Timepiece

by Merinda Brayfield

  Collins nodded. “I need to check a couple things. I’ll be back to help you to the car shortly.”

  “Thank you.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Frank packed quickly from long habit, then moved to start gathering the papers and reports. At least he was going with Blythe. He still wasn’t quite sure what was happening between them, but, despite his initial fears, life was too short not to at least see where the path might lead.

  Blythe glanced over as Frank stacked papers. He hesitated, then spoke. “Do you wish to stay with me? I could have you reassigned elsewhere. Away from the front if you like.”

  A few choice phrases went through Frank’s head. “I don’t want to go anywhere else,” he said aloud. “I… enjoy being your aide, sir.” Careful formality seemed the safest choice. Collins could return at any moment.

  Blythe bit his lip and nodded, trying to hide the relief on his face. He turned away to gather yet more papers. “Your service has been most appreciated.”

  “And it’s been my honor,” said Frank, finishing clearing the table. “I didn’t expect to be here, but I am glad I am,” he said, looking at Blythe.

  Blythe looked at him, then looked away again. It hit Frank suddenly that if he hadn’t been here, hadn’t been doing this work, if he’d still been with his unit… he’d most likely be dead. He blinked back sudden tears and reached for a map to roll up. But it wasn’t just gratitude at being alive between himself and Blythe, he was certain of that. He could see how fully the man trusted him, and he trusted Blythe in return. It felt like a partnership.

  Frank wondered if they could be more. The possibility was tantalizing, like the hint of a summer strawberry on his tongue.

  Collins returned a few minutes later with some other soldiers. They gathered the papers and bags. Frank shouldered his rifle, checking to make sure he wore his gear, then looked at Blythe, making sure he had everything. Even a walk from one trench to another could be dangerous.

  Blythe gave him a tiny smile and adjusted his sidearm. “Do I pass muster, Corporal?”

  “You do, sir. Button up your coat.”

  Blythe obliged. Frank caught the amusement in Collin’s eyes, but the other man turned away and opened the door, leading the way towards the rear of the trenches.

  By the time the car was packed with all the work and luggage, it was clear there wasn’t room for much else. “I can walk,” said Frank, glancing up at the mercifully clear sky.

  Blythe frowned and looked at Collins. “I’ll walk with you. I know where I’m going.”

  Frank had never known an officer willing to lower himself the way Blythe did. Not only did he sometimes fetch their food, but now he was willing to walk however many miles to their destination? “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. I’m certain it’ll be good for me.”

  Collins nodded. “I’ll let the General know. See you this afternoon, gentlemen.” He started the car and took off.

  Blythe looked at Frank. “This way.”

  They started off side by side. It was strange to leave the trenches behind. It made Frank feel exposed in the same way no man’s land did. Blythe walked close by his side, as if he could shield him. Frank knew it was a futile gesture, but he appreciated it anyway.

  Others were on the road. A few horses and wagons passed, and one car moving between the front and the rear or vice versa. Tired men walked in straggling bunches, most of them hardly looking up as Blythe and Frank went around them.

  Frank quickly lost track of time, occasionally adjusting his rifle. They didn’t talk, but he gradually started to relax as the land around them bore fewer scars.

  Suddenly, Frank heard the familiar low whistle of artillery. He shoved Blythe down on instinct, covering him with his own body a heartbeat before the explosion. His ears rang. Frank shook his head to clear it, looking up. Cursing, he scrambled to his feet, pulling Blythe up after him and reaching for his gas mask.

  Blythe saw the action and reached for his own. Frank tightened his straps and reached out to adjust Blythe’s. Soldiers scurried away from the sickly yellow-brown tendrils curling towards them. A horse whinnied and bolted, the man driving the wagon barely holding on.

  Frank grabbed Blythe’s hand and ran. He’d been lucky enough to avoid the gas so far, but he’d seen men who hadn’t. Ahead of them, the road went over a gentle hill, promising safety.

  A second shell landed nearby, throwing them both to the ground and showering them with dirt and grass. They helped each other to their feet and ran again. Frank glanced behind them as they climbed the hill. Gas lingered among the carnage, drifting slowly in the light breeze. He took a stale breath and resolutely faced forward again.

  Up ahead of them, Frank could see men with their masks off standing on the crest. They struggled upwards, finally joining the group. Blythe reached for his mask, but Frank stopped his hand. He watched Blythe as he cracked his own first. Only after he tasted the chill air did he let Blythe remove his.

  Blythe took gulping breaths, looking behind them. Frank saw the way his eyes widened and reached out to touch his shoulder. Blythe tore his eyes away from the dead and dying and looked at Frank. “You saved my life,” he said, voice hitching.

  “You’d do the same for me,” said Frank, putting an arm around Blythe to guide him down the far side of the hill. He surreptitiously checked for injuries as they walked, relieved to find him whole.

  Blythe rubbed his fists in his eyes, as if that would remove the images burned behind them.

  “I know,” murmured Frank, letting his arm drop. He put his gas mask back in its place and did the same for Blythe, wiping dirt off his uniform before stepping back. “How much farther?”

  Blythe took a few more deep breaths and looked around them. “Perhaps an hour?” he ventured.

  “Not so bad,” said Frank, starting to walk again.

  Blythe fell into step beside him. Even if he didn’t know Blythe’s history, Frank would have easily seen it had been his first taste of actual combat. He wished he could ease Blythe’s mind, but sometimes, death fell from the sky. Sometimes, there was nothing you could but try to save yourself.

  Frank walked close by his side. Now he was the one trying to protect. Blythe took a few more deep breaths, gradually calming himself.

  “It’s never easy,” murmured Frank. “Especially your first time.”

  Blythe shook his head. “All I did was run.”

  “What you did was survive. That’s the most important thing.” Frank reached out to touch his arm.

  Blythe stopped and looked at him. “How have you done this for two years?”

  Frank shrugged. “One day at a time, and a large dose of luck.”

  Blythe looked about to say more, but just then, there was the sound of a car, and Frank quickly dropped his hand.

  The car stopped next to them, and Collins got out. “Oh thank God,” he said, with obvious concern. “We heard about the attack. Are you all right?”

  “Quite,” said Blythe. “Corporal Martin saw to my safety.”

  “Good. Get in, I’ll take you the rest of the way.” Collins opened the car door.

  Blythe glanced at Frank but got in the front. Frank got in the back and looked out the window. The world outside was dreary with winter, but the land itself wore less and less damage.

  The silence in the car was loud. Frank could imagine the thoughts occupying Blythe’s mind. He remembered his own first time over the top, barely going a few feet before lying down in the mud and waiting for the chance to return. He’d ventured further each time and, somehow, had survived with nothing more than minor injuries, even as men around him were blown to bits.

  His nights were haunted by the things he’d seen. He couldn’t be sure he’d ever actually killed an enemy soldier in the chaos of battle, but it was likely. He’d tried and failed to save those around him, seen men he’d just talked to with the light gone out of their eyes.

  Frank shook his head. No point thinking or dwel
ling on it. The nightmares would be there when he closed his eyes. The past was done. As he’d told Blythe, he’d done the most important thing: live.

  The next question was what to do with the time he’d been given. And he found that he hoped he would stay by Blythe’s side. Maybe even, perhaps, as something more.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Relief flooded through Archibald as the old farmhouse came into view. It had only been a few weeks, but it felt like a year since he’d seen it last. Collins stopped near the guard shack. “The General is waiting for you,” he said.

  “Thank you,” said Archibald, getting out, feeling comforted by Martin taking his place by his side. The private on duty, Rosser, gave him a salute as he passed. He noticed the man giving Martin a curious look, no doubt trying to figure out who he was. Martin gave him a nod and stayed close on Archibald’s heels.

  They quickly crossed the yard and entered the farmhouse. Archibald found Basil pacing, clearly waiting for them.

  “Oh, thank God,” he said, echoing Collin’s words as he stopped and looked them over. “Are you hurt?”

  Archibald shook his head. “Corporal Martin took care of me.”

  “Thank you,” said Basil, turning his attention to Martin and looking him over. “You’ll find lunch down the hall in the kitchen,” he said by way of dismissal.

  Martin glanced at Archibald, who nodded back. “Thank you, sirs,” he said, giving a salute as if he’d forgotten when exactly it was appropriate to do so, then headed down the hall.

  Basil led the way up the stairs towards his office. Archibald glanced at Martin’s retreating back, then focused on what was to come.

  Basil closed the door behind them and gestured Archibald to a seat. He reached for the teapot, then thought better of it and picked up the decanter instead. He poured them each two fingers and handed one to Archibald before sitting down behind his desk.

  Archibald sipped the drink, relishing the burn. “Just bad luck on our part.”

  Basil watched his face, then got up and moved to look out the window. “I’m glad you’re safe and whole. I know things haven’t always gone to plan, but they never do. However, I’ve never had any doubts about you.”

  Archibald looked at Basil’s back. “Thank you for choosing me.”

  “Of course,” Basil turned and gave him a small smile. “You were always the smartest one in our class.” His smile dropped as he sat back down again and scrubbed a hand through his thinning hair. “The battle would have gone worse without your involvement.”

  “Thank you,” Archibald said again. He looked down at his glass, fidgeting with it. “Corporal Martin has been of invaluable assistance.”

  “I’m glad. You said he kept you safe?”

  “He has much more experience with the front line than I do. He pushed me down a moment before the first strike landed and made sure my gas mask was on.” Archibald took another long swig, trying not to think of those not so lucky.

  Basil nodded. “I’m glad,” he said, voice hitching.

  Archibald looked up at him, seeing something in his eyes. Something more than just friendly concern. “Did something happen?” he asked.

  Basil looked at him, then away. He took a breath. “My youngest brother was invalided home two weeks ago. Alive and whole, thank God, at least in body, but it will take time for his mind to recover.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Archibald sincerely.

  Basil took a breath. “At least he has a chance.” He rubbed his eyes.

  Archibald got up and went to Basil’s side, putting a hand on his shoulder. Perhaps it was selfish, but Archibald was glad Basil’s brother hadn’t been involved in the battle just fought. There were enough brothers and fathers and sons with their blood spilled under his orders. “Are you sleeping?” he asked Basil.

  “Not well,” admitted Basil. “But I never do, not since I’ve been here. It’s a General’s job to worry and fret.” He took a few more breaths and looked back to Archibald. “Thank you. We’ll discuss work later. You and Corporal Martin can take a much-needed rest for now. I’m sure you want to clean up and check on your things, but eat some lunch with me first, would you?”

  “Of course,” said Archibald, stomach reminding him that he’d only had a light breakfast and tea before the long walk. He wasn’t quite sure what they’d do with a rest, though certainly, Martin deserved it. Perhaps it would be good to have some time apart, somewhere the rules were more strictly enforced. Almost certainly safer, anyway.

  Basil pushed a button on his desk and Collins stepped in a few moments later with a tray, setting it on the desk before quickly vanishing again.

  “I’m sure you missed Madam LeBleu’s cooking. You’ve lost a bit of weight, I think.”

  “Well, the food at the front isn’t as fresh as it is here, though, for as much as I’ve been behind a desk, I’m surprised I haven’t gained,” said Archibald, smiling as he picked up a fresh vegetable.

  “Stress will do it too,” said Basil, picking up his fork.

  They slipped into more familiar and inconsequential conversation as they ate. “Your old room is still yours,” said Basil as they finished up. “I figured you’d prefer that.”

  “Thank you,” said Archibald, getting to his feet. “I’ll see you around supper time?”

  “I’ll be here. Rest up.” Basil pushed the tray aside and picked up his pen. “I mean it, no work.”

  “Perhaps I’ll write a letter,” said Archibald with a smile. “But all my work is packed up.”

  “Good.”

  Archibald was halfway to the stairs when Louis caught up to him, grinning. “Major Blythe, you came back!”

  “Just for a little while, I’m afraid.” Archibald tousled his hair. He pulled the medallion out of his pocket. “Thank you for helping to keep me safe.”

  Louis glanced at it. “I’m glad she did.” He looked back up at Archibald. “I readied your bath for you. Lieutenant Collins said you’d want one.”

  “He was right. I’ll talk to you more after I get cleaned up, all right?”

  Louis nodded and stepped aside. “I’m glad you’re not hurt,” he said quietly.

  “Me too. I’ll come see you.”

  “Okay. I’ll be in the kitchen with Mama.” Archibald watched him go, then climbed the stairs.

  He stepped into his room and closed the door behind him, leaning against it, suddenly tired. The room looked untouched, the bed neatly made, a steaming bath waiting for him along with a fresh uniform laid out on the bed.

  With a sigh, Archibald undressed, laying aside the gas mask and canister. He hadn’t really thought about the mask when he’d prepared to head out that morning, but he didn’t dare think about what might have happened if he hadn’t had it. Next, he removed his sidearm from his hip and set it on the dresser next to the mask. Today had been the first time since training to use the mask. He had still never fired his Webley in combat, though the time might come for that.

  Archibald’s fingers trembled as he reached for his buttons. Closing his eyes, he could feel Martin’s body covering his own, felt the warmth of his hand in his. Archibald shook his head and opened his eyes. Martin had been doing his duty and saving his life. He couldn’t sully that with imagining more. Not if they were going to continue to work together as they had been.

  Archibald looked in the mirror as he finished. Basil was right, he had lost weight. And there were more lines on his face and a shadow in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

  With a sigh, he moved to the tub and sat down, washing away the dirt and any lingering traces of the terror. It was quiet here, in a way he hadn’t noticed before, no drum of artillery or gunfire. He wondered what it would be like to go home to London after all this.

  Shaking his head, he got out of the quickly cooling water and dressed. He left the mask on the dresser and returned the gun to its place on his hip. His thoughts turned to Martin again as he finished settling himself. He was a good man, but even if he was as int
erested as he seemed, war or peace would end their affair.

  But perhaps they might be granted some reprieve, some tiny bubble of time where two men might be allowed to give in to their desires before the walls of civil society closed in and separated them again.

  Scrubbing his face in his hands, Archibald schooled his features. There was no certainty that Martin wished what he suspected. But they would have some rest and quiet before going back to the front and the tantalizing possibilities.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Frank headed down the hall, trying not to worry about Archibald. Clearly, he and the General were friends.

  He entered the kitchen and found a few young soldiers together at a table, hair and uniforms perfectly neat. They glanced at Frank, conversation stilling as they took him in.

  A dark-haired woman looked up from the stove. She wordlessly handed him a bowl and went back to her work. Frank leaned his rifle against the wall and sat down, leaving some space between himself and the others. They quickly fell back into conversation. Frank half-listened as he ate.

  “You came in with Major Blythe, didn’t you?” asked one of the soldiers.

  “I did, yes,” said Frank, finishing his bowl.

  “Glad you made it in,” said the soldier. “If you’re done, I can show you where you’ll be sleeping.”

  Frank picked up his rifle and brought the bowl over the sink. “Thank you.”

  The soldier got to his feet, leading Frank out the back and into the chilly air. They passed through a garden with a greenhouse on the far side of it. They arrived at one of the outbuildings and the soldier pushed open the door.

  The place might have been a barn once, but now it had been converted into a barracks, the large main room filled with neatly placed beds. A few doors stood closed on the far wall. The soldier gestured at one of the cots. “That one’s empty. If you need anything else, come on up to the house.”