. . .
Mrs. Clarke was her usual gracious self, ensuring I was comfortable and well fed, and expressing curiosity at my being a flyer. I supposed she had tales to tell among her post office colleagues. After a few days, I left for my scheduled trip to Chilwell, telling Mrs. Clarke a white lie about visiting a friend in the Midlands. Well, that was not completely untrue.
I was pensive during the long train ride with thoughts wavering between ambiguous doubt and expectant joy. So many questions flashed through my mind, yet Cissy’s letters were clear about her excitement of seeing me. What if I looked different to her with my added muscle weight? What if seeing me caused anxiety, even though I could feel the excitement in her words? What if her new friends doubted my presence even though she told me they were happy for her?
In the end, joy won out as I stepped down from the train at Beeston Station, buzzing with anticipation. I walked the length of the platform with a spring in my step that did not reflect the dreary winter day. I stopped momentarily to read the directional signposts offering a choice between the River Trent, the University of Nottingham, or the High Road. A makeshift sign indicating the direction of the National Filling Factory No. 6 was clumsily attached to the High Road posting. I supposed anyone with business there would know its direction. A gloved hand tenderly touched my right arm. “Looking for directions, officer?”
Her voice, her melodious whisper! Breaking into a mile-wide grin, I twisted my head before turning and in so doing abruptly pushed her off balance. As she teetered, I dropped my duffel bag and caught her around the waist, drawing her so close I could smell the sweet scent of roses. “Oh, Cissy! Darling, it has been so long!”
We hugged and closely held each other, both breathing heavily while nuzzling one another’s necks. “Is that all the welcome you are capable of, Lieutenant Pitman?” Cissy placed both hands to the back of my head and drew me in to a kiss, a long, sweet, and savory kiss. Releasing me and pulling back to catch her breath, she said, “That’s better!”
At that moment, I lost all concern about questions of innocence and doubt and fear and misgivings. I just wanted to hold her. I could feel tears forming in the creases of my eyes, thinking about the excitement we had shared and the grief we had endured. Yet here she was!
I slung my duffel bag over my left shoulder while my right arm wrapped her in close as we strolled the short distance to the Chequers Inn on High Street. We kibitzed about her fashionable clothes, looking like a London model up here in the middle part of the country among thousands of munitionettes and other arms workers. Her felt French beret made her look like an artist, while her heeled shoes defied any sort of winter practicality. Cissy exuded a femininity that raised my heart rate to a pounding level.
Stepping inside my room, we laughed like naughty juveniles at the innkeeper’s expression when I had registered as a single. Cissy and I could indeed be taken for siblings, but his mischievous wink let me quietly know he understood the situation. It seemed that in some circles Victorian morals had thankfully collapsed, perhaps one small positive of an otherwise brutal war.
I took Cissy’s coat, laid it at the end of the bed, and stood back to admire her gorgeous dress as she twirled to show it off. With no need for words, no need to talk, we embraced with a lingering entwining of bodies that encapsulated our deep feelings as we hungered for each other. Our kisses were long and deep, then short and light, touching forehead, eyes, lips, cheeks, and neck. There was so much to catch up with, so much time lost to this war. We fell back onto the bed.
“Bobby, wait, please wait a moment.” As she made her way across the room seeking her handbag, my eyes explored her shapely shoulders and back, now exposed by the lowered zipper of her dress. I could see her muscles through her chemise. How fit she had become.
Returning to lie beside me, Cissy noticed what my hand now held in front of her and giggled. After leaning over to kiss me, she pulled back to show me that in her hand was the same: a condom. “Great minds think alike,” I snickered. “And I think we are in good hands. If the Germans only knew that we use their superbly fabricated brand of protection!”
It was late in the afternoon when we woke to the warmth of the sun. Its rays had burst through the window as it set on the horizon just below the cloud bank that had threatened rain all day. What a pleasant way to awake!
. . .
The next evening we sat down to dinner in a quaint restaurant on High Street after a full day of walking along the banks of the River Trent up to the Wilford Suspension Bridge, then over to the University of Nottingham. Cissy had asked me whether I thought she might one day qualify to attend university, and I said I felt sure of it, especially since so many barriers were breaking down and providing increased opportunities for women.
I had been indecisive all day about when to broach the subject. I just had to get it behind me, and with a pre-dinner drink in hand, I stammered, “Cissy, I’d like to speak to you about something. Won’t take but a moment.”
“Of course. We’ve talked about many things, yet there are many more thoughts to share.”
I was nervous, but knew I had to remain calm and not speak matter-of-factly with just a soothing tone. I knew if I did this wrong, things could end badly. “It’s about our encounter and the disease. I’d like to talk about it, to clear the air, so to speak.” Her cheeks flushed as she became instantly and visibly upset. I worried I had done the wrong thing, perhaps chosen the wrong time or the wrong place, allowing anxiety to muddle my intent.
Cissy’s look portrayed a nasty defensiveness. “What is there to speak of, Bob? I was shocked to have those health police come to Silvertown, the ones you sent to see me and who escorted me from my dormitory.”
“Cissy, I—”
She sat up dead straight. “I’m over that now, and I thought you were; otherwise, why are we here? All those letters from you, all those pleasant—”
“Don’t you think that we need to speak of the issue to ensure there are no misunderstandings? Why, already there seems to be one with you thinking I sent the health authorities. I didn’t.”
Cissy leaned into the table, affecting a vicious whisper through clenched teeth. “How did they know it was me? How did they know where to find me?”
Being completely distraught, I could have cried, but I needed to resolve what I had started. “Cissy, please. I got very ill, hospitalized. It is natural they would ask questions—”
She retorted, “Fine, you had to answer their questions. Could you not have let me know?”
I held my hands out and shrugged defensively. “No, that was not possible since I didn’t know what was happening until I was in the Le Havre hospital. I was under orders not to contact you. But even if I wanted to, there was no telephone, no way to reach you.” I tried hard to keep my voice calm, feeling increasingly helpless and wishing I had not asked the question. “There was no way to reach you, darling. Surely you can see that?”
Cissy remained defiant, angry that I had questioned her honesty. “I see that, but I also see there is no need to open this painful door again. Do you not think I went through the same hell, the same investigation about how this could happen?”
“That’s just it, that’s what I need—well, would like to know.” I knew I was sounding desperate. “Were you aware of having—”
Cissy’s tone didn’t yield. “Having the disease before I slept with you?”
I looked around the restaurant, aware that others were turning their heads. “Shhh . . . please lower your voice lest we attract attention.”
“Is that it? You have a need to question me, and you choose to do it in a public place, where you tell me to lower my voice. Take me to my dorm.”
“Oh, Cissy, that’s the last thing I intended. I didn’t mean to—”
“Now!”
We walked in silence, neither of us even looking at each other. I tried to take her hand, but she angrily pulled it away. We arrived at the dormitory gate, where a few of her friends
greeted her with hellos and giggles as they looked at me. Fighting back tears, she turned on her heel and walked away.
Most of the night I lay awake questioning my actions, asking myself if her anger and protest was born of pure innocence or if she was hiding a truth that she did not want to expose. No, I had already decided that she was innocent; she showed that in her reaction. It’s just that I wanted her to say that to me. Why was I so needy that I had to hear Cissy’s answer instead of relying on trust? I had pushed her faith in me to its limit.
The next morning, I decided to remain at the Chequers Inn through my paid-up time, holding on to hope that Cissy would want to mend things. I knew she wasn’t working, as she was on leave. I went for a long walk, keeping a keen eye open in the event, the hope, that I would bump into her. As I dropped a note at the guard hut, I again questioned myself: Why could I not have just accepted Cissy’s bold, outgoing self, who was obviously able to put things behind her whether or not it was good or bad? Why did I ache with a need for certainty? Why could I not just accept her affection as the truth? Even if she had made a mistake, she clearly loved me.
On the second morning after that terrible dinner, the innkeeper strolled into the bar to hand me an envelope addressed in Cissy’s handwriting, grinning as he did. I would have punched him in the nose if he’d made a comment about my sister. Instead, I let him leave in peace as I turned the envelope over. I didn’t care that it had obviously been steamed open and resealed.
Bob,
Received your note. I would like to meet, to talk. As my dorm is not suitable, I will arrive at your lodging at eleven this morning. If this is not acceptable, please advise innkeeper.
Cissy.
It was abrupt, but it was a message I was relieved to receive. I finished my breakfast, thinking about how she knew I was still there, but it didn’t matter. Of course I would accept her proposal.
. . .
She arrived at eleven sharp. With an austere look, she turned her cheek when I leaned in to kiss her. I led her past the innkeeper, who was absorbed in the Nottingham Daily Express, a distraction I appreciated. In my room, I took Cissy’s coat and was amazed to see her attired in a worker’s uniform that was both functional and trendy. Her trig knee-buttoned trousers and skirted blouse laced at the front wouldn’t attract attention on the factory floor, but on Cissy and in my room, it was a statement of strength. Her beret and high laced boots added a level of dominance, which could be viewed as sensual. As I knew her intention was far from that, I gathered the strength to busy myself with draping her coat over the footboard.
I knew my voice held a nervous tone when I spoke. “Cissy, I—”
“No, Bob, I’d like to speak first,” warned Cissy. I nodded. “I believe what you said to me was accusatory and unnecessary.” She held up her hand to silence my impulsive interruption. “I suffered as much as you, perhaps more if you consider the unfair treatment of women. Judgements such as whore and loose and tramp, the whispering among the hospital staff . . . I could go on.”
I felt terrible for the injustice she had experienced. I held back tears. “I’m so sorry.”
“I lay with you that day because I cared for you. You who were traveling back to war and might never lie with another. Oh no, it was not sympathy—it was a blossoming love that I felt. I am an honest woman with integrity, and I would never have knowingly compromised you.”
I felt a wave of relief sweep over me, which I attempted to hide as I did not want to give the impression that, because I now had my answer, all was good. I knew she had her own emotional needs and that I had hurt her with my inept question. I felt shaky, felt I could lose her, but also knew I needed the strength to rekindle our relationship, reconquer her love.
Cissy maintained her dominant stance, looking sternly into my eyes. “You questioned my activity prior to meeting you, Bob, and I will tell you. There was an army private who worked at Silvertown alongside me. He had lost a leg in the Battle of Loos but still wanted to serve his country, so he came to work at the arms factory. We became close friends, and one thing led to another late one night in the ladies’ dormitory. He shouldn’t have been there, and I had no intention—”
I moved forward, my hands outstretched to embrace her.
“No, Bob. Please hear me out.”
Cissy’s speech became rapid as she unleashed years’ worth of anxiety and grief. The trust she sought but never quite received from her family employer, the growing up in foster care, and the uncertainty about from where her next meal would come. It all tumbled out. Her ability to function well, to take advantage of the rapidly changing world, was a testament to the inner strength she had developed over those years, that and her acumen. She broke into tears. I held her while she sobbed, not letting go until long after my shoulder was soaked.
“I want you to think I’m a good person, to deserve the respect you offered me.” After a sob escaped from her stomach, a single teardrop rolled down her cheek that she wiped clear. “So many men had only one thing on their mind, but you, you were gentle, never persistent.”
“I was stupid in my rush to ask questions to satisfy my own selfish needs. I never intended to push you away, to hurt you.”
Between sobs, Cissy spoke into my shoulder with muffled words. “I sat in my dorm for a full day, thinking that I had lost you. It took all the courage I had to write that note and deliver it in the early hours. Oooh, and to hand it to that creepy innkeeper—”
She looked at me through swollen, bleary eyes at my twinge of smile in response to that last comment. It opened the way for both of us to laugh. We continued our embrace and made fun of the innkeeper, agreeing that, although ghoulish, he was simply lonely and harmless. It was such benign conversation that provided the moment to break free of the sadness.
We leaned back to look at each other, still locked at the hips. Passion and desire rose quickly as our breathing hastened. Moving in to kiss her, I felt our hearts beating in rhythm. We tumbled onto the bed, I on top of her, locked in a kiss that seemed to last a lifetime. I unlaced her blouse, and she helped me raise it over her head, followed by her chemise, as she helped me from my buttoned shirt. More kissing, more caressing, hands exploring, leaving no chance of neglecting any area of her soft skin.
When it came to her bottoms, I was at a loss and paused in wonderment. Cissy broke into laughter as she sat up, her naughtiness expressed by just leaning back on her hands, leaving me with the responsibility to figure out how to liberate her from those trousers. “What’s the matter, Lieutenant? Can’t breach the target?”
I so adored her and her natural mannerisms. I watched as she eventually stood up to unlace her boots and unbutton her trousers, staring in awe at her perfect form. I thought I would burst.
Lovemaking is special between two caring souls, but especially intense after stress and anger gives way to passion. I believe we wrote a book that afternoon, a caring, sensual book that only she and I knew how to read, a memory to last forever.
. . .
By 22 December, Cissy’s leave was over and she had to return to work. While that was disappointing, we had done so much in so few days and had grown even closer. We knew separation would be difficult, and we were careful not to make promises in case circumstances forced us to break them. But I had leave until 21 January and was determined to spend as much time with Cissy as her work circumstances allowed. As we stood on the platform at Beeston waiting for the London train, we both realized we had become secure in our relationship.
“When we were talking the other day, there in my room when we got things sorted, you said something that I am curious about.”
Cissy had that mischievous look about her, as if she knew exactly what I was about to say. “Yes, Bobby?”
I shifted nervously. “Well, when you were explaining why you lay with me the first time, you said it was because you cared for me . . .”
She held my stare, grinning at my awkwardness. “Yes?”
“Well, you also tal
ked about a blossoming love.”
“Yes?”
“I just wanted to say, um, just wanted to leave you with a thought before I board, well um, I’d like to say . . . I love you, Cissy.” Her gloved fist slammed into my left chest, reverberating at once through my greatcoat, my tunic, and my shirt. “Bob, you fool! How long was it going to take to tell me how you feel?”
I looked into her beautiful blue eyes and saw the softness of her soul. “I love you, Cissy.”
“And I love you.”
Chapter 38
25 December, 1917
“Bob, come in! Merry Christmas!”
“And Merry Christmas to you, Daisy.” I grinned at Stanley clutching his mother’s dress, half hidden behind the pleats. “And hello, young man. Merry Christmas.”
“Is that for me?” asked Stanley.
Daisy leaned over, pointing a scolding forefinger. “Stanley, that’s not polite!”
Stanley wrenched his eyes away from the wrapped present and looked at the floor. “Yes, Mummy.”
I knelt to present the small gift. “Go ahead, Stanley. This is for you.” I hoped that an introductory Meccano set would be of interest to a seven-year-old.
With the smell of dinner in the background, I held Daisy’s shoulders as I gave her a kiss on both cheeks. She embraced me and said how lovely it was to be able to get together for Christmas dinner when so many other families were without their sons or husbands.
I wondered whom Daisy was entertaining for her dinner; she was known for her generosity. She turned with a wide smile after hanging my coat in the front hall.
“Come through to the family room. I’ve someone for you to see.” We turned the corner, and my mouth gaped. I looked at one, then the other and back again. My body froze, as I wasn’t sure which way to move.
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