Among the Poppies

by J'nell Ciesielski

  Gwyn started to argue with Cecelia’s attempt to get rid of her, but what good would come of it? She was a chauffeur’s daughter who had spent a few moments with a courageous soldier. Dreams came and went. And her dreams should not include Captain William Crawford, no matter how warm his fingertips felt against her skin.

  A wail split the gray afternoon air. Adrenaline spiking, Gwyn raced down the path to the garage, booted feet pounding behind her.

  “Is it a gas attack?” William shouted.

  “It’s the call to cars!” The other drivers sprinted to the waiting autos. Please, please don’t be a gas attack. They had yet to encounter one, but all reports told them they were some of the most gruesome wounds to behold. A pale blonde scrambled out of the garage tugging mittens over her hands. “What is it, Roz? All hands n—”

  Gwyn’s foot hit a patch of ice, pitching her forward. William’s hand clamped around her arm, pulling her upright without losing his stride. “Steady on. The war isn’t going anywhere.”

  “All hands needed,” Roz called as girls jumped in front of their motors, cranking the engines to life. “Sorry, Gwyn. I know you just came off.”

  Gwyn waved her off. “Don’t worry about me. Where are we going?”

  “They’ve got an overflow in Reims from Verdun. Fritz has been blasting the French for over a month now, and the hospitals can’t keep up. They’re leaving the wounded on the side of the road.”

  “They’re abandoning their own men?”

  William’s hand uncurled from her arm. “When there are too many, the commanders and medics have no choice but to leave those still able to walk and those who won’t make it.”

  “If there are too many for the Red Cross to carry, how can we fit them—” Gwyn gestured to the cars roaring to life in front of her, a sickness thudding into her stomach. “How do we choose?”

  “We’re to take the first we see and transport them to a depot.” Roz hopped into her Model T. “Keep going back for as many as we can.”

  But not all. Most of those men would be left to the mercy of the German army if mercy was what they gave. Rosie’s crank moaned in the cold air, but Gwyn spun it faster and faster until the car choked to life. She couldn’t think about the decisions to come, only saving as many lives as possible.

  “They won’t all make it.” Solid and calm, William stood like a mountain against the storm crashing around them. “If you have to decide, you’ll know by their eyes.”

  Gwyn jumped behind the wheel, gripping it tight as his words rang like a death bell in her head. “I’m glad you’re not there. You or your men.”

  Sadness haunted his eyes as they swept over her face. Each feature in slow turn. “Be safe, Gwyn. And Godspeed.”

  CHAPTER 9

  “I never thought we’d see warm weather again.” Gwyn swooped down, plucking a bright green blade of grass from the side of the road and holding it to her nose. “One more cold snap, and I thought my toes would freeze off.”

  Cecelia inched up the hem of her cornflower-blue skirt and stepped around a mud hole. “Tell me again why we couldn’t take the motor?”

  “Because it’s just over a mile to the village, and the fresh air will do us good.”

  “You can obtain fresh air riding in a motor. And keep your shoes clean.”

  “A good stretch of the legs then.”

  “I’m on my feet all day.”

  Gwyn rolled her eyes and tossed the grass into a field where fat green buds burst at the seams with the frills of red poppy petals. “All the motors are needed at hospital in case there’s an emergency. A baron’s daughter with tired feet is hardly an emergency.”

  “When you put it like that, I suppose I can enjoy the sunshine on foot.”

  “That-a-girl.”

  “Matilda said the beignets in Vache Colline are some of the best she’s had.” Cecelia linked her arm through Gwyn’s. “Even better than her family’s French chef can make.”

  Gwyn’s mouth watered at the thought of the pillowy softness melting in her mouth, the golden flakes and white icing sugar sticking to her fingers. The closest thing she’d come to a beignet was the rubbery donuts they offered in the local pub back home. “Alice said they serve real lemons with their tea and have Belgian lace curtains. Is there something special about Belgian lace?”

  “Oh, yes. It’s some of the most exquisite handiwork.” Cecelia smiled with a far-off look. “I’m hoping to purchase a few yards for my trousseau. It’ll make the most beautiful wedding veil. The girls started a sewing circle at the orphanage last year, and creating a bridal headpiece would be the perfect opportunity to showcase their skills. I’m considering using part of my allowance to open a shop for them when we return. Don’t tell Mother. She doesn’t mind giving them our money but abhors getting her hands anywhere near them.”

  Gwyn’s foot skidded into a puddle as the weight of a rock slammed into her heart.

  “Careful or you’ll ruin your dress. Or my dress, I should say. It never did a thing for my pale complexion, but this shade of green has the most tantalizing effect on your eyes.”

  Gwyn unstuck her tongue from the roof of her dry mouth. “Are you planning a wedding?”

  Cecelia’s smile curved wider. “No, but it’s nice to have the material on hand. The question may pop up any day, and a girl must be prepared.”

  “You’re certain a question is coming?”

  “Perhaps not today or even next week, but a girl must have hope. To have your own house, your own servants, your own way of doing things. Never under anyone’s controlling thumb. To live with a man who chooses you, who will want to listen to everything you have to say because he loves you.” Cecelia’s smile widened as she hugged against Gwyn’s arm. “Oh, G. Won’t it be wonderful to be married?”

  “Marriage isn’t really in the cards for me right now. Stinson only accepts unmarried women.”

  “So many rules. I don’t understand why you’re willing to torture yourself with them.”

  “Marriage has quite a few rules of its own. Or at least expectations.”

  “Mine won’t. My husband will love me no matter what.” Her smile faded. “Even if I give him twelve daughters instead of the son he always wanted.”

  Gwyn squeezed Cecelia’s hand, hoping the touch would draw away the pain in her friend’s words. Lord Somerset never let his daughter forget she wasn’t born the son he longed for.

  The quiet village of Vache Colline perched on top of a low hill surrounded by a patchwork of farms once known for their fatted cows. The plump cows now served their duty to the armies. As they entered the village, little shops with matching blue doors and scalloped windows lined the main street like boxes of confectionary sweets. Shutters were thrown open wide to let in the fresh air. Pale pink hyacinths and buttery daffodils dotted windowsills, adding an intoxicating burst of color and sweetness.

  “My, it’s quiet around here,” Cecelia whispered as they passed a group of women who gave them the barest of smiles before hurrying off with their baskets. “I always imagined quaint French villages with laughing children and women gossiping over fresh fruits at the grocer.”

  Gwyn smiled at a man who tipped his hat in her direction before going back to sweeping his doorway. “If the Germans marched up your driveway, would you have reason to smile?”

  The teashop spread over an entire corner at the far end of the main square. A slanted tile roof, bright red shutters, and candy-colored birdhouses hanging from the eaves welcomed visitors to the open doors and cozy tables within.

  “Looks like we found where they’re keeping the charm.” Cecelia peeled off her white-netted gloves and tucked them into her silver-beaded purse. Even in wartime, she was perfectly attired for tea. “Bonjour.”

  French and British soldiers of all ranks occupied several of the small round tables, lingering over steaming cups of coffee and golden pastries. All eyes turned to them, the tiredness lining their thin faces turning to interest.

  Gwyn looked ov
er the tops of their heads and spotted a table near the large bay window. She tugged on Cecelia’s arm. “Back this way.”

  “How can you see seats past all these dashing uniforms?”

  “Because I see enough of them every day.”

  “Not sitting upright.”

  Dodging between two sergeants grinning ear-to-ear, Gwyn fell back as a tall man jumped up to block her path.

  “Miss Ruthers, how delighted I am to see you,” said Major Bennett. With slicked black hair, cheeks free of whiskers, and intelligent brown eyes, he was easily the most handsome man in the room. “I didn’t see Rosie in the square. Is it your day off?”

  “My first in over a month,” Gwyn said. “And Rosie more than deserves the day off.”

  “She deserves a medal if I have anything to say about it. That girl has saved my men more times than I care to count.” His head cocked to the side, eyes widening at something just beyond her shoulder.

  “Forgive me.” Gwyn stepped aside. “My friend, Cecelia Hale. She’s a nurse at Lady Dowling’s hospital.”

  Major Bennett inclined his head, an entranced smile curving his lips. “For the men to be treated by such an angel, lucky devils.”

  “We do the best we can,” Cecelia said. “Are you stationed nearby, Major Bennett?”

  “Right now, I’m treating the men near Bray-sur-Somme, but I go where they need me. Medics move more freely than the average soldier, and thankfully I work with drivers as capable as Miss Ruthers. I can tell you that most ambulances are hardly so swift.”

  “A medic. How we need more wonderful men like you. I don’t suppose the Front can spare you? The nurses at hospital could use a handsome doctor ordering them about.”

  Cecelia’s teasing smile sent a shock of red straight up Bennett’s neck and into his hair. Gwyn fought the urge to roll her eyes as Cecelia added another lovesick token to her collection. The delicious scent of sweet bread wafted by on a tray fresh from the kitchen, sending Gwyn’s stomach rumbling. “We don’t want to take up any more of your time, and I’ve been dreaming of these beignets for weeks.” She inched towards the table near the window. “Unless you care to join us?”

  Major Bennett shook his head, the corners of his mouth turning down. “Thank you, but I was just on my way out. I only have half of the morning off and promised to count the bandage supply with a rather surly quartermaster upon my return.”

  “You have my sympathies, Major,” Cecelia said. “Bandages and I do not get along well.”

  Bennett gathered his hat from the table and tucked it under his arm. “Miss Hale, a delight to meet you. I hope it’s not too long before we met again. And Miss Ruthers, take no offense when I say I hope it is a very long time before I see you again.”

  Gwyn gave him a mock salute. “As do I, Major.”

  Bidding the doctor goodbye, Gwyn weaved her way to a table beside the window and took a chair facing the door.

  “He seems nice.” Cecelia plunked her purse next to a vase filled with white crocuses. Her fair eyebrows lifted. “Handsome too.”

  “He’s a good man. Why, just the other day—oh no. Not interested.”

  “Why not? You said yourself how good he is, and clearly you get along well. If not him, then who?”

  Gwyn ran her hand over the wooden table, smoothed down from years of patrons. “I’m not interested in husband-hunting in the middle of a war. They’re so desperate for a glimpse of a girl, they might propose to a hat rack if it had a skirt draped over it.”

  “Don’t be vulgar.” Grabbing the sides of her chair, Cecelia hopped closer. “Come on, G. Somewhere in this wide blue world there must be a man for you. And don’t tell me he needs motor oil under his nails and the sand of some far-off land dusted in his hair.”

  Tracing a burn mark from where a steaming cup of coffee must have sat, Gwyn thought of William staring under Lizzie’s bonnet without a clue of what he was looking at. Yet he hadn’t given a care to smudging his perfectly polished uniform. For her.

  “No, I wouldn’t mind a little dirt.” She turned in her seat to catch the waitress’s eye. “Now, on to those beignets before they’re all gone.”

  An hour later, they headed back to Jardins, their gait much slower.

  “Ooh. I shouldn’t have eaten that last one.” Cecelia rubbed her stomach and moaned. “I’m sure I won’t eat again until next week.”

  Gwyn grinned, her stomach gurgling happily. “But well worth a belly ache. The hostess said they’re usually served with icing sugar. I’d like to come back after the war when rationing has stopped and try them.”

  “You do that. Meanwhile, I’ll stay in good ol’ Blighty with a nice cup of English tea and a plate of scones, thank you.”

  “What’s this I hear about scones?” said a voice behind them.

  If the sun weren’t shining at its peak in the crystal blue sky, Gwyn would have sworn she had conjured him straight from her nightly dreams. Turning, she prayed she didn’t have pastry flakes stuck to her face. “Captain Crawford. Captain Morrison. You’ve escaped the lines.”

  The men tipped their peaked caps. Gold buttons gleamed on their freshly washed and pressed khaki uniforms.

  “Apologies for the winded appearance.” William swiped a dot of perspiration trickling by his ear. “We had to sprint to catch up. Not what I wanted to do on my day off.”

  Cecelia beamed as if just handed the crown jewels. “How lovely and most fortunate that you spotted us. Did you come from the village?”

  William nodded. “We hoped for a few pastries, but they had just run out.

  “That may be our fault,” Gwyn said sheepishly. “We had more than one helping.”

  “Then I can’t be too upset. You ladies deserve a relaxing day out.” The warm blue of his eyes locked onto Gwyn as if they stood alone on that dusty road. “The late-night runs have been exhausting.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more, Captain Crawford,” Cecelia said. “And what could be more relaxing than to enjoy a leisurely stroll with two handsome soldiers? Are you game?”

  “Of course we are,” said Captain Morrison with dimples flashing.

  “Excellent.” With a smile, Cecelia linked her arm through William’s and gently pulled him forward. “You can fill me in on all that’s happened since we last saw one another. Snow was on the ground then, can you believe? Are you coming, G?”

  William looked over his shoulder, the corners of his mouth pulling down before Cecelia said something to draw his attention back. Gwyn fought the flicker of disappointment that threatened to burn away the pleasantness of her day off.

  “Miss Ruthers, shall we?” Captain Morrison offered his arm. The polite smile on his boyish face did little to diminish the disappointment in his eyes as they trailed after William and Cecelia. Cecelia chattered away, pointing to the budding poppies and brown rowed fields that once grew corn. William nodded, answering her questions with a simple yes or no.

  “How are you enjoying this warm weather?” Captain Morrison asked.

  “Much better than the icy rain and frozen fingers. Though the sun can bring out new difficulties.”

  “Such as strolling down a dappled lane all the while pining for someone who does not pine for you?”

  Her arm slipped from his. “Pardon?”

  Without missing a step, he snatched it back to the crook of his arm. “Miss Hale. I see her preference runs elsewhere, but do you think that has me discouraged? Of course not. It proves I must work harder to steal her affection.”

  The man’s persistence was a marvel. Gwyn leaned toward him. “Do you have a plan of attack?”

  “Chocolates and flowers.”

  “Impossible with sugar rationing.”

  Roland’s mouth screwed up. “Poems of declaration.”

  “I’m afraid she’s never cared for the poets.”

  His eyes squinted in deep thought, fingers tapping against her hand. “These tactics usually work, but perhaps I’m rusty with lack of practice. What solicits
your affection, Miss Ruthers?”

  “Elbow grease and an engine that purrs like a kitten.”

  Roland threw his head back with a roar of laughter. William’s head snapped around, but Roland waved him off. “About face and mind your own business, Will.”

  William shot him a withering look before facing front again.

  “I tell you, Miss Ruthers,” Roland whispered, jabbing a finger in William’s direction, “the only thing to rev his engine, as you might say, is pedigreed horseflesh and polished parade boots.”

  Gwyn laughed, startling several birds from their perch in the nearby trees. Several feet in front of them, the back of William’s neck blotched pink. “Shh. He might hear us.”

  William dropped Cecelia’s arm and turned on them. “You two are louder than a set of Jack Johnsons. Of course I hear you.”

  “Then what say you? Horseflesh or engines?” Roland tapped Gwyn’s hand and whispered loudly in her ear. “Shall we take a bet? Ten francs says he chooses the horse.”

  Gwyn shook her head. “That’s not much of a bet when we’re well aware of his less-than-favorable attitude towards motor cars. I know army pay is inadequate, but you need to find a VAD nurse if you plan to supplement your income by hustling gullible women.”

  Laughing, Roland rocked forward and clutched his knees. He swiped at the tears gathering under his pale lashes. Giggles bubbled up Gwyn’s throat at the sight.

  William balled his fists on his hips. “You two keep on like this, and we’ll have the Jerries bearing down on us to see what the ruckus is all about. For precaution, I’m splitting you up.”

  Smoothing the front of his khaki tunic for composure, Roland turned to Gwyn and lowered his voice. “It has been a delight, but I cannot turn down this opportunity.”

  Gwyn winked. “Go get her, tiger.”

  “You two are having a jolly time back here,” William said as he and Gwyn continued their walk. Cecelia cast a reluctant look over her shoulder as she took Roland’s arm. Gwyn was sure she’d get an earful as soon as they were alone at hospital.