especially after what she’d experienced—she wanted a child. William’s child. The war wouldn’t last forever. Her mother knew nothing of the safety and tranquility of Keldor, the place where they would raise their children, war or no war. It was too long before she’d be there, lying comfortably in William’s gentle arms, at home where his presence alone would take her pain away.

  “Will you be all right?” William asked her as they drove away from the Exeter train station, where they’d left her mother and Aunt Hilda.

  “Yes,” Olivia said with a sniffle. “Thank you for being so sweet to Mother. She’s certainly taken with you. Well done.”

  His campaign to win over Jeanette Talbot hadn’t taken long. It’d begun with his sincere condolences over the loss of her two sons. From there, he’d made sure Aunt Hilda’s home would remain secured during her indefinite absence.

  “The major’s invited your father and me to Keldor, Livvy,” her mother had said on their way to Exeter, as though the king himself had invited them.

  “That’d be a wonderful treat,” Olivia said honestly, shifting her grateful eyes to William.

  In the car park, goodbyes hadn’t taken long.

  “She’s a terrible patient, Major,” her mother said, kneeling at Olivia’s open car door. “She won’t complain about pain and will try convincing you that she feels better than she does. And good luck getting her to do what she’s supposed to.” She took Olivia’s chin in her hand. “Perhaps that’s why you’ve chosen nursing as a profession? It’s easier for you to manage everyone else.”

  Olivia couldn’t disagree, even though she’d gladly listen to William. Listening to her mother, however, was another story.

  “I’m happy for you, dear,” her mother finished. “I have a notion you’re in good hands. Get well, now.” She turned to William, who stood beside the open car door with their bags. “I look forward to when we’ll get to know each other better, Major. In the meantime, take good care of my daughter. She’s all I’ve got left.”

  Olivia wiped away a tear. Outside the car window, the streets grew more congested, the buildings closer together. She’d never been to Exeter, but William knew his way around. The war had touched this place, but it hadn’t leveled it. It was comforting to see structures still intact and people going about their lives as usual. Children attended school, adults went to work, the post was delivered, and restaurants and pubs served luncheon.

  “Where are you going? I said I was hungry, but I can wait to eat. I want to get home.”

  “We’re getting married.” He glanced in the rearview mirror, then back at the road ahead. “Right now. Is that all right?”

  Her surprised smile expanded as her new ring winked in the dappled sunlight.

  “I told your mum we’d be married as soon as you were well enough, but I’m not sure I can wait. Can you?”

  “No.”

  “Will she be disappointed if we do this so soon after her send-off? The register office in Plymouth is no longer in existence, thanks to the Germans, or else we’d be husband and wife by now.”

  As overbearing as her mother was, she’d always loved a party, and she’d have been brilliant at helping to plan their wedding. However, Olivia was fairly certain she’d be equally happy to celebrate that her daughter was no longer living like a tart.

  “In light of recent events, I imagine she just wants us married.”

  “I’ve a mind to agree with you.”

  Chapter 27

  “Wait here.”

  William’s day-old stubble scratched her cheek when he pecked it. He left her on a bench next to a noticeboard cluttered with employment announcements and alerts for missing pets. His long strides carried him across the spacious chamber to a window marked Information. There were fewer people here than she’d expected, and everyone spoke in hushed voices, aware that the marble floors and tall ceilings amplified the quietest sounds.

  William returned with a clipboard and pen in hand. “We should be married in twenty minutes.” He filled out his portion of paperwork before passing it to her and tugging at her ring. “Let me have this, and I’ll return it to your finger during the ceremony.” The ring had been hers for only a few hours and already her left hand looked naked without it.

  In less than fifteen minutes, a woman with short gray hair and wire-rimmed glasses appeared in an open door at the far side of the lobby.

  “Major Morgan?” she called, her voice echoing across the distance.

  “Yes.” William rose, bringing Olivia with him.

  “How do you do, Major?” She glanced over the clipboard and smiled keenly before turning her attention to Olivia.

  The woman’s face seemed kind enough, but Olivia wilted under her gaze. The cut above her eye throbbed, as did her ribs. An ugly wretch—and on this, her wedding day.

  “You’ll be after this couple,” the woman said, motioning toward a young pair holding hands in front of a man whose bald head shone like a cue ball. A long black robe covered his equally round body.

  The young bride grinned from ear to ear beneath a peach bow turban decorated with white silk flowers. Though humble, her dress matched the turban perfectly, as did its white buttons and the carnation corsage on her chest. The groom wore an RAF uniform dreadfully similar to the one John had been buried in. At their sides stood an older man and a young woman who could have been the bride’s twin sister.

  The bespectacled woman gestured to the man in the robe, seizing Olivia’s attention once more. “Once you’re called, take this to the superintendent registrar. After your ceremony, he’ll sign this and—where are your witnesses?”

  “Witnesses?” William asked.

  “You’re supposed to bring your own witnesses.”

  “I’m sorry. We’d no idea.”

  “Well,” her eyes raked over Olivia once more, “since we’re a little slow today, I suppose Cherry and I can do it.” She nodded toward the secretary in the corner of the long green room, shaking her head as though they should be eternally grateful.

  They were.

  “Thank you!” William gripped the woman’s arm.

  “Of course. You’re to both sign here after the ceremony.” She pointed to two giant X’s next to two empty lines. “Once the document is signed by all parties, return it to the front window. We’ll prepare a copy for filing, you’ll be given the original, and then you’ll be married. Congratulations.”

  Olivia could have sworn the woman’s teeth squeaked when she smiled, but maybe it was someone’s shoes on the marble floor.

  “Thank you.” William took the clipboard as the woman headed away across a stretch of sunlit olive carpet that muffled her footsteps.

  He pulled Olivia close as they moved further into the room.

  “I know I’m not supposed to kiss the bride yet,” he murmured, “but I’m thinking of breaking the rules.” His lips brushed her ear. “You’re beautiful. You know that, don’t you?”

  She almost believed him. Was she doing the right thing, marrying so excellent a liar? She pressed her face self-consciously against his scratchy wool tunic. The musky pine scent of William’s bedroom filled her nose, for one satisfying moment transporting her there.

  “Morgan, is it?” the Superintendent Registrar called.

  William passed off the clipboard, and they stepped forward and faced one another before the officiant.

  Arms outstretched, Olivia locked hands with William. On either side stood their witnesses, as promised, Cherry the secretary and Eloise, the woman in glasses.

  The cue ball of a man went through his routine regarding the legality of their union.

  “Excellent, we’re ready for vows, then,” he said. “If no other couples are queued behind you?”

  He glanced at Eloise.

  She shook her head. “They’re it.”

  He beamed at them. “In addition to the standard, then, you’ll have time for vows of your own, if you’d like.”r />
  She’d had nothing prepared; neither did William, surely. “That’s all right. I don’t think—”

  “Brilliant!” William cut her off.

  In his eager eyes, there was only blue.

  Shoulders straightened, he repeated after the officiant, “I call upon those present to witness … that I, William Jack Morgan … take thee, Olivia Jean Talbot … to be my lawfully wedded wife.”

  He continued on his own. “As your husband, I promise to celebrate my love for you by making your happiness and the happiness of our future children my top priority. I shall remain devoted to fulfilling your needs”—his left eyebrow twitched surreptitiously—“and securing our bond as companions in sickness, health, heartache, death, and beyond. I give you this ring, Olivia”—he produced the treasure and slid it back on her finger—“as a symbol of my undying affection and loyalty to you.”

  She’d heard these words before in the dark, whispered in her ear as they lay alongside one another and his fingers traced lines of ecstasy over her body. Heat spread from her cheeks to her neck.

  And it was her turn.

  She took a dry swallow as the superintendent registrar cued her lines.

  “I call upon those present to witness … that I, Olivia Jean Talbot … take thee, William Jack Morgan … to be my lawful husband.” Still swimming in the blue depths of his eyes, she calmed. “As your wife, I promise to remain your closest friend and confidant. I will put my love for you above all else and will continue to strive to replace your sorrows with joy and your anger with laughter for all eternity.”

  “In the presence of these two witnesses, William and Olivia have given their consent and made their marriage vows to one another. By the power vested in me, I pronounce them man and wife. William, you may kiss your bride.”

  As if he’d been waiting to hear those words his entire life, William took her face in his hands and brought her mouth to his. His kiss was gentle, and the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted.

  “I love you, Mrs. Morgan. If you weren’t hurt, that kiss would’ve been much more scandalous.”

  Mrs. Morgan: a new name for a new beginning, and one she was eager to shout to the world. She nuzzled inside the arms of her husband and smiled. The day’s date, their wedding anniversary forever: 21 March, 1941, marked another new beginning. It was the first day of spring.

  Chapter 28

  On a corner outside the register office, Olivia sat clutching their marriage certificate. She was exhausted. William was too. Hand up, she blocked the bright sun and spotted him across the street at a small outdoor market. The air had warmed since morning, asserting the changing season. Partially opened buds dotted tree branches lining the street. Pink and purple hyacinth as vibrant as Easter eggs peppered the gray concrete with color.

  Olivia closed her eyes and let her tension melt under the sun until she sensed William’s presence. There he stood like a gallant knight presenting her with riches. His hair, a straight shelf of black across his forehead, emphasized his crooked smile.

  “For my wife.” He knelt, thrusting a bouquet of daffodils her way. “I promise to make today up to you. One day, you’ll have a proper wedding.”

  She buried her nose in lemon yellow, allowing the tangy scent to linger. “But we have had a proper wedding. Even if all our friends and family had joined us, the only person I’m interested in celebrating with is you.”

  “And celebrate we will, every day for the rest of our lives.” He dusted yellow powder from her nose. “How my parents would’ve loved you.”

  “You’ve thought of them a lot today?”

  “Even more so since you’ve come into my life. You and my mother are kindred spirits. Like you, she was selfless and compassionate. And my father—why, he’d dote upon you and claim I wasn’t doting upon you enough. I daresay they’d be proud of me marrying such a brilliant woman.”

  “They’d be proud of you regardless.”

  “I’ve phoned Mrs. Pollard and told her what’s happened. She’s overjoyed at our marriage, as you can imagine.”

  She laughed, though it hurt. “Yes, I can.”

  The poor woman had tolerated their indiscretions for months. Once they were home, she would apologize and beg Mrs. Pollard’s forgiveness. They needed each other now—especially since William’s returned eyesight was still a secret. The two of them would have to ensure that the circle of those who knew the truth remained small. And though a few of the insiders included members of her family, they knew nothing of the army’s demand that William return to war as soon as he was well.

  And he wasn’t well. His trauma as prisoner remained deep-rooted. This jaunt to Plymouth had surely agitated earlier war memories: the bombed-out buildings, the decimated houses, the fires, the bodies …

  “The weather isn’t as fine in Cornwall as here,” he said. “A spring squall has commandeered the southwest and is moving east. We’re likely to hit rain on the way home.”

  A chill crawled up her arms as though the tempest had already arrived. A shadow pinched their sun.

  She glanced up.

  “Major Morgan?” asked a deep voice. “Is that you?”

  Olivia’s squint landed on a man in a uniform similar to her husband’s. A sense of foreboding replaced her chill with a shiver.

  “By Jove, it is you! I haven’t seen you since Norway!” He stood straighter and saluted.

  William rose, his stunned expression changing into more civil acknowledgment. “Lieutenant Blackwood.” His arm rose to his forehead just as swiftly.

  “Last I heard, you were recovering from bad business in North Africa, miraculously found on a beach in the Mediterranean, blind and a mess—but look at you! Not at all as I expected, though I don’t think I would’ve recognized you without your uniform.”

  Whatever William muttered, Olivia couldn’t make out, but the lieutenant came across loud and clear: the unseen damage from abuse, torture, starvation, and rape were inconsequential, especially if one wore a uniform.

  “Are you off, then? Where are they sending you this time?” Lieutenant Blackwood’s eyes finally connected with hers before moving between her, the flowers, and the register office. “Wait! Have you just been married?”

  “Yes, this is my bride—my wife. Olivia.”

  She wanted to enjoy those words, but instead she drifted, removed from the shell of her broken body to the space above. From there, she observed William square his shoulders, his stature confident, commanding, and seemingly natural. She watched her own hands tighten, entwined in a death grip around the stems of her drooping daffodils. Their secret had been blown apart—another fatality of this merciless war.

  “Brilliant!” Lieutenant Blackwood made a move toward her, his arm outstretched.

  Back on the bench, her posture refused to soften and she fashioned her war-torn face to suggest the interloper depart sooner rather than later.

  The man’s eyes shifted uncertainly before turning back to William. “I’m off in a few days—south this time. I’ve had a short leave, but sadly no sweetheart to call on.” He ventured a glance at Olivia once more. “I’ll tell the others I’ve seen you and that you’re in better shape than we’d feared. You’ve been in contact with the colonel, I’m sure.”

  William nodded but kept silent.

  “Well, I’ll let you alone with your new bride, Major. I’m glad to know you’re doing so well, sir.”

  A final salute sent Lieutenant Blackwood on his way—on his way to tell the army that Major William Morgan was ready to return to a war he was mentally unfit to serve in.

  William knelt at her side, but she couldn’t look at him. Her back withered and her face crumpled into her hands. The daffodils, once cheery and robust, lay beside her worn shoes in a strangled heap.

  Rain hammered every car slogging along the A30, and William welcomed it. Perhaps the moisture would dissipate the charred odor that seemed permanently trapped inside his nostrils. The stench was making him nearly as ill as Olivia, who’d v
omited twice since leaving Exeter. Despite the low visibility on the motorway, the drumming shower comforted him. The cool temperature meant he was home. Home—where he couldn’t wait to shelter his wife from Plymouth’s fetid inferno.

  Forced to decelerate behind a slow-moving lorry, he glanced at her. Her eyes were closed; wavering creases above them spoke of lingering pain. The brake lights stole his attention, but amidst the blinking red ahead, her drawn face emerged, followed by Angela’s, the stranger he’d watched die. Plymouth’s night of terror at the enemy’s hand was a cruel reminder of what he’d been avoiding these past six months: Whilst he wallowed in self-pity, the Nazis had grown bolder and more powerful.

  He pressed the accelerator. Over the next few days, he and Olivia would celebrate their long-awaited union, but after that, he had a duty to uphold. Keldor’s assumed safety was fleeting, as proven only one week ago in his own back garden. He wouldn’t be fulfilling his wedding vows if he continued to sit back and allow his God-given talents go to waste.

  Blackwood had been fated to recognize him today. How else might his new wife be persuaded to accept his resolve to reenter the war?

  Gravel crunched under halting tires as he parked outside Keldor’s gate. Olivia opened her eyes.

  William faced his bride. “Listen, I can’t say what the future holds, but please, let me worry about it. Today is supposed to be a happy day, and I won’t let anything ruin that. All I want is to carry you over the threshold as my wife and get you upstairs, soaking in a hot bath.” He pulled a few stray hairs from her face. “I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you.”

  A tear rolled down her cheek. He wiped it away.

  “Can we focus on the present, then? Will you try not to worry and let me care for you the way you cared for me?”