A Secret Courage

by Tricia Goyer

  Vera shrugged. “It’s prettier than just the wood I suppose, but really, doesn’t it seem like a barmy waste? Someday these boards are going to be blown up or torn down.”

  “Honestly. I can hardly believe we’re friends. A waste?”

  Vera shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t get sore with me. I didn’t mean it like that, but if she’d put it on a canvas it could be saved and hung.”

  “I actually think it’s beautiful that it’s not. Isn’t everything temporary these days? It’s a symbol of fleeting beauty.” Emma tilted her head. “It’s a way of making something beautiful from the tragedy of war.”

  Vera blew into her hands. “Can we chin-wag inside? I’m freezing in my boots. Besides, if we don’t hurry we’ll get caught up in the crowds.”

  As if on cue, the bells of Westminster Cathedral pealed the hour, which meant that soon the sidewalks would fill with the numerous European Theater of Operation (ETO) workers calling it a day and venturing to find some dinner or maybe a cinema to take their mind off the war for a time. Emma snapped out of her reverie and reminded herself of her mission.

  As they hurried to the bookstore, she ignored the looks of spit-shined soldiers—their gazes taking her in, but most likely longing for a girl back home. What did catch her eye was the white-pressed shirt and easy gait of a man entering the bookstore ahead of them. A black felt hat sat upon neatly groomed blond hair. His attire stood out among a sea of khaki uniforms. Also his straight shoulders were uncommon amid the American airmen, who walked with cocked chins and easy swagger, displaying purpose and pride.

  When she entered, the man wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and she guessed he’d probably taken the stairs to the lower level, which held more books. Slightly disappointed, she turned her attention to the reason she’d come.

  Emma moved to the front counter. The young woman sat behind it as she had the last few times Emma had come in. Before that the store had been tended to by an elderly gentleman. Emma hadn’t asked what had happened to him. She almost didn’t want to know. Had he been killed in one of the night raids?

  “Hello.” Emma offered her a smile. “I was here two weeks ago, and you said you would look into acquiring a book—”

  “About Grace Darling, yes.” The woman’s face brightened. “I have the copy I found for you.” She reached under the counter and pulled out a book wrapped in brown paper. “But first you must solve a mystery for me. I feel like a daft cow, but I have to ask. I’ve been trying to figure it out since the first time you came.”

  “A mystery? What do you need figured out?”

  “You.” The woman’s laughter was soft as a bird’s song. “You wear the uniform of a British auxiliary woman, and you’re familiar with one of our national heroes, yet you speak with an American accent.”

  Now it was Emma’s turn to laugh. “Oh, my mother is British and my father American. They met during the Great War. He was here fighting and…oh, I’m sure you don’t want to hear the whole story of their romance. But when it looked as if war was coming, I wanted to do my part. I came here to attend university—it was a good excuse for the long journey. I was here when war was declared. Once I knew I could do my bit, there was no use going home…or at least that’s the excuse I used with my parents.”

  “That makes sense then. And Grace Darling…how smashing. Did your mother tell you about her too?” The woman’s face was warm. Her cheeks climbed up as she smiled until two crescent dimples peeked out from her face.

  Emma rested her weight against the counter and smiled, feeling as if the woman could be a fast friend if she lived closer. “I discovered her all on my own. I’ve always been fascinated with lighthouses—lighthouse keepers, to be exact. My aunt—the American one—took note of my fascination and supplied me with books. Many of the ones I read spoke of Grace, but I’ve yet to read her complete story.”

  The young woman placed the book on the counter before Emma. “I thought about taking a peek at the story—I knew you wouldn’t mind—but I’ve simply been too knackered when evening comes. I just want to go home and put my feet up.”

  Emma pointed to the book. “Can I see?”

  The woman nodded. “Go right ahead.”

  Emma peeled back the brown paper and saw the cover. Grace Darling, the True Story. She couldn’t hide her smile.

  “I’d offer to ring it up, but you haven’t visited the mystery section yet,” said the shopkeeper. “I haven’t gotten but a few new books, but some old Agatha Christies were brought in.”

  “You know me too well.”

  Vera was amusing herself at a rack near the front filled with gossip magazines. She picked up one with a sultry-eyed Hedy Lamarr on the cover, flipping through the pages.

  With hurried steps Emma moved deeper into the recesses of the bookshop. She breathed in the scent of dust and paper, which reminded her of her favorite bookshop back home. She made her way to the far shelf she’d become acquainted with during the months she’d been in London.

  Emma browsed the titles. She felt the presence of someone just behind and to her left, but her mind returned to the two new titles that caught her attention. Whoever it was could look at the shelf when she was finished.

  Emma’s hand reached for a book’s spine and brushed the hand of the man doing the same. Instead of pulling back, she snagged the heavy volume and pulled it to her chest. Manners or no manners, she needed something to occupy her mind during her off hours.

  “Excuse me. Did not mean to startle you, miss.” The man’s accent was clearly English. She turned and spotted the man she’d seen walking into the bookshop. The smile on his boyish face would have blended in with any young bachelor from her Maine hometown. His hair was light, nearly white. And his eyes bright blue. He was handsome, she couldn’t deny it, but he wasn’t in uniform. That alone was something to question.

  He smiled at her. “I didn’t mean to shove. Beg my pardon?”

  “No bother. I just hope you don’t mind that I snatched this book. I haven’t read this one, you see. And, well, I need it.”

  He eyed her uniform as if trying to reconcile the British uniform with the American accent.

  She straightened the cuff of her uniform jacket as she spoke, suddenly self-conscious. She had few dresses back at Medmenham that weren’t thin and worn, and sometimes she wore one of them to London. But it was easier just to wear her uniform. Still, quizzical looks like these weren’t uncommon.

  Yet he didn’t ask her any questions. Instead, he shrugged and pointed to the book. “Agatha Christie is my favorite. Do you mind if I borrow that when you’re through? I don’t live in the city, but maybe we can meet up sometime? I might have a few books you could borrow too. My name is Will, by the way,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

  Emma tilted her head, unsure of the proper response. Being with the WAAF had given her more than enough opportunity to mingle with the young flyers. She’d had quite a few men flirt with her, but this approach was new. It was charming, really, in a bookish sort of way. Especially since the man looked more like an athlete than a voracious reader. Also because the seriousness of his expression told her this was no pickup line.

  “I’m not sure when I’ll be to London next, but when I know maybe I can ring you up. We could meet here, or someplace near?” Emma considered the fact that she could simply offer to return the book to the bookshop when she was through, but then she’d miss the opportunity to see Will. And for the first time since being in London, she was willing to take the bait—hook, line, and sinker.

  “Fine, miss. I’m not sure of my schedule, but perhaps it could work.” He offered her a hand. His handshake was strong, warm, and polite. “There just might be more than one Will in London, but I doubt one without a uniform…or without the swagger of a man fighting for the side of good.” There was no shame in his voice, only truth. And Emma respected that. “Just leave a message here with Maureen at the counter. She knows how to get ahold of me.”

  He then moved to the c
ounter and asked if his special order was in. The woman nodded and pulled out a slim volume. Emma couldn’t help but read the title: English Architecture in a Country Village.

  The man paid for his order, flipped through the book, and without so much as a good-bye, turned and walked from the bookstore. The jingle of the bell on the door signaled his parting.

  She watched as he moved past the window. Emma noticed then how his left arm hung at a strange angle at his side. What is his story?

  Most men his age were off at war. She assumed it was the injury that made Will unable to serve, unless he already served and his injury brought him home. Maybe he was hurt fighting the Germans? A familiar hatred rose in her chest. The Germans had killed her brother, and any thought of them caused her stomach to turn. But it also made her feel a slight affection for this handsome stranger.

  Will disappeared among the sea of men in uniform. Emma brushed a dark strand of hair from her face and realized that within a matter of minutes she was more interested in the mystery who’d just walked out the door than the one she held in her hand.

  NINE

  As Emma and Vera, in sharp WAAF uniforms, walked toward the train station, Emma had the strangest feeling that she was being followed. She’d had that impression since they left the bookstore, but it had to be her imagination…didn’t it? Beside her, Vera chatted and laughed, not missing a beat. It nearly took two of Vera’s steps to keep up with Emma’s long stride. Noticing her friend’s quickened pace, Emma slowed. She reminded herself this was Vera’s special day, and Emma needed to stay focused on her friend. They’d gone to Piccadilly Circus, picked up some souvenirs to send home, and then had a simple lunch and chatted with airmen who were also in London on leave. Now they had just enough time to get back to the train to Henley if they did not dawdle.

  But as they neared the train station, the feeling of an unseen presence became nearly unbearable. Emma reached out and grabbed hold of Vera’s coat sleeve.

  “Hold on. Can we wait here a minute?” They paused beside a restaurant with boarded-up windows. On one window a sign had been painted on slats of wood: “The Woodstock Street Restaurant and Buffet Bar Now Open.” On the other side of the door was painted a Spitfire and an aircraft carrier with a slogan: “We are carrying on! Hitler will not beat us.”

  Vera paused, glanced over at the restaurant, and laughed. “We ate breakfast and lunch. Are you ready for second lunch already?”

  Emma offered a smile, hoping to cast off the uneasy feeling. “I have a big appetite, and there wasn’t much to lunch. The soup was rather thin…” She turned to face the restaurant and looked back the way they’d come. Her gaze scanned the sidewalk, but she didn’t see anyone unusual or anything alarming. Still, the feeling centered in the pit of her stomach and radiated outward. She caught the gaze of a man walking down the sidewalk with jet black hair and a ready smile. He tipped his hat to her as he passed, and she smiled back. There’s nothing out of the ordinary. You’re just tired and anxious about getting back to work. There was a special project waiting.

  Emma had tried to shake off the feeling all day, but it wouldn’t leave. She’d had these types of impressions ever since she was a child. The first time she remembered it happening, she was around twelve years old, and she and Samuel had been on the beach. Even though they couldn’t see another person up or down the shore, she had an inner sense that someone was near.

  Samuel had teased her and then finally relented and joined in exploring. They scampered up and down the low-tide beach and then started up the large boulders that led up to the lighthouse. It was on a boulder damp with sea spray that they found a young man tucked within a crevice. They’d gone for help and days later heard the full story. He’d had a boating accident but made it to shore. He’d attempted to climb the rocks but passed out from exhaustion.

  That was the first time Emma had those feelings, but it wasn’t the last. Her father dismissed them, but her mother thought her to be sensitive. She paid attention to them. She believed she knew where they came from.

  “God gives each of us special gifts, Emma,” her mother had said. “He’s given you a special knowing. Listen to it.”

  Emma felt that way at times when she was looking at photo covers too. She just had a way of sensing when she needed to look over something again—or look closer. But now it was different. It was a feeling she was being followed—they were being followed. But by whom and why?

  Vera readjusted her shopping bag in her hand and stomped her feet to keep the blood circulating. “If you’re really hungry, we can ask for a sandwich in a sack. Lunch wasn’t filling, but at least we were able share the table with those two B-17 bomber mechanics. I found them so interesting, didn’t you? It’s so interesting to meet people from all over the world, even if it is for such a terrible reason.”

  Emma nodded, but it wasn’t one of those soldiers she was thinking about but rather the man in the bookshop. Would she be brave enough to leave a note for him? Just thinking about him made her inner tension subside. He was someone she wouldn’t mind seeing again.

  “The mechanics were nice enough, but the best part was watching the tall one get the thrill of going down the moving escalator in the Tube.” Emma chuckled, willing the uneasiness to leave. “I suppose London is a long way from Kansas.”

  Vera smiled at the memory. “Oh, wouldn’t it be grand if they put an escalator in at Danesfield House? I can’t tell you the number of times I walk up and down those stairs every—”

  “Would you like a menu?” A voice interrupted their chatter. The restaurant owner stepped out onto the sidewalk, menu in hand.

  “Oh, no. Sorry.” Emma pulled her watch from her pocket and glanced at it. “We have a train to catch.” Then she glanced back over her shoulder one last time. For the briefest second Emma thought she saw a glimpse of white-blond hair under a black felt hat moving away from them in the crowd. Was she mistaken?

  I only wish it was the man from the bookstore. She sighed as they hurried on in the direction of Paddington station. Besides, why would Will be following them?

  As they merged with the crowd of early commuters and entered Paddington station, Emma wondered if her lonely heart was simply trying to make too much of a casual conversation. She pushed Will out of her mind, knowing it was unlikely she would ever see him again.

  Because of the growing crowd of commuters slowing them down, they had to run to make the last train. Vera’s face was red and pinched, and she was close to tears from the exertion. Emma couldn’t help but laughing.

  “I can’t remember running like that since I was a child.” Vera panted as the train doors closed behind them. “And I’ve never run like that in uniform. I imagine we were quite the sight.”

  They hurried into the railway car and paused. There was one empty seat on one side of the aisle. The other closest seat was two rows away. Emma looked around, disappointed they wouldn’t be able to sit together, and then a hand touched her arm. She looked down.

  “Would you care to switch seats?” The man’s voice was kind. “It would make it easier for you to sit by your friend.”

  She fixed her gaze on the man, and her heartbeat quickened. It was the man from the bookshop. Vera must have recognized him too because her elbow nudged Emma’s ribs. Will was relaxed in the train seat with his jacket off, laying over his lap.

  “Well, I suppose—” Emma started.

  Vera jumped in and pushed Emma closer to him. “Oh, no. Don’t you bother yourself, sir. Emma, go ahead and sit. It’s less than an hour ride, and we live and work together. We see each other all the time. I really don’t mind.” Then Vera darted for the other seat, and Emma stood looking down at the man she had hoped she’d meet again. She just had no idea it would be this soon. Or that her heart would pound so frantically when she saw him.

  TEN

  Heat crept up Emma’s face, but she had no choice. She scooted past his knees, clutching her packages—including her book—to her chest. She sat, smoot
hed her skirt with one hand, and then removed the book from her bag, placing the Agatha Christie novel on her lap.

  He glanced over at the book in her hands, and she prayed he couldn’t see her fingers trembling.

  “Looks like a good read,” he said as if they hadn’t been reaching for the same book earlier that day.

  She smiled. “Yes, I rather imagine it will be.”

  “I read the first book about Tommy and Tuppence when I was a teenager. It will be fun to catch up with them again. And I hear it’s about spies. That’s always intrigued me.”

  Emma smoothed her hand over the cover. “That’s why I wanted to read it too.” She couldn’t tell him she was a spy, of course, keeping track of Hitler’s military movements and men.

  Will’s closeness caused her heart to pound. She opened the book and attempted to read the first page, but it was no use. Her mind couldn’t concentrate on the book when he was so close.

  The train whistled as it started, and Emma could hear her friend chatting with the soldiers sitting near her. Emma refused to look in Vera’s direction. She was sure her friend would have a playful smirk on her face.

  Beside her, Will cleared his throat. “May I ask you a question?”

  She glanced over and noticed Will’s eyes on her.

  She smiled. “Does it have to do with borrowing my book? My guess is that since you’re on this train you don’t live far from Henley.”

  “I live in Henley. Just moved there. I have a new…assignment. But that wasn’t what I was going to ask. I was actually going to ask your name. But I would like to read the novel.”

  “I’m sure that could be arranged.” Her fingers fiddled with her bag, and his gaze followed their motion as if he was studying her. As if he was curious about her every movement. “And my name is Emma.”

  His gaze turned back to her face, then his finger combed his hair back from his forehead. “Emma. I like that name. It’s a good name.”