A Secret Courage

by Tricia Goyer

  Today Will waited with an excitement building within. He’d visited the small local library in the days since he’d last seen her. He had looked through botany books and had painted a small piece just for her. He placed it on the auto’s front seat as he watched her approach. Harold, the security guard, opened the gate to her without a word and waved to him while he waited.

  She offered him a quick hug, one that ended too soon. “Oh, Will, isn’t it a beautiful morning?”

  “It is beautiful, but mainly because you make it so.” He couldn’t help himself. Even as she pulled away, he raised his hand and let his fingers trail down her cheek.

  Emma’s cheeks were pink. Her eyes were bright when she was close to him. “Honestly, Will, when you look at me like that, you make a girl forget there’s a war on. You wipe away the memories of what I just…” Emma paused and pressed her lips together, holding her words in. In the middle of the joy a flash of pain crossed her eyes, and Will thought he understood.

  Through his resources, Will had discovered many of the activities that occurred inside Danesfield House. He knew that most of the photographs were developed at RAF Benson and other airbases nearby, and then the prints were taken to Danesfield House. In the Allied Central Interpretation Unit, there were those who plotted the photos brought in by the reconnaissance planes. Others reviewed the information and wrote reports of their findings. He’d even heard that some of the teams made models of important targets so the commanders could have a full understanding of what their troops faced, whether in the air or on the ground. Will didn’t know what division Emma was in, but it was obvious the burden of what she must witness weighed on her soul. As much as she tried to leave her work behind, her eyes reflected the horror she saw. Even her brightest smile was tinged with heartache.

  “Before we go on our walk, I want to show you something. I’m not sure you know this, but during the Elizabethan period, botanical work was popular here in England. Lords and ladies would wander through gardens and groves to collect specimens. Books of botanical art were also popular during that time. And poems were written. It truly was a merging of science and art.”

  Emma clasped her hands together. “Please tell me you painted one for me?”

  He chuckled. “That’s one way to ruin the surprise, isn’t it? Yes, I painted something for you. It’s nothing much, but I thought you might want to hang it in your room.”

  Will opened the door and pulled out a watercolor on art paper.

  “Wisteria!” she gasped. “I love the color. You captured the purple blooms so beautifully.” She glanced back at the large white estate behind them and the outer walls that were covered with the same blooms, appearing like a pale maiden wearing purple skirts.

  “I love it, Will!” And with that she leaned forward and placed a kiss on his cheek. Heat crept up his neck, and his lips curled into a smile. Before he’d dedicated his life to God, he had been far more intimate with women, but somehow that simple kiss meant far more.

  As she pulled back, she took the watercolor from his hands, and joy filled her face. It made him want to paint something else—just for her. It made him want to give all just to keep her safe.

  He turned his attention to the path ahead, but Emma didn’t move. Instead, she stayed rooted where she was and eyed the watercolor, as if enjoying every detail.

  “You know what I was thinking, Will?”

  He turned back and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Whatever it is it won’t surprise me. You are always full of ideas.”

  “I was thinking how wonderful it would be if you painted Danesfield House. Not just the house itself, but the gardens and the huts. It’s a beautiful estate, but even out here in the country, war has elbowed its way in.”

  “Emma, I—”

  “Shh.” She placed her fingertips to his lips. “I think this is important to capture. This beautiful estate in contrast with the Nissen huts. The starched drab uniforms and the colorful gardens. Beauty and function.”

  Joy lit her face, and excitement built in his heart. Excitement he attempted to hold back. This was exactly what he wanted—what he’d been hoping for. But why did guilt fill his thoughts?

  I’m only using her to protect her, he told himself. I have to find out if the threat is real. Yet he didn’t want to appear too eager.

  Will took her hand in his, kissed her fingertips, and then pulled her hand to the side. “I love your idea, but I just don’t think it’s possible. There is always a guard stationed outside of the gates, determined to keep me out.”

  “I can ask…”

  “And jeopardize yourself—your standing?” He glanced down at her uniform. “I may never have been in the military, but I can see that you’ve risen a rank since we met.”

  Color filled her cheeks. Then she shrugged. “I’ve been working hard, that’s all.”

  “No doubt you have.”

  “After all…” She grasped his hand tighter and started to walk, drawing him along. “The harder I work, hopefully the sooner the war will be over. And then—only after the war—can you be fully in my life and I in yours.”

  “I’d love that, Emma. And if you want to ask, I’m fine with it. Just know I won’t be offended if they refuse.”

  “Agreed.” She yawned. “Now let’s get moving before I fall asleep on my feet.”

  Will walked along with Emma by his side, considering her words. “Only after the war can you be fully in my life and I in yours.”

  Only after the war—and only if the Allies gained victory—could he let down his guard and tell Emma his whole story, giving her his whole heart. Will felt bad keeping so much from her. He only hoped that someday she would understand his secrets and know why he had to keep them from her.

  And someday he’d tell her more about the wisteria too, and why he’d chosen to paint that flower. In the language of flowers—which was also popular during the Elizabethan age—wisteria symbolized longevity and love. It symbolized fathers and grandfathers telling their sons of stolen kisses beneath the same wisteria. It was a plant that lived through generations, and that’s exactly what he hoped for them. To Will this wasn’t a wartime romance, but the budding of a great love that could endure for a lifetime. And if he was reading the look in Emma’s eyes correctly, she felt the same.

  TWENTY-ONE

  July 17, 1943

  It took a few weeks for Emma to get approval for Will to paint Danesfield House, the gardens, and the huts from inside the guarded gate. She started by broaching the subject with Edward. Her section leader wasn’t keen on the idea at first, but then she brought in Will’s watercolor of the wisteria and his newest pen and ink of the Dog and Badger in Medmenham. It was a quaint older tavern and hotel with a gabled roofline and ivy-covered walls. The pub there was often visited by men in her section on their nights off. Emma hoped it would endear Will to Edward. One look at the captured image, and Edward told her he’d see what he could do. Then, after a personal meeting where Will provided his paperwork to prove he was indeed working for the government on a special project called Recording England, Edward grew keen on the idea.

  “Imagine that,” Edward had said. “A government project to employ painters to capture England. I wouldn’t have thought of that.” And within a few days he’d gotten approval and the paperwork that Will needed to enter the gates.

  Will seemed hesitant but pleased. “I do like the idea of spending more time with you, but I’ve also felt as if people assumed I was spying on them, especially with the way we went on strolls outside the gates.”

  She’d smiled at that and almost laughed. Will wasn’t the type of person she imagined when she thought of a spy. She’d read enough Agatha Christie novels to picture someone different. Someone not as gentle and kind. Someone more suspicious and sinister.

  “I do like the idea of capturing a wartime experience in the English countryside,” Will had continued. “London isn’t the only place war is being fought.”

  On Emma’s next day of
f, she showed Howard the note from Edward, and Will was granted entrance to the garden. It was as beautiful as he’d imagined. They walked with slow steps, taking in the topiaries and the box hedging. As they walked, he pointed out the shrubs and the clematis, choisya, and chimonanthus that climbed over arbors and up walls. They paused toward the back of the estate near a fountain. From there they could see both the estate and the huts.

  The sun warmed Emma’s shoulders, and she scanned the view, considering how it would look on Will’s canvas.

  Stopping right in front of the fountain, Will paused. “What do you think of this view?”

  “I think it’s lovely.” She sighed. “The sky is perfect today. It’s so blue, and the white clouds above the white building are so beautiful.” She glanced over at him, appreciating the way the sun danced on his light hair. She squeezed her eyes shut, wanting to capture this moment. She wanted to remember him tall and handsome with happiness in his eyes as he surveyed the beautiful garden.

  When she opened them again he was still looking around, taking in the scene. Will held up his hands, as if framing the image. He released a contented sigh and then looked around. “It seems quiet back here. I’m not sure how many of those uniforms will make it into the shot.” He winked at her.

  “Half of those who work here are working this shift. The other half are sleeping. Of course, by tomorrow word will get out, and you might even draw a crowd during the lunch hour, especially after you set up your easel and paints.” She tucked her arm under his good one. “If you’d like I can help you carry your things up here. You’re starting today, aren’t you?”

  “A beautiful day like this? I’d be foolish not to. And as for you helping me, I’d like that, Emma. But first, what do you think of a picnic? I picked up some things in town.”

  She placed a hand on her stomach, realizing how empty it felt. She’d been so excited to see Will that she hadn’t gone to breakfast. Will most likely expected that. And the idea that he was thinking of her, thinking of her needs, made her appreciate him even more.

  Emma squeezed his arm harder. “A picnic, really? That sounds wonderful. Why don’t we—” Her voice stopped short when she spotted a couple in the distance. It was Vera walking in the garden with Berndt by her side.

  Will placed a hand on the small of her back. “Is everything all right?”

  She moved in the direction of the front gate to get his things out of the automobile. “What do you mean?” She forced a smile even though a pain grew in her gut. She didn’t know why it bothered her so to see Vera with Berndt, but it did.

  “I just was wondering if something was wrong. You were talking and just stopped, and then your whole body tensed up. I just didn’t know if there was a problem…if I said something.”

  “Did I? No, it’s not you at all.” She tried to keep her voice light. “I just saw a friend, that’s all, and…it just surprises me who she is spending time with.”

  Will followed her gaze. “Vera, right? We’ve met a few times.”

  Vera and Berndt slowly strolled down the sidewalk and around to the front of the house. They walked shoulder to shoulder, enjoying the garden. They looked very much like a couple—something she was sure Vera would deny.

  “Is that her boyfriend?” Will asked, his gait matching hers.

  Emma paused. She tugged on his arm, pulling him closer to the building. “That’s the thing. I’m not sure. I’ve seen them together numerous times, but every time I ask, Vera says they’re only friends, and then she changes the subject.”

  Will ran his hand through his blond hair. “Does he work here?” There was a curiosity in Will’s eyes she didn’t expect. And maybe something else…worry. But why would Will be concerned for her friend whom he hardly knew?

  “Yes, he was a janitor, and now he works more in the gardens. I’m not sure when he sleeps because I’ve seen him from early morning to late at night. He seems to always be around, but I’ve heard he doesn’t live on the estate.”

  “He seems familiar to me.” Will’s eyebrows folded. “But I can’t seem to place him.” He shrugged. “Maybe I’ve seen him around town. Maybe he visited the Dog and Badger when I was there painting it.”

  “That very well could be.”

  “Maybe I could meet him…if Vera doesn’t mind, that is.”

  Will and Emma continued on the path, but as they turned the corner, Berndt and Vera were nowhere to be seen. Emma looked around. She guessed they’d both gone inside Danesfield House. She tried not to act frazzled, but a nagging feeling told her she had to pay attention. She didn’t know why the two seemed so close, but she wanted to know. She also wanted the truth from her friend. “I can introduce you sometime, although I don’t know the man very well.”

  Will nodded and then swept his hand toward the auto. “Yes, I’d like that. But most important, let’s go have that picnic. And then we’ll get the painting supplies. As much as I want to relax and enjoy the day, I don’t want to take this privilege for granted. I better get some type of paint on canvas today. Don’t want your Sergeant Blackbourne doubting my reasons for being here.”

  She playfully punched his arm. “Well, I’m sure he’s already guessed the real reason is me.” She chuckled. “But that’s a good idea. I can’t wait to see you work, Will. I could spend every day watching you, I honestly could.”

  It was on the second day that his easel was set up behind Danesfield House that Will got a closer look at Vera’s friend. He’d been on his knees digging in a flower planter when Will strode by. The man looked up, offered a quick smile, and then went back to his work, digging with a trowel as if his life depended on it.

  A strange feeling crept up Will’s arms, and he slowed his steps. There was something about the man’s eyes that seemed familiar. They were an ordinary brown, but his eyelids caught Will’s attention. They drooped heavily, even in midday, as if the owner was always attempting to fight sleep. He knew someone with the same eyes—Albert. Albert was around the same height, but this gardener had a leaner frame and lighter hair. Also, when he rose to walk to the faucet to get another bucket of water, Will noticed a limp. The man was similar to Albert but different too. It was as if they were close enough to be brothers, but the way they presented themselves was as different as day is from night.

  Will strolled to his familiar spot by the fountain and noticed Emma was waiting. She sat at the edge of the cement work, and her head was lowered. She looked as if she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders.

  “Emma?” Will approached with quickened steps. “Are you all right?”

  Instead of rising, she glanced up. Her eyes were puffy, as if she’d been crying. The circles under her eyes were darker than he’d seen them. “Will, it’s so good to see you.”

  He set up his easel, placing his canvas on it to free up his hands. Then he sat beside her. “Emma, what’s going on? Is everything all right?”

  “I’m just tired, that’s all. My work…sometimes I just see too much.”

  She pressed her lips together, and he knew she wanted to say more but couldn’t. What did she see? What did she experience? He knew the images that were brought back showed the reality of war. Maybe having a woman in this position wasn’t a good idea. Will cleared his throat.

  “I can’t ask you about your work, and I won’t. But maybe there is something I can help you with. Is there anything else bothering you, Emma? Something you can talk with me about?”

  She covered her mouth with her hands, and Will knew that something more bothered her. Tears came, rimming her lower lashes. He wrapped an arm around her and she leaned against him. At that moment it didn’t matter to him who was watching or what they thought. He just wished he could take even a small measure of her pain away.

  A few minutes passed, and then Emma took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. She squared her shoulders as if urging herself to continue.

  “It’s my father. I think the strain of everything has gotten to him—the war, me far away
, losing Samuel. And then the struggle of having to stick by the ration rules when he sees so many people he knows and cares about having to do without. Mother says he’s been having heart problems. She said he’s been to the doctor a few times and the doctor is concerned. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. I should have been expecting this.”

  “I’m so sorry, Emma. Please, tell me more. You so rarely talk about your family.”

  She took in a deep breath and then released it slowly.

  “My parents are shopkeepers, but my father has been urging my mother to sell the store and move inland for ages.”

  “He doesn’t like the work?”

  “More like he’s tired of living in a fishing village. He grew up there and curses the sea—too many lives lost. But I think Mother wanted to stay because my brother and I loved it so. And maybe she loved it too, knowing that her family in England was just on the other side of those waters.”

  He took her hand and held it tight. He remembered early in his training how Christopher had taught him how to get people to talk. To look at them in the eyes. To listen. To offer the simplest touch.

  “You attract more bees with honey than vinegar, Will,” Christopher had stated. “There are two ways to truly get close to a person. One is as a friend, and another is as a lover.”

  Will had chosen the former rather than the latter. He did what he could to get information to protect his country. He didn’t feel guilty robbing a person of their secrets. He would, on the other hand, feel guilty using his body to rob their souls. And with Emma, he worked to draw her close to him for more than information. He truly wanted to know her, to know her heart.

  He entwined his fingers through Emma’s and scooted closer. He hoped she saw the true care in his eyes. The love. “I know you’ve mentioned before that your mum is from England, and maybe you get this question all the time, but how did your parents wind up together?”