Timepiece

by Merinda Brayfield

  Basil took the glass and sipped it without looking. “I tried to get him to take a desk assignment, but he demanded to be on the front. He said he wouldn’t be known as just a General’s brother. God, I remember being nineteen. I thought the world was mine for the taking.”

  “The bravery and the folly of the young,” said Archibald quietly.

  Basil nodded and glanced over at him, then back at the paperwork. “I’ve served my time on the front lines. I know what it’s like. I keep thinking that perhaps if I’d been able to talk to him...”

  “You can’t know that,” Archibald stepped between him and the offending papers, blocking his view. “You’ve done the best you can, we all have, but we can’t change what’s done.”

  “I know,” said Basil softly, throwing back the rest of his drink. “They asked if I’d come home for the funeral. I told them I wasn’t sure.”

  “You should go,” said Archibald with certainty, picking up the photograph of Basil’s wife and children. “I know you miss them, and it would do your family good to know that you’re well.”

  Basil nodded and took the photograph from him, looking at it. “Thank you, Archie.” He raised his gaze to meet Archibald’s. “I’ll probably leave tonight, so, unfortunately, I won’t be able to see you off in the morning.”

  “I’m sure Collins will make sure we’re sorted. Go home, Basil. Take some time for yourself and your family. Others will keep the war running.”

  “Whether we like it or not,” muttered Basil. He walked over to the desk and set down the photo. “Take care of yourself and Corporal Martin.”

  “We’ll take care of each other,” said Archibald, putting his glass down and freezing for a heartbeat as he realized how it sounded.

  But Basil just nodded again. “It’s good, Archie. You shouldn’t always be alone. Don’t do any more work today; maybe take a walk around the grounds.”

  “I will. Rest if you can.” Archibald gave him one last glance. “See you again, soon,” he said.

  “Take care,” said Basil again without looking up, eyes on the photo of his family as he finished his drink. Archibald let himself out.

  Archibald scrubbed a hand through his hair and headed back downstairs, feeling vaguely hungry. He stepped into the kitchen and smiled at the sight of Martin sitting at the table, helping Louis peel potatoes. “You’re meant to be resting,” he chided gently.

  Martin shrugged. “Never was very good at sitting still, and besides, these potatoes aren’t going to peel themselves.”

  “I’m sure Louis and Madame LeBleau appreciate it,” said Archibald, tousling Louis’s hair, “but can we speak?”

  “Of course. You’re my first priority,” said Martin, warmth behind his words.

  “I can take care of it,” said Louis with a smile. “I usually do it alone anyway, Major Blythe.”

  “You’re a big help,” Archibald assured him as Martin got to his feet. “Your mother doing the washing?”

  Louis nodded, worry crossing his face. “Are you leaving already?”

  “Tomorrow,” he told him.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll keep the major safe,” promised Martin.

  “And I still have this,” said Archibald, taking the medallion out of his pocket for a moment. “We’ll be back later.”

  “Okay,” said Louis, setting back in his chair and picking up the paring knife. “I will see you before you go.”

  “You will,” Archibald promised, squeezing his shoulder and then leading Martin out the back door.

  He led the way down a gravel track, past the greenhouse, and into a small wood.

  “You’re good with children,” said Martin, breaking the silence.

  “Perhaps. Louis has plenty of men around him, but I’m afraid few pay him much attention. I know he misses his father.”

  Guilt crossed Martin’s face. “He’s a little younger than my son,” he said quietly. “I haven’t been home since I left.”

  “Do you miss them?” asked Archibald, thinking of the way Basil looked at his family photos when he thought nobody was looking.

  “Sometimes,” admitted Martin. “But my wife and children rarely write me.” They reached the banks of a creek and Martin looked at the running water. “I’ll go home when all of this is over, see how much of a family I have left.”

  Archibald’s heart ached at the tinge of regret in his voice. “Are you sorry you enlisted?” he asked.

  Martin shook his head. “I’m really not. What we’re fighting for, it’s important.” He looked up and met Archibald’s searching gaze. “My marriage was hollow long before I left for the war, and I wouldn’t trade the people I’ve known for anything.”

  Archibald swallowed. “There’s no one for me at home. There never has been. I keep my own company, aside from work and the expected social obligations of my station.”

  Martin reached over and touched his hand for a moment before letting it drop. After all, despite the shelter of trees, anyone could come down the path. “My place is here with you, for as long as I can.”

  Archibald looked away. How could one moment be full of such promise and danger? “I’m glad for you,” he said quietly. “I… don’t get close to people.”

  “Of course you don’t,” said Martin quietly. “You can’t.”

  Archibald nodded, scrubbing his face in his hands. “I could have married, and perhaps I should have, but… that would have been unfair to my spouse.”

  “Believe me, it’s better that you didn’t,” said Martin, looking away. “My wife’s been cheating on me for years.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Archibald honestly.

  Martin shrugged and reached into his pocket, taking out the photograph. “This was taken before I left. Julia’s never sent me a new one, so I quit asking.”

  Archibald reached over and took the photograph from him. Julia, the wife, held herself stiffly. Martin looked younger, but tired.

  “Henry is my son; he’s almost twelve now. Doris is fifteen.” Martin looked at the photo in Archibald’s hands, then took it back, folding it with care. “At least they’re old enough to remember me.”

  “You’ll come back to them,” said Archibald. “I’ll see to it.”

  “We’ll take care of each other,” said Martin, looking back up at him.

  A few cold raindrops landed around them. Archibald looked skyward. “Come on, let’s go back.”

  Martin smiled. “Yes, sir,” he said hurrying after him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Frank went back to the barracks and lost himself in a book, trying not to think too much about the tension between himself and Blythe. After dinner, he spent the evening playing cards with some of the other soldiers in the barracks, aware, not for the first time, of how much older he was than them.

  He slept badly, waking at one point to find the cat had curled up on his chest. Frank found the purring oddly comforting and let it lull him into a more restful sleep.

  When Frank woke again, the cat was gone. Most of the other soldiers were resting peacefully. He got up quietly and started packing the few things he’d taken out. One of the younger soldiers stirred, watching him gather his things.

  “Going back to the front?” he asked quietly.

  “We are, yes,” said Frank, nodding to him.

  The man sat up, hesitating. “It’s bad up there, isn’t it?” he asked.

  Frank regarded him a moment, then came over and sat next to him to avoid waking anyone else. “It can be. Lots of boredom and a few dashes of terror.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, making himself look even younger. “Sometimes I wonder if I should ask to be sent up.”

  “Don’t,” said Frank, honestly. “You’re doing good work here. Just because you’re not getting shot at with regularity doesn’t make you less of a man.”

  The soldier nodded. “I’ll try to remember that.”

  “When this is all over, and you go home, and years from now your children ask you what you did dur
ing the war, you can tell them you did your duty. No shame at all in taking care of things here. Might not get in the history books, but it’s important work. The officers and generals couldn’t do their work without the support of folks like you.”

  The man gave him a tiny smile. “Thank you.”

  “Welcome.” Frank patted his shoulder as he stood. “You’ll be all right,” he said. “Try and get a bit more sleep.”

  “Yes, sir,” he said automatically, laying back down again.

  Frank finished gathering his belongings and glanced back one more time, noticing the cat had wandered back into the room. “Watch out for them,” he told her, then headed out.

  Blythe was in the kitchen when Frank came in. He smiled at him and pushed over a bowl. They ate quickly and quietly. “Leave your things here for the moment. I want to show you something.”

  Frank nodded and left his bag and rifle in a corner next to Blythe’s own bag. Blythe led them through the house, passing other soldiers getting their day started. They went up the stairs and into an open office door. On the table was a large map, showing most of this part of France.

  “We’re going here,” said Blythe, pointing at marked trenches on the map. “More active and dangerous, but it’s where we are needed.”

  “Of course,” said Frank. He noticed it wasn’t very far from his mother’s birthplace. He touched the spot on the map. “My mum..” he started, before a noise in the doorway got their attention.

  They looked up to find a man with a camera. Frank could only guess he was taking pictures for home morale.

  Blythe sighed. “Excuse me,” he said, walking towards the stranger. He took the man’s arm and led him into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

  Frank smirked but hoped the man wouldn’t get into too much trouble. He turned his attention back to map, making note of where the French lines were compared to the British.

  Blythe returned a few minutes later. “We should head out,” he said, offering Frank a folded map. “This is a more specific map of the trenches, which should help you when we get there.”

  “Thank you,” said Frank, taking it and following him back to the kitchen.

  When they arrived at the car, Louis was loading their belongings. A private was getting settled behind the wheel. Blythe went over to talk to him as Frank helped Louis with the last bag and took his rifle. “Thank you,” he said.

  Louis shot a glance at Blythe, then back to Frank. “You’re welcome.”

  “We’ll be safe as we can,” said Frank.

  Louis nodded and stepped back. “I know. I pray for you both now.”

  Frank’s heart ached. “Thank you, Louis. I’m sure He’s listening.”

  Blythe gave Louis a wave as Frank got into the car. “Take care,” he said.

  “Bye!” said Louis, giving them both one more wave before running back into the house.

  “He’s a good kid,” said Frank, watching him go.

  “He tries, which is all we can ever do,” said Blythe.

  “Indeed,” said Frank. He sat back as the car began moving, settling in to study the map.

  Some ways into the drive, Frank looked up as they entered a village. He blinked, recognizing it as his mother’s. The place looked, thankfully, mostly untouched by the war. It was quiet at this early hour, but a few people could be seen going about their business.

  Frank glanced at Blythe, knowing this couldn’t have been directly on the way, but Blythe ignored his look, only a faintly pleased smile on his face giving him away.

  Frank wanted to say something, but the driver was right there. So instead he merely nodded and picked up the map again once they were through the village.

  As they drew closer, they heard the artillery and gunfire that marked the front lines. They passed the shattered husk of a barn. It was clear that the war had been here quite recently in the churned-up ground. Around mid-morning, they stopped just outside the trenches. Blythe said a few quiet words to their driver as Frank gathered their belongings. A rough-looking soldier appeared and looked at Blythe.

  “I’m ‘ere to take you,” he said, reaching for one of the bags.

  Frank let him take it and glanced at Blythe. They followed the soldier into the trenches. Everything here looked rough-hewn and new. These trenches hadn’t been built that long ago, and the men they passed gave them wary looks when they saw their clean uniforms. Frank could only imagine what they were thinking.

  The soldier opened the door to a smaller bunker than the last one. Blythe thanked him, and he vanished almost as quickly as he’d appeared.

  “Thank you,” said Frank when they were alone, “for taking me through the village.”

  “I thought perhaps it might be a relief to see it intact,” said Blythe, taking out papers and maps and getting things settled.

  “It was,” said Frank, getting their personal items put away. It wasn’t much, but it would be their new home. And as long as they were together, that was the important thing. Frank remembered the conversations they’d had and wondered just what the future would hold for them.

  He found himself surprised to even be thinking of the future. For so long, it had simply been a matter of one day at a time. But now… now, perhaps there was something to look forward to.

  Chapter Twenty

  Archibald watched out of the corner of his eye as Martin got a fire going in the small stove in the corner. This place would be a challenge for more than one reason, he was certain.

  Just as Archibald got his papers in a neat stack, the door opened without a knock, sending the pages flying before he could stop them.

  Archibald turned, leveling a glare at the intruder, finding himself looking at a broad man occupying the doorway. He carried himself like a bulldog looking to scrap, all compact, hostile energy.

  The stranger glared right back at Archibald. Silence stretched out before he realized Archibald wasn’t going to speak. “I’m Lieutenant Colonel Wright,” he said with a rough accent.

  Archibald resisted rolling his eyes. “Can I help you?” he asked.

  Wright took a step forward. Martin got the door closed against the chill. He gave Wright a look behind his back before moving to pick up the scattered pages

  Wright crossed his arms. “I don’t know why they sent a Major up here. I’m in charge of these trenches. But I was also told you don’t answer to me.”

  “I don’t,” said Blythe bluntly. “I have my own priorities and assignments. I am located here, but I am not under you.”

  Wright looked around the bunker, taking in Martin and the other maps and signs of his job. “What is it you do, exactly?”

  “Many things,” said Blythe. “And I assure you my rank has little to do with my authority. I will, of course, leave you to your soldiers and work, and I do hope you’ll leave me to mine.”

  Wright stood his ground. “We wouldn’t want to overstep any bounds, of course.”

  “No. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” Archibald accepted the pages from Martin and got them back into a pile, putting a weight on top of them.

  Wright watched him for a moment longer, then slowly let himself out with one more look around. Archibald rubbed his temples. “We should see about getting a lock for the door.”

  Martin smiled at him. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said.

  “Good,” said Archibald, shuffling papers. “Why don’t you go out, take a look around, and get oriented,” he suggested. “I’m sure I’ll have proper orders for you later.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Martin, pocketing the map and picking up his rifle. “I’ll come back with lunch.”

  “Excellent. Thank you.” Archibald watched him go, then started putting the pages back in the correct order. He’d met his fair share of belligerent men in his time in government service, but already Wright seemed like one of the worst examples of those who got flustered at the slightest challenge to their authority.

  But Wright wasn’t his primary problem. He had
no plans or desires to usurp him from his role. Winning the war was the goal, not battling fellow officers. Still, perhaps he should ask about him. It wouldn’t hurt to know the man’s background, and perhaps understand where he came from.

  Archibald made a note and then started in on his usual work, figuring out where they stood in this part of the lines and what he needed to focus on. But his thoughts strayed to Martin.

  He’d been attracted to men before, of course, but it felt different with Martin, something far greater than a schoolboy crush. If he allowed himself, Archibald knew he could fall quite hard indeed. But wouldn’t it be foolish to throw himself into those flames? Martin would go home to his family in the end, probably pretend nothing had happened beyond the war. But, perhaps those stolen moments of happiness would be enough.

  Archibald scrubbed his face in his hands and tried to focus on his work, only to hear gunfire that sounded far too close. Frowning, he pulled his sidearm off his hip and set it on his desk, straining to listen, heart in his throat. Someone shouted nearby and he got to his feet, carrying his pistol to the door, though he hardly thought he’d make much difference even if he did step outside.

  He hesitated, wondering how far away Martin was. If he was caught in something, Archibald would never forgive himself for not doing all he could

  Before he could pull open the door, Martin stumbled inside, closing it firmly behind him. He looked up, clearly surprised to find Archibald ready to go out. “I’m fine,” he said.

  Archibald holstered his Webley and moved to Martin. He brushed dirt off his uniform, evidence that he’d taken cover.

  “It wasn’t going to stay clean long anyway,” Martin said with a ghost of a smile and a hint of desperation, as if he were trying to keep Archibald from worrying.

  “As long as the man inside of it is intact,” said Archibald, searching his gaze.

  Martin caught his hand and held it, looking into Archibald’s eyes. “I know when to fight and when to wait,” he said softly. “It wasn’t a real attack, just a test to see how prepared we are. We drove them back pretty quickly. Doubt they’ll try it again anytime soon.”