by Tricia Goyer
Emma looked into the small hand mirror and pinched her cheeks, hoping to add some color. It had been a long winter, working at a desk. She was ready for more sunshine. She was ready to spend more time outside. She hoped Will would still think she was beautiful when she wasn’t in uniform, especially since the plain blue dress that she wore had seen better days.
“It’ll have to do,” she mumbled to herself, putting her hand mirror away with the rest of her things. Sliding into her jacket, she buttoned it to the top and decided against a hat. It was one of the few times during the week she wore her hair down. It fell in dark waves to her shoulders and was one of her better attributes, or so she thought.
Grabbing her purse, she left her Nissen hut and headed to the front door of Danesfield House. Her steps slowed as she neared, and she chuckled at seeing Georgette, Sarah, and Vera standing there.
“Oh, so let me guess. The three of you just happened to be standing outside the front door, despite the chill?”
Sarah rubbed her hands together. “Don’t be silly. We’re cold. And while it’s tempting to go inside, our curiosity has gotten the best of us.”
“Well, I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed. Will’s not going to be able to get past the gate.”
Georgette neared and slid her arm though the crook of Emma’s. “And that’s why we’ve decided to walk you down. He has to pass our approval first, don’t you know.”
Emma gasped and pulled herself back. “You wouldn’t.”
Sarah approached and placed her arm through Emma’s as well. “Oh, yes we would.”
Off to the side, Vera crossed her arms over her chest. “I told you he seems to be a fine fellow.”
Emma sighed. “So you agree that all of this is nonsense? That you really don’t need to walk me down?”
Vera laughed. “No, I didn’t say that at all. This is the most interesting thing that’s happened around here in a week. I can’t wait to see how your Will reacts to the likes of us.”
Your Will. Emma’s heart fluttered hearing those words. Then, as she saw his black auto driving up the hill toward the front gate, it crashed down again. What if she’d played him up in her mind? What if he wasn’t anything like she remembered? What if Will truly was just interested in borrowing the novel?
“The novel!” The words blurted out from Emma’s mouth. “That’s the whole point of our meeting, and I forgot to get it. I have to go back for it.”
Vera stepped in front of Emma, grabbing her arms. “No, you shouldn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
Vera’s eyes sparkled. “I’m not a betting person, but if I was, I’d put my money on the fact that he won’t mention it.”
Emma tossed her head. “Of course he’ll mention it. That’s the whole point.”
“The whole point is that he wanted to see you, talk to you. The book was just a convenient way to approach you.”
“What do you mean?”
Vera laughed. “I was there at the bookstore, remember? You were lost in your thoughts, but I was watching. Will made a beeline straight back to you. He was watching you, and he had this silly half smile. And when you reached for that Agatha Christie novel, he did the same.”
Heat rose to Emma’s cheeks, and she waved her hand in front of her face. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying forget about the book and enjoy your time with Will. And…” Vera winked. “And if he doesn’t even mention the novel, you’ll know I’m right. He saw you and wanted to get to know you better, that’s all.” She shrugged.
Georgette put her hand on Emma’s arm. “Go now. He’s waiting.”
Emma took a step toward the driveway and then she paused, looking back. “Aren’t you going with me?”
Sarah grinned. “We were kidding. We just wanted to see him. Go on.”
Emma looked to where his car was parked outside the iron gates. He stood near the front of the car, the sun shining on his blond hair. As she looked, Will lifted his hand and waved.
Her heart leaped at seeing it, and an invisible thread seemed to draw her toward him as she walked. He was smiling at her. The smile filled his face, and when she grew closer it was hard to miss the way his eyes danced.
Harold was waiting at the gate. He alternated duty between the gate and the front door of Danesfield House through the week. He looked at Will curiously. “Is this your friend, Miss Hanson?”
“Yes, Harold, he is. I’ll be out for the afternoon.”
Harold opened the gate just wide enough for her to pass through and stepped aside. “Enjoy yourself then. I hope the sun stays out.”
“Me too,” Will commented as he opened the passenger door for her. “I’m hoping Emma can help me by posing for the painting I’m working on.”
“What? Really?” Emma’s eyes widened as she sat in the seat. “What do you mean?”
“Most of our art is supposed to be about places, not people. Yet the piece I’m working on feels a bit empty. I was wondering, could you stand by the shore of the Thames? It’ll be of your back, but I think it’s just what my piece needs.”
“I…I’d love to.”
Will shut the door, and Emma clutched her hands on her lap. Will got in the car and started it, driving away as if they’d been doing this for years. As if they’d always known each other.
As they drove, Emma noted the splatters of paint on his work pants. He smelled of paint too, and something else, maybe the turpentine used to clean the brushes? On the seat between them was a letter addressed to Will with a London address. She looked at it closer, noting a woman’s handwriting.
“The letter’s from my mum. She moved out of London a few years ago and is staying with a friend near Godstow.”
“Oh, I’ve been there. It’s near Oxford, and they have amazing estates.”
“Yes, Mum is staying in a cottage near one of them. The owner is a fan of her work and offered her a place to retreat when the bombing got bad.”
“Her work?”
“She’s an artist too. She paints and writes. Sells mostly through small galleries and by word of mouth. She’s not published, but her short stories are delightful. I believe she writes for pure enjoyment.”
“I’d like to read one. It sounds like a fascinating life. Nothing like I experienced back in the States.”
“Tell me about your family.” He glanced over at her and then turned onto the main road leading to the village.
“My parents are shop owners in a small town on the coast of Maine. I…I had a brother too.” She continued on without pausing to explain. “I wrote Mother today, in fact. I basically told her the same thing I always say, ‘No need to worry. I’m living in a country house on the banks of the River Thames.’”
Laughter poured from deep in Will’s chest. “I suppose that’s one way to put it.”
“It’s the truth, isn’t it?”
The car passed through the village, and Will pointed out a few places that could be interesting to paint. “The Dog and Badger is as typical an English pub as any, but something about the river and the cottage just drew me, especially when you see what I discovered.”
A few minutes later they parked in front of a small cottage that had seen better years and looked as if it had been abandoned many years ago. Hawthorne bushes had been planted in front of the house, and they grew nearly to the roof. Red berries brought color to the landscape and littered the ground. Emma got out of the car and noticed the view of the river and an old rowboat. It was a quaint scene; Will had a good eye.
“Someone still uses this spot,” he commented. “I bet it’s a close neighbor who uses the land to park his boat.”
The wind picked up, tossing Emma’s hair around her face. “Can you imagine how beautiful this place is in the spring?” She crossed her arms over her chest, pulling them close to hold in the warmth. “I imagine wildflowers grow on the banks.”
“That’s not all.” Will stepped ahead of her and motioned her forward. “Wait until you see this.”
“Oh, it does look like a wedding cake!”
Will chuckled. “Excuse me?”
“That’s what some of the locals call it. They say it looks like a white wedding cake on the hill.”
Will cocked his head. “It does look rather ornate up there.”
“It’s a beautiful location.”
“And a strategic one.”
“What do you mean?”
“Before I studied art, I was a history major. Bends of the river were usually places of fortification. I’m sure if you looked around the grounds you’d find ancient earthworks or fortifications.”
“Yes.” Emma glanced over at him. “I believe I remember one of the geologists saying that over lunch one day.” Realizing what she’d said, Emma pressed her mouth closed. She swallowed hard. In her training she’d learned that she wasn’t to share about anyone’s job—hers or another’s.
As if not hearing her, Will turned back to his automobile. “I’m worried it might rain later. If I’m going to paint, I’d better get to it. If you don’t mind, I’d love your help setting up my things. I can move quicker if I have more than one good hand.”
“Yes, of course.” She followed him, noticing his easy stride. She’d also noticed the way he spoke of his injury. There was no shame or discontentment, just the facts. Her guess was that he’d accepted his injury and learned to flourish in spite of it. There was also a deep contentment to his soul. Something she found different and special about him.
“So how long have you been working on your newest piece?”
“I started this morning. I laid down the main parts, planning to work on the details later. I’ll probably even work on it at home. I spend most of the time on the details. It’s usually my favorite part.” He paused by the back of the car and opened the boot. “But today having you here makes this my favorite part.”
“That’s sweet of you to say.”
When he opened the boot, she saw his easel and all his supplies, but sitting on top was a painting, and it took her breath away. “You painted this…this morning?”
With one hand he lifted it from the boot. “It’s a beginning.”
“A beginning, but it looks so lovely. You captured it—the cottage and sky. The river and rowboat. I’m not sure what you meant when you said it was missing something. Or that you still need to add more details.”
“That’s kind of you to say.” He stepped back so she could pick up the easel. “It’s a nice piece, but it’s missing so much. I’ve yet to add the berries on the Hawthorne bushes or the leaves scattered on the ground. It’s the little things that make the difference. That make you pause and really study a painting instead of just walking past.”
“Oh, I can’t wait to see it.”
“Maybe on your next day off then?”
She placed the easel on the ground and set it up for him. “Yes, I would like that.”
She watched as he set up his paints. Every now and then he asked her to hold a tube of paint or a brush, but for the most part he worked with efficiency, holding the palette in the crook of his left arm. Studying him, she was sure he was the type of person who’d figure out how to make something work instead of complaining that things weren’t how they used to be.
When Will had set everything up, his eyes fixed on her. “I know it’s lunchtime. This shouldn’t take long.”
“What do you need me to do?”
“I need you to walk to the rowboat and look out at the water. Better yet, look at Danesfield House.”
“Do you want me to stand any certain way?”
“Just think about being there. Think about what it means to you.”
Emma nodded and did what she was asked. She walked to the water’s edge and turned to look at Danesfield House. “How do I feel?” she muttered to herself. She felt honored to be here, and for the first time since Samuel’s death, she felt hopeful about the future. Hopeful about how her efforts could help win the war. Hopeful about more time with Will.
And as she stood there, she started thinking about how she ended up here. About God. After Samuel’s death, she’d pushed most thoughts about God out of her mind. Maybe it was because of confusion. Or maybe it was anger. All she knew was that God could have saved her brother, but he didn’t. How could that have been part of God’s plan?
Yet standing here, with Danesfield House in the distance, and looking forward to seeing what the future held with Will, a new hope piqued in her heart. While the war brought so much pain, hadn’t it brought good things too? Communities united. People cared for each other in new ways. And just as the Great War had brought her parents together, maybe this war was bringing someone into her life that she wouldn’t be able to imagine living without.
“Emma?”
The voice behind her shoulder caused her to jump. She turned to see Will standing there.
“Oh, I didn’t hear you approach.” Goose bumps rose at his closeness.
“I didn’t mean to startle you. It seemed you were deep in thought.”
“Yes, I was thinking about how strange it is that we met up. First at the bookshop and then on the train.”
Will kicked at some dead leaves at the water’s edge. “My grandmother used to tell me that if two people were meant to meet, they would.”
“She sounds like a wise woman.”
“Yes, she was. I wish I could have known her better. She lived far away.”
A strange look came over Will’s face, and then he stepped back. She thought he was going to walk away, but instead he took a deep breath. “Emma, there’s something I want you to know. My family…they came from Germany. That’s where my family is from.”
She nodded and then studied his face. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I thought about it. If we are going to spend time together—which I hope we will, I want you to know—I didn’t want you to discover…”
“I understand. Thank you for telling me.” She considered what to do and what to say. Worries filled her mind about what this could mean for her work, but all those thoughts escaped her mind as she looked into Will’s face. And then the words that came out were what weighed most on Emma’s heart. She thought about the photographs that she saw each day of crumbled buildings and of displaced people.
“Do you still have family there? Do you worry about them?”
“I have family and friends there, but I haven’t seen them in so many years. But you don’t have to question my loyalty, Emma. As much as I know the people who are hurting, Hitler has to be stopped.” He pointed back over his shoulder. “If you’d like to look…”
“Yes, I would.”
They walked side by side, and curiosity built within Emma with each step. She was eager to see how Will had portrayed her, and at the same time she was conflicted. Should she be concerned that Will had family in Germany? She was, at least, thankful he had told her. Then there was the idea of her work. Would he try to get close to her to discover information? She didn’t want to think about that.
I have to watch every word. I have to focus and keep my work life far from my thoughts when I’m with him. It would be hard, but Emma had no desire to walk away from Will now. If she was already having these feelings for him, where would they lead? Even though this wasn’t why she’d come to Europe, she had to find out.
They stopped in front of the easel, and a soft smile filled Emma’s face. He’d captured her perfectly. She was just a small image in the background—one that would only be noticed if one was looking for it. She wore her dress and coat, and her hair was being tossed by the wind. And then she saw something else.
Emma’s breath caught in her throat. In the painting she was looking not down the river toward Danesfield House, but into the sky. And the smallest form could be seen at the edge of the c
anvas. The form of a B-24 bomber flying in.
Tears rimmed her eyes as she turned back to him. “Will, how did you know?”
“Isn’t that what we all do? When we hear the bombers coming in? Don’t we each pause and pray them home?” He swallowed and gazed down at her with tenderness. “And at the same time we’re thinking of those who haven’t come back.”
She turned away from him. It was too much to take in. It’s as if all the emotions that she’d been attempting to hold in were about to burst forth.
“Have you lost someone?” Her words escaped with a pained breath.
“My friend Lisel. She died in London just a few weeks ago. And there have been others…friends. I am not certain of those outside of Great Britain.”
Her hand moved to her neck. Her fingers tightened slightly, as if she’d be able to hold in her words, but it was no use. “I lost my brother, Samuel. He was a pilot.”
“I’m so sorry, Emma.” His words were a breath in her ear. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and before she knew it she’d stepped into his arms.
Will’s arms tightened around her, and she rested her cheek on his jacket. He held her firmly, but not in a romantic way. And at that moment Emma knew this was a person she wanted in her life for a very long time. She also knew that Vera was right, and she smiled as she stepped away.
He looked down at her, and his eyes widened in surprise as her tears had transformed into a smile. He took a step back, putting distance between them again. “Can I ask what you find so funny?”
“Oh, I was just realizing that my friend Vera was right. She told me that you weren’t interested in Agatha Christie, but you were just using it as an excuse for us to get together.”
“I was using it as an excuse?”
She smiled shyly. “I suppose we both were.”
“Well, since that is out in the open, can I tell you I don’t have much time to read these days?”
“Do you have to eat?” Emma grinned up at him.
Will frowned. “Eat? Of course.”
She placed a hand on her stomach. “Good. Can we pack up and find something to eat? I’m certain you’re going to be able to hear my stomach rumbling soon.”