by Tricia Goyer
“My father was a merchant seaman. He fought for the British in the First World War. My mother, Lilian, was British born. They met at the clearing station where she worked. She was the nurse who took care of the soldiers. After the war, she moved to America, and they were married. Nine months later I was born.”
“Your father was a merchant seaman? I thought he cursed the sea.”
“Oh, my stepfather, Rudolph, is the one who cursed the sea. I consider him my father. He’s the only father I’ve ever known.” She tried not to let her sadness show when she talked about him. “He married my mother when my birth father, James, died in a shipwreck. Rudolph was my father’s best friend. He stepped up to help my mother, and they eventually fell in love. And Samuel, he’s Rudolph’s son.”
“And let me guess…was there always something inside you that caused you to want to sail across the sea to follow your mother’s footsteps?”
Her eyes widened, brightening at his words. “I never really thought of it that way before.”
“Your life reads like a fairy tale. Daughter of a merchant seaman and life-saving nurse. And the land that united your parents drew you back…”
“Oh, Will, you’re just being silly now.” The hint of a smile filled her face. And as they sat there, just being content with sitting side by side, the sun broke through the clouds.
He rose and, still holding her hand, led her toward the Nissen huts. “We really must get you to bed. I know you’re weary, and I know your work has been taxing. Get some sleep, Emma, and you can dream about heroic things.”
“All I want to dream about after the night I faced is a country without a war.”
They ambled through the light-dappled walkway. “Yes. Dream about that.”
As they continued on, Will saw movement in the distance. It was the gardener again. He was just twenty steps in front of them. He walked at a slow pace, as if waiting for them to catch up. But instead of staying on the trail, Emma moved across the bright green grass, taking a shortcut to the hut.
They stopped before her door, and Will placed a soft kiss on the top of the head. “There is one more thing I wanted to ask you before I go. Do you know Vera’s friend, the gardener?”
“Berndt? Yes…”
Berndt. That was the name of Albert’s roommate. The name struck Will’s heart, and a strange sensation moved through his limbs. He hadn’t asked Emma the man’s name earlier. He hadn’t wanted to raise any suspicions, yet the more he thought about it, the more he guessed that the man was somehow tied to Albert. More importantly, to Albert’s death.
“Is there a reason you wanted to know?” she asked.
He paused, trying to determine what to say. Or how to say it without giving too much away. “I was just wondering. You tense up every time you’re around him. I can sense a change in you.” He tilted his head as he looked down at her.
“I do?”
“Yes, just now, when he was walking in front of us, you took a shortcut, as if you didn’t want to encounter him. I was just wondering. Is there a reason?”
Emma looked to the sky above his shoulder, as if she would find an answer there. “I’m not sure. He has never done anything to me. He’s always polite when I’m around. He says hello when we pass…”
“But?” Will asked, waiting for her to continue.
“But the more Vera is around him, the stranger she acts. And…” She bit her lower lip as if considering her words.
He waited for her to continue. He’d learned that too—not to rush into the empty space with words, but to wait and let the other person finish her thoughts.
“And I just have this strange feeling when I’m around him.” She sighed. “You don’t know this about me—and my mother calls it a gift—but sometimes I just know things.”
“Like what?”
“Well, if someone is trustworthy or not. Or if someone needs help. Or…if someone is right and good and worthy of my heart.” She glanced up at him, her long eyelashes and blue eyes causing his heart to quicken its beat. And Will forced himself not to give anything away in his expression. She trusted him. He both loved and hated that fact. Hated that he couldn’t tell her the whole truth. Just like she can’t tell me the whole truth. It’s just a part of war.
“And you have a feeling that Berndt is not to be trusted?” he responded, providing only a hint of his concern in his tone.
“Yes, just as I have a feeling that someone else I’m getting to know is.” Emma lifted her face and her eyes fluttered closed, and Will’s heart grew in his chest. Like a bomb falling through the sky and crashing into his heart, the reality of his feelings for Emma hit him. He loved her. More than he’d ever loved anyone.
Unable to hold his feelings back any longer, Will leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on her lips. They tasted of salt, probably from her tears.
Will worked on his painting for a few hours and then returned to his cottage, his mind full of questions. He sat down at his small kitchen table, attempting to scour his mind for all the information he knew about Berndt. He’d visited Albert many times over the years, and the man had never mentioned a roommate. Will also remembered the apartment had only one bedroom. If Albert had a roommate, where did the man sleep? From the information he’d gotten from neighbors over the past few weeks, Albert worked during the day and Berndt at night. The neighbors had talked to both men through the years, but the people Will talked to didn’t remember seeing the two men together.
Were they brothers? Or men who’d looked similar? A chill moved down Will’s spine. Or was it something more? Could it be that Albert was a better spy than anyone had thought and he had fooled them all? Anxiety tightened Will’s chest at that thought.
Will knew there was only one way to find out. He had to get deeper inside Danesfield House, and to do that he had to get closer to Emma. It was the only way he’d be able to get inside those doors.
To get closer, he’d have to tell Emma he loved her. At least it was the truth. If nothing else, that was the truth.
TWENTY-TWO
July 28, 1943
The rain outside the window muted the morning landscape like a Monet painting, and Emma had a feeling that Will would not be coming to paint on this sodden summer day. She’d just finished her shift and knew she needed sleep, but she still wished she had a chance to see him. Otherwise she’d have no way of telling him how much she wanted to see him the next day, since it was her birthday.
She’d thought about bringing up her birthday the last few times they’d talked, but she didn’t know how to broach the subject. As a surprise, Edward had told her right before her shift ended that she had the whole day off. Now the only thing she could think of was getting word to Will.
She took her coat off the coatrack and slipped it on. Then she jotted a quick note and tucked it in her pocket. In a few minutes she was heading out the front door of Danesfield House with an umbrella over her head. Rain splattered fat drops on the walkway in front of her as she jogged to the waiting car.
As she expected, Danny was seated in the driver’s seat, ready to give a staff member a ride to the train station, where he’d catch a ride to London to attend meetings for the day. She paused at the automobile’s window, where streams of rain ran down, and then she knocked on it. Danny rolled down the window and offered a smile.
“Danny, would you mind dropping off a note to my friend Will? It’s my birthday tomorrow, you see…” Emma paused. It was only as she was handing the envelope through the window that she noticed Danny wasn’t alone. Another man sat in the front passenger’s seat. Berndt.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were alone. I didn’t mean to bother you.”
Danny glanced up, unfazed. “No bother, Miss Hanson. Berndt was on his way out, and I offered him a ride. There’s no use him heading out in the rain when I’m driving through Medmenham anyway.”
Emma glanced over at the man. He smiled and winked at her, causing her stomach to flip. Not with attraction but disgust.
Berndt was handsome—in a different way than Will—but other than that, she wondered what Vera saw in him. It always seemed as if Berndt knew a secret about her that she hadn’t figured out. Or that he had secrets inside himself that he dared her to discover.
She focused her attention on Danny. “Do you mind dropping this note off at Will’s place? After you’re done at the train station, of course.” She refused to look at the passenger or mention his name. Refused to acknowledge how uncomfortable he made her.
“I don’t mind at all, miss. I remember where he lives.”
“Thank you, Danny.” She readjusted her umbrella. “I hope I can repay the favor sometime.”
July 29, 1943
Will had lived through being shot at, having his automobile’s brake lines cut, and having to swim a raging river in order to escape an enemy, but his heart had never pounded so wildly as it did when he mounted the steps leading to Danesfield House. Emma had written him and asked him to come to breakfast. She said that she had the day off and that she had a surprise for him. The best part was that she’d ended the note with “Love, Emma.” He’d only dreamed that she cared for him as much as he cared for her. He also hoped she’d allow him to surprise her too. At the last minute he’d planned a short trip. Would she be willing to join him?
Will opened the front door of Danesfield House and walked into the massive foyer. An ornate chandelier hung from the ceiling, but even more brilliant was the WAAF standing there in a simple blue dress. Emma’s smile greeted him—along with the smiles of a half-dozen other WAAFs in uniform. Among the cluster of women, Emma appeared like the lone flower on a box hedge, and his heart pounded.
Was the lobby always this full this time of day? He guessed it wasn’t. A security guard watched him but seemed more amused than worried. Will hadn’t been let inside of Danesfield House before. It was a good sign. And he hoped this entrance opened up continued access.
“Will, great to see you again.” Emma smiled at him. She seemed more reserved than usual. Her eyes darted to Vera next to her and then to the others. Emma then looked back at him and cocked an eyebrow. He read an apology on her expression. So all her friends had come to check him out, had they? There were even more than last time. Maybe word was getting out about him…about them.
Will reached his hand to take Emma’s. She allowed him to take it. Allowed him to hold it. “It’s so good to be here. But I’m wondering what the surprise is.” Emma was holding something behind her back. Does that have anything to do with the surprise?
A middle-aged redhead to the left of Emma snickered. “The surprise? It’s Emma’s birthday. I knew she wouldn’t tell you. But we asked for permission for you to come and celebrate this day with her.”
Georgette. He recognized her from their last meeting. And the brunette is Sarah. His eyes moved over the other faces. He remembered their names as Emma introduced them. He’d have to add the information to his report. Christopher liked as many details as possible.
“Well then, happy birthday. I wish I had known. I would have—”
“You would have painted me something wonderful. And you still can. It’s not too late,” Emma teased. “There is nothing else I want or need.” She shrugged slightly. “I’m just glad you were able to come on such short notice. Last time I saw you, you said you might be visiting some friends today.”
“Yes.” Will cleared his throat. “That is still the plan, but I made a call and told them I’d be later than expected.” He focused on Emma’s gaze and the way she looked from his eyes to his mouth as he spoke, then to his eyes again. She looked disappointed, but before he had time to explain, her friend stepped forward.
“Are you visiting anyone special?” Sarah placed a hand on Emma’s back and nudged her closer to Will.
“Yes, these friends are dear to me, in fact.” He squeezed Emma’s hand tighter. “Ruth and the children…there are four of them. They are all very dear to me.”
Confusion and hints of anger flashed on the faces around him. No one spoke for ten seconds, and then he smiled.
“Did I mention Ruth is my mother’s dear friend? Or that the children are from London? Ruth is taking care of them for their parents. Charles and Eliza have been with her for more than a year. Then she’s recently taken in two more little girls as a favor to me. They too are war orphans. Their mother died recently.” He didn’t explain to his captive audience that he was the one who brought the children to Ruth not long after their mother’s death or that their mother had been his dear friend Lisel. After hearing about his friend’s death, Will had sought the children out. Lisel would have wanted to know they were cared for. It was one aspect of the story these WAAFs didn’t need to know. He’d learned to reveal as little as possible about his contacts, his connections. And even though it was a risk introducing Emma to Ruth, Will wanted Emma to see a part of the real him. Since she couldn’t meet his mother yet, Ruth was as close as he could come.
“Emma, I’d love for you to come with me. To meet them.”
One of her friends nudged her. “She’d be happy to join you. Wouldn’t you, Emma?”
Emma glanced over at Will and tapped her finger on her chin as if she was considering the idea. “Hmm…let me think about it. Is it safe?”
“I promise to be a perfect gentleman.” He looked over at Georgette and winked. “And I also promise to get her home before dark. And…” He swept his hand toward all the women. “We have all your friends who will hunt me down if anything happens to you.”
“I…well, I…” She glanced to her friends as if seeking their advice. They all caught on and acted pensive too.
“I know then,” Will interjected. “England is a democratic society—America is too. How about we take a vote. All those in favor of Emma joining me today raise a hand.”
Will raised his, and so did the other women. Glancing around, Emma smiled, and then she did the same.
“Good then, the votes win. Ruth lives just a short way out of Henley. It’s no more than a forty-five-minute drive.” He grew warm as he noticed her smile and nod.
“And there is a second surprise for you too. You might not have a chance to read anytime soon, but a promise is a promise.” Emma pulled a book from behind her back.
Agatha Christie. He laughed.
“It’s about time you finished reading that.”
“We should get some breakfast so you two can get on your way,” Georgette urged, and they moved in the direction of the mess hall. All the women chattered and laughed. Their spirits buoyed except one. Vera hung back, walking behind the rest of them. She was quiet, watchful. He’d have to find a way to ask Emma about her. Maybe her change of attitude didn’t have anything to do with Berndt. Then again, maybe it did.
Will caressed the back of her hand with his thumb. “I’m delighted to have you join me, Emma.” He spied happiness and eagerness in her gaze.
After getting their trays of food, he pulled out a chair for her and was pleased to see Georgette walking behind Emma with a plate and a small cake. Georgette raised her finger and pressed it to her lips. “Shh,” she whispered. Then, after Emma sat, Georgette placed the cake in front of her. “Surprise! Happy birthday!”
Laughter spilled out from Emma’s lips. She clasped her hands together. “And a cake too? I can’t think of a more perfect day. Somebody hand me a fork. Forget the eggs—I’m having cake for breakfast!”
TWENTY-THREE
Emma rode in the passenger’s seat of Will’s automobile, and the novel that had brought them together was the only thing that separated the space between them. Yet his presence was overwhelming.
Will drove with his right hand while his left rested on his leg. She surveyed his face and saw both excitement and contentment in his gaze. He was dressed more casual than he usually was, but something about his demeanor gave him an air of sophistication despite his plain blue shirt and dark pants.
She was happy to be here, but it worried her too. This seemed like another step in their rel
ationship. And as much as she wanted that, she wondered if she should want it. Was she making a mistake by falling in love with Will in the midst of a war?
Emma cleared her throat. “My mother would kill me if she knew I was heading into the English countryside with someone she and my father haven’t met.”
Will’s eyebrows shot up. “You can write and tell them all about me. Tell them I paint well and have good taste in books. Not to mention I have wonderful taste in women. And I’m polite.”
“Women?”
“You’re right. One woman. Only one. Besides, do I look dangerous?” He winked at her.
“Not at all. The more time I spend with you, the more wonderful I think you are, which is a danger in itself.”
“And why is that, now?”
Emma fumbled with the clasp on her handbag, rethinking the promise she’d made to her friends to remember every detail of the trip in order to relay it back. Of course she wouldn’t tell them everything, especially not the emotions raging inside her.
“I find myself thinking about you so much, Will. I find myself counting down the minutes until we can be together.”
“And this is a problem?”
“I came to England for work, not for romance. I have a job to do. An important one, and I don’t need my mind cluttered with worries…with thoughts. Or at least that’s what I tell myself, but here I am. Here we are.”
She focused out the window at the lush green countryside. White sheep dotted a field, and little cottages were set back from the road and surrounded by trees and hedges—just as she’d seen in illustrations in books. The windows were rolled down slightly, letting in the breeze and the aroma of freshly cut hay. It felt so right being here with him.
Will cleared his throat, and she turned back to him. “You’re not the only one with those questions. I used to feel the same until…”