Among the Poppies

by J'nell Ciesielski

  William’s face didn’t budge. “Perhaps he could go work his charms on the cook. The man needs a little encouragement.”

  “Encouragement and three crocks of butter sprinkled with sugar wouldn’t help that man, but I’ll do my best.” Morrison eased himself off the seat. “Farewell, beautiful lady. I leave you in the hands of a surlier companion.”

  “Is he always like that?” Gwyn asked as Morrison walked away. From his gait, one would think him strolling in Hyde Park and not the perimeter of a battlefield.

  “The heat’s made him worse.” William picked at a dried mud flake along the doorjamb. The dried brown curled under his nail and flitted to the ground. “What were you talking about?”

  You, and how I can’t properly think anymore. “Disappointments and avoidance.”

  “Oh.” He scratched a ding where the windscreen was normally attached. “I’ve been meaning to come back here and check on you, but we’ve been having a few problems with the supply cart getting stuck in the ruts.”

  “Rosie can help pull it out.”

  “If it gets stuck again, I’ll take you up on that offer.”

  In the fading light, she could barely discern his features from the shifting shades behind him, but she was vividly aware of his every breath, each twitch of his fingers, each shift of his shoulders. With the flickering gun lights shooting just below the clouds in the distance, she knew the rapids were not long off.

  “You never told me if you made it.”

  Gwyn jumped at his voice. “Pardon?”

  “Your trip around the world. With Nellie Bly.”

  He did listen. “The last I heard, Miss Bly is covering the war from Austria. She may have traded her traveling for a reporter’s notepad, but I’m not giving up. I’m still trying.”

  “Not with pantaloons I hope.”

  “No, next time I’ll have a different mode of transportation and a pilot’s license to make it official.”

  “Are they allowing women to fly? That came out wrong. I mean to say, it’s rare to hear of a female pilot.”

  “A few daring ladies have made names for themselves up in the big blue sky. They hop around the world visiting exciting locations. The Stinson school is one of the few offering to teach women, on the condition that they be healthy and unmarried. Hopefully, once the war ends, they’ll move me from the waitlist to the attendance roster.” She grinned and patted Rosie affectionately on the dash. “For now, this trusty old girl gets the job done.”

  “She’s soldiering on quite well. Much better than my supply carts.”

  A thrill of pride shot through Gwyn. “It’s all in how you talk to her. She likes to know she’s doing a good job.”

  “She is doing a good job. Much better than I gave her credit for.”

  “You didn’t think she could do it?”

  His fingers tapped a steady beat against the roof. “I had my reservations, very hefty ones I might add, but she’s proven me wrong at a number of turns.”

  Gwyn’s palms prickled at the pause in his voice. “In future, you shouldn’t judge a book before you’ve read it. Or in this case, a car you’ve never driven.”

  “A car … yes.” He kicked his foot against the front tire. “Are you doing well, Gwyn? I need to know you’re all right.”

  She clasped the steering wheel, fighting the urge to calm his agitated fingers. “I’m managing. Once you get past the bottled chicken and beef tea, things aren’t quite so bad. They could do with a spot of milk, though.”

  He snorted. “And lose the boiled leather taste? Never. I’ve been eating it for so long that I’ve learned to swallow without much chewing.”

  “Did your father teach you that trick?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. “I mean … I’m sure it was the army that forced you into such a habit.”

  “No, you were right the first time.” He drew a deep breath and exhaled it. “My father prepared me from birth for my calling. Right down to eating hardtack and sleeping in the rain. It’s what’s expected of me.”

  “What’s expected of us isn’t always what we want.” The disparaging voices tapped her memory, eager to break in and tear apart the stronghold she’d struggled to build since coming to France. “If you could do something else—anything in the world— what would it be?”

  Oh, how she wished she could see his face. The deep V between his brows, the strong lips pressed into a line, the light blue eyes deepened in thought. She wondered if anyone had asked him before.

  She prodded when he remained silent. “I bet it has something to do with horses. Starting a ladies’ riding school, perhaps?”

  “You could be my first pupil. That is if you could forgo your horseless carriages long enough.”

  “You must admit they’ve been rather handy lately.”

  “I’ll give you that, but even if they sprout wings, they will never equal the thrill of riding on the back of a horse with hooves pounding like thunder.”

  “Until they throw you.”

  He chuckled. “It wouldn’t be my first time flat on the ground.”

  “Then why would you choose such a temperamental beast?”

  “I might ask you the same question about ol’ tin Lizzie, who you left on the side of the road.”

  “Lizzie doesn’t bite. She merely belches black smoke in my face when in second gear.”

  Their laughter mingled together on the warm night air. For the first time in the blurred stretch of days she’d been stranded at the Front, the tension ebbed from her weary bones. For just that moment, she wanted to imagine that all was right with the world and with the man next to her. Tomorrow’s tragedies could wait.

  “Will!”

  Morrison’s voice rang out in the dark. The soldiers’ shuffling and murmurs grew still as he pushed past them, almost ramming into Rosie’s bonnet.

  “Calm down, man, before you alert the entire countryside of our position,” William said.

  “They need us,” Morrison huffed. “They need us now. The Scots Fusiliers are getting pushed back into the southeastern corner. High command wants the woods taken at all costs. They’re giving us two days to get ready.”

  CHAPTER 13

  German artillery screamed from their firing positions on the high ground near Longueval, drowning William’s voice as he and Gwyn stood at the edge of Trônes Woods. He leaned forward and shouted. “No! You’ll stay here as instructed.”

  “I’m here to do a job. I can’t do that stuck in the back.”

  “You’re in the back for safety. The wounded will be brought to you.”

  “And you think the men can find me through all that jungle?” Gwyn pointed at the tangle of deep green stretching before them. Gunfire crackled like lightning between the leaves. “They’ll be dead before they can clear the underbrush.”

  “And if I allow you to tramp around in that underbrush, you’ll be dead.” William didn’t budge. After a night of arguing, she’d stood her ground, but he could see the strain starting to crack her. “How do you propose to carry men loaded down with fifty-pound packs all by yourself over such wooded terrain with enemy fire overhead?”

  “I’d find a way.”

  “Illogical stubbornness. If you want to do your job and do it properly, you’ll stay where they know to find you.”

  Where I know to find you.

  Expecting another assault, he stood with feet braced apart and fists planted on his hips. Most women would have cried themselves into a ball by now, but not this one. She’d subjected herself to the same torture as seasoned soldiers without one uttered word of complaint. At least not a complaint of discomfort. She had more than enough complaints about him and his so-called high-handed ways.

  Shells shrieked, splintering a copse of ancient trees to sticks a mere fifteen yards to their left. Grabbing Gwyn, William tucked her head under his arm and pulled her around to the back of the ambulance. He’d marched his men into a death trap, but their orders were to take the woods at all cost.
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  William’s heart hammered in his chest, each beat determined to keep the woman in front of him from adding to the bloody count. At all cost.

  Uncurling from under his arm, she pushed a long, dark strand of hair behind her ear and nodded. “Very well. But if those men can’t find me, then you better believe I’m not going to sit on my hands while they die out there.”

  If he tied her to the hood now, she’d be of no use to anyone. “If the worst happens, you need to find General Haig or General Ivor Maxse. Don’t hide, don’t wait. Run. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, yes.” She flipped her hand through the air.

  He grabbed it. “That’s an order, Gwyn.”

  The defiance slipped from her eyes, softening the lines around her lips. For just a moment, a soldier’s parting indulgence, he allowed himself to imagine what they tasted like.

  “Be safe, William. Please.” Her fingers curled around his. With a light squeeze, her hand fell back to her side.

  Snatching his revolver from its leather holder, William turned from her and dove into the woods exploding with bullets. Each step erased Gwyn further and further from his mind. If he was going to survive this, and with her in tow, he needed all focus straight ahead.

  “Sir! Sir! Captain!” A second lieutenant nearly bowled him over. “They’ve got snipers in the brush. Picking our men off like chatts on a dog.”

  “How many men so far?”

  “Ten I’ve seen, sir. At least a dozen others bleeding out.”

  Curse it all. With impenetrable clumps of trees, roots, and rocks bulging under every fallen leaf—and now snipers—there was no way the wounded stood a chance. How were they supposed to make it back through this hornet’s nest?

  Grenades blasted feet away. William dove to the ground as dirt and tree bark splattered across his back. Warm stickiness ran down his cheek. He rubbed a hand over the trail before it could drain into his mouth. Red.

  No one stood a chance against this.

  Men scrambled from the woods like frenzied ants, their mouths opened wide and moving, but Gwyn had long ago stopped hearing their shouts amidst the pounding of artillery. The earth shook as she stumbled around the car in search of the first aid kit. Her feet struck something solid. A man, face down. Another one. Gone before she even had time to notice him, or the blond streak of hair poking out from under his helmet.

  Her heart stuttered. Oh, God. Oh, God, please no.

  Dropping to her knees, she rolled him over and gasped with relief. Lifeless brown eyes in an unfamiliar face stared up at the bright blue sky. Shame engulfed her. Though he wasn’t the man who clouded her mind, he didn’t deserve this fate.

  Gently, she closed his eyes and folded his hands over his chest, then checked his haversack for supplies. Half a roll of linen and two aspirin tablets. She tucked the precious finds in her pocket before resuming her search for the missing kit.

  The ground quaked, tilting the world sideways. Gwyn grabbed hold of Rosie to steady herself. Those Germans got better and better with each aim. Soon they could—no, she wouldn’t think about that. One second, one man at a time. Her fingers dug into the hot metal, Rosie’s paint chipping beneath her fingernails. William was still out there.

  A bear of a man in a Highland kilt emerged from the blasted tree line. His barrel chest puffed in and out as he hefted a rifle in his gashed hands. His frantic eyes scanned the area and stopped on her. His bloodied lips moved, but no sound came from them.

  Running forward, he skidded to a halt in front of her. Again his mouth moved, but she heard nothing. A blast several feet away shot dirt flying into the air. Gwyn ducked, covering her head from the filthy rain.

  “Medic!” The man grabbed her shoulders and stuck his face inches from hers. “Medic!”

  The man’s thick brogue flooded in Gwyn’s ears in one mighty crash. “Yes, that’s me!”

  “I’ve got lads wounded bad in the brush, ma’am. They’re bleeding out all over.”

  “Can you get them here, into the clearing?”

  “No, ma’am. I canna drag them by myself. Please, ma’am. You’ve got to come.”

  Gwyn’s heart twisted. If she left now, the incoming wounded would have no one waiting for them, but all the wounded needed her. No matter what William demanded, she couldn’t ignore the cries of desperation. “I don’t have many supplies left. We’ll have to get creative.”

  A bulky Adam’s apple bobbed under the Scot’s red scruff. “Follow me, ma’am. And keep your head down.”

  Streaks of blood smeared nearly every twig and leaf as Gwyn followed him into the woods. British and German bodies littered the brown floor, their dying wails piercing the gunfire. Gwyn pressed a hand to her mouth. Her eyes watered against the thick smoke as it choked her lungs, but they pushed further into the heart of raging battle. Mighty oaks whittled down to toothpicks by charging bullets. Scorched earth sagged beneath each footstep.

  “Here, ma’am,” the man said, ducking under a snarl of tree limbs. “Watch your head, now.”

  Gwyn lowered her head, but not enough. Gnarled twigs snagged her hair, yanking it at the scalp. She jerked at the tangled strands, desperate to free herself before a sniper spotted her. Why hadn’t she followed Eugenie’s lead and cropped the curls?

  “Where are the men?” She pulled the last few hairs free.

  The soldier hunkered down and brushed away handfuls of fallen leaves. Three men lay still as death beneath them. Pulling out what limited supplies she had left in her kit, Gwyn went to work.

  Sweat poured down her face, stinging her eyes and leaving them blurry as she tried to wipe away their excess blood. Practiced memory guided her hands as she worked, bullets zinging all around like angry bees punching into the trees and dirt.

  “The Lord is my shepherd …” One of the boys whispered as his hands clenched tight over his gaping middle. “He makes me lie down in green fields.”

  Gwyn tried to move his hands away, but he held fast.

  “I walk through the valley of death.” His eyes turned bright and glassy. “Can you see it, miss? The table He’s prepared for me?”

  “I need to look at your wound. You must move your hands. Please,” Gwyn said.

  He smiled crookedly. It must have warmed his mother’s heart many a time. “I go to dwell in my Father’s house. Do you know it?”

  Gwyn bit the inside of her lip. She nodded.

  Red bubbles frothed at the corner of his mouth. “Sure will be nice to rest after this.”

  Tears burned her eyes. “Rest is good.”

  “Tell my mum … tell her …” Air hissed from the wound, deflating his chest. He moved no more.

  Gwyn swiped her ragged sleeve at her streaming eyes and nose. She turned to the remaining men with determination. “We’ll have to use their jackets and belts for makeshift stretchers. Keep the leaves over the wounds.”

  Binding up the men as best they could, Gwyn and the Scottish sergeant loaded them onto the makeshift litters and began the slow retreat back through the woods. A tree, upright when they entered the woods, now blocked their path.

  “We canna get around it,” the sergeant said. “We’ll have to go over.”

  Blessed thing she hadn’t worn some cumbersome skirt. Gwyn stepped over the log and lifted the first wounded man’s head over. Her arms spasmed under the weight. “Help me get his legs over. And watch that jagged bark.”

  “Halt! Wo sie sind!”

  Gwyn’s heart lodged in her throat. Two Germans with rifles pointed at them stepped from behind a tree.

  “Setzte ihn ab.” One of them made a lowering motion with the tip of his rifle.

  Carefully, Gwyn and the Scot lowered the wounded man to the ground.

  “Gun.” The German pointed to the rifle on the sergeant’s back. “Drop.”

  The soldier slipped the rifle strap off his shoulder, but he didn’t let it go. The Germans yelled, pointing to the ground. The soldier shook his head.

  One of the Germans marched to G
wyn. He pulled a pistol from his belt and pressed it against the side of her head. The cold metal sent fear slicing down her shaking body. She choked back a sob.

  The Highlander’s eyes swerved to hers. Tears streamed down her face in a silent plea. Pressing his lips into a white line, he dropped the rifle.

  Without blinking, the other German raised his rifle and shot both wounded men. The sob clamored from Gwyn’s throat.

  Ripping the belts from the makeshift litters, the soldier jerked Gwyn’s arms behind her back and wrapped the leather around her hands, yanking it tight. He poked his rifle tip into the tender spot of her spine, prompting a cry of pain. Her feet stumbled over the torn earth and broken bodies as they trudged back through the decimated forest. To the German line.

  CHAPTER 14

  Tiny feet scurried in the corner. Another rat coming to inspect its new chamber mates. Gwyn leaned her head against the basement wall and closed her eyes. She didn’t need to see it. After the last ten, they all started to look alike.

  “Bloody rocks. Digging into me back.” MacDonald, the soldier she had been captured with, sat next to her and rubbed his spine. “Canna sleep either, lass?”

  Her first hours after the Germans threw her in the cellar, she’d barely been able to breathe, what with fear squeezing her lungs. Exhaustion soon numbed the despair that had become her reality in a matter of hours. “Can anyone really?”

  The Scot hooked a thumb at the snoring men next to him. “Two years of artillery firing over your head and hunkering down in bog holes, this is pure heaven to some.”

  “I’d hate to see the other places.”

  “My old platoon,” he chuckled. “Drillmaster had eyes blacker than coal and carried Auld Hornie’s pitchfork to be sure. Dinna worry, he got blown back to the hole he crawled from first day on the Somme.”

  “Oh, my.”

  Scratching a thick hand through the red whiskers on his cheek, he sucked in a lungful of air. “Least it smells better in here.”