Among the Poppies

by J'nell Ciesielski

  Ignorance had been bliss.

  She placed the mirror face down on the desk. Tears pricked.

  “Oh, G, don’t cry.” Cecelia pulled a semi-clean handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed around Gwyn’s face. “It’s not so bad.” Gwyn stood limp and uncaring as the tears fell faster. “You can’t even stand near me with your crisp skirt and pristine nails, all scrubbed fresh and shiny. I’ll bet the pigs don’t even smell as bad as I do.”

  “The troops took all the pigs long ago, so there’s nothing to compare.” Cecelia caught a stray tear off Gwyn’s chin. “And you have every right to look … downtrodden after your ordeal.”

  “Downtrodden?” Gwyn sniffed and rubbed her nose on the back of her sleeve. “You sound like a vicar during a Sunday sermon.”

  “Blame the doctor.” Cecelia sighed and slumped on the cot again, chin in her hand. “He hounds everyone into service once a week. The other day, I was awake long enough to hear the lesson on rejoicing when you’re down on your luck.”

  Gwyn smoothed the handkerchief between her palms to dry the blotches creeping closer to the delicate C embroidered in the corner. “Doctor who?”

  “Bennett. He’s much nicer looking than I originally gave him credit for, with a smooth voice, and he’s excellent with the patients.”

  “How has he come to be here?”

  “That whole area was shelled, as far back as de Jardins. The army herded us here in desperate need of medical help.” She attempted a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “We call ourselves the nomads.”

  Gwyn’s self-pity dried up. “What happened?”

  Cecelia picked at her gray cotton skirt, bunching the fabric between her nails. “It was night. We heard the guns, but something was different. The shots more determined. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how scary it was the closer they came.”

  Gwyn nodded. She knew all too well that terrible sound.

  “The windows began to shake, then shattered over the men.” She paused, her knuckles white in her lap. “I started grabbing mattresses to shield them. It worked for a time, but we needed to evacuate.”

  “That was quick thinking with the mattresses.”

  A smile flitted across Cecelia’s face. “It took all night to get the men to safety, and in the morning there was nothing left standing except a chimney and part of the staircase. All those beautiful things smashed to rubble.”

  “Things can be replaced. The important thing is the lives you saved.”

  “I nearly forgot!” Hopping up, Cecelia dug into the small storage box at the foot of her cot and pulled out a carefully wrapped book. “I had just enough time to grab this and those pearl earrings my grandmother gave me.”

  Gwyn peeled back the cotton wrap and gasped. Her mother’s Bible. Tears clogged her throat as she flipped straight to Proverbs. There, nestled right next to chapter three, was her and mum’s dream list and William’s petals. Safe and sound.

  “Not all things can be replaced,” Cecelia said.

  “Thank you, thank you.” Throwing her arms around her friend, Gwyn hugged Cecelia tight. She could lose every possession in the world, but to lose this—her mother’s final gift—would have broken her soul.

  “It’s kept me entertained while I wait for the soap cakes to finish forming.”

  Gwyn sniffed, determined not to let the emotions get to her once again. “Why are you forming soap cakes? Do you have that much time between nursing shifts?”

  Cecelia’s cheeks flushed pink. “I’m in charge of hygiene since I dropped a glass bottle on a colonel’s broken foot. Doctor Bennett said the colonel probably deserved it after complaining that officers should receive care before enlisted no matter the injury, but Lady Dowling had no choice but to put me somewhere else. Now I’m in charge of all things bath, and let me tell you, these men need it.” Her delicate nose wrinkled. “Speaking of which—”

  “Gwyn?” The roar came from outside. Heavy boots pounded the dirt. “Gwyn!”

  William. She’d nearly forgotten about him. He was the last person she wanted to see at that moment. “I’m here.”

  The tent flap rustled, and William’s head poked in. Relief washed over the grim line of his mouth as he zeroed in on Gwyn. “Thirty minutes. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

  “William!” Cecelia squealed and launched herself at him. He caught her before she toppled them both backward. “Oh, Will. I’m so glad you’re safe.” Cecelia wrapped her arms around his neck. “Gwyn told me the whole story. How horrible for you all.”

  William looked at Gwyn over the top of Cecelia’s head. “Yes, but we’re back now. A little worse for the wear.”

  Cecelia’s mouth curved like a cat’s anticipating its cream. Her long eyelashes blinked as she took in every part of his face. “You look just fine to me.”

  The happiness warming in Gwyn’s chest turned cold. Cecelia still wanted him, and by all rules of society, he should choose her and not some greased-up chauffeur’s daughter. If Gwyn had a wise bone in her body, she’d stick to her plans of adventure and travel far outside the length of a man’s arms. The coldness turned into a writhing knot.

  Cecelia slipped her arm down to hook around William’s elbow. “You both look just fine, except you could use a good cleaning. And I know just the place.”

  Linking her other arm with Gwyn’s, Cecelia dragged them from the tent jabbering on about the latest shipment of rose and mint leaf soap cakes from her mother and how they would rid them of every last remnant of their harrowing journey.

  But there was one part of the journey Gwyn had no desire to rid herself of. And he was firmly attached to her best friend’s arm.

  CHAPTER 20

  It was no use. No matter how many times he plowed the comb through his hair, it wouldn’t lay down without a splash of styling oil. William stared at the hanging mirror, willing the blond hair to lay flat behind his ears. It ignored him and curled.

  “Just use spit. Work it into a paste.” Roland rubbed a fresh towel over his head. He’d stepped out of the makeshift washroom, which consisted of two copper hip baths and buckets full of lukewarm water set behind the church, half an hour ago and couldn’t get over the thrill of running a clean cloth through his neatly scrubbed hair.

  “Disgusting.” William flung the comb down and snatched a cup with shaving cream. Whipping the cream into a froth, he slathered it on his whiskered cheeks, chin, and throat. Then, taking the stropped razor, he eased it down the sides of his face in long, even strokes. Foamy clouds flecked with grizzly hairs fell to the ground.

  At least Gwyn wouldn’t think him some madman of the woods any longer. No wonder she hadn’t wanted to kiss him last night. His mouth pulled up at the corner. Perhaps a clean cheek would give him the advantage next time.

  If there was a next time. The hurt in her eyes when Cecelia had hurled herself at him had hit like a fist to the stomach. Did Gwyn really believe he preferred any other woman to her? As beautiful and well-connected as Cecelia was, she could never hold a candle to Gwyn’s spirit and courage. Her enthusiasm to tackle every obstacle with the tenacity of a thoroughbred had rankled him to the core when he first met her. The woman needed to learn her place, but he soon saw that her place was not among the other women. She was ahead of them, forging her own path.

  The razor paused mid-stroke. How had he let such an independent woman wriggle her way into his disciplined life? And now that she was there, what was he going to do about it?

  Women didn’t belong in his life, at least not now. The war didn’t allow for such distractions, and distracting those females were. They played by their own irrational rules, gave into emotions at the drop of a hat, and expected the perfect husband complete with slippers and pipe. And yet Gwyn expected him to have his own dreams and plans, to seek his own happiness outside of what others dictated to him.

  “Daydreaming again?” Roland peeked around the wooden pole that hung the shaving mirrors. “Let me guess, it involves a pair of bright gree
n eyes and long dark hair.”

  William frowned and turned his razor back to his chin. “You’re distracting me. Don’t you have a few nurses to chase?”

  “Only nurse worth chasing is after you. The rest of them have thick ankles and chapped hands. What do you plan to do about that?”

  “They can always try lotion.”

  “Not the crones. The lovely Miss Hale.”

  “Nothing. Her affections are one-sided, and I have done nothing to encourage them.”

  “Seems the lady is blind to your lack of feelings.” Roland ran a hand over his boyishly smooth cheek. “So blind, in fact, that she’s outside ironing your holey shirt and threadbare trousers with the gusto of a newlywed. Can’t say she’s had much practice since there’s a burn mark on the cuff.”

  “Blast it all!” William swiped at the trickle of blood under his jaw. “Doesn’t she realize that—”

  “That you’re in love with her dear friend? No, I don’t think she does.”

  William’s fingers went slack, dropping the blade on the ground. “Love? Who said anything about that?”

  The teasing light faded from Roland’s eyes. Flipping an empty water bucket upside down, he eased himself onto it. “I’ve never seen you so agitated.”

  “I’ve never felt so agitated.” William retrieved his razor. He pulled the blade across his trouser leg to wipe off the grass bits. If only his problems swiped away so cleanly. “At least with the Jerries you can sense the battle coming, you can prepare for the tactics and counter. War is predictable like that.”

  Roland snorted. “Women are far from your comfort zone. A fact you need to overcome because their qualities far outweigh Wilhelm’s. And let me tell you something else”—he leaned forward, hands on his knees—“those guns you polish every day aren’t going to keep you warm at night.”

  “She’s not interested in staying warm, not when there’s a motor engine around. Did you not see her glowing when Eugenie mentioned changing the spark plugs on Rosie?”

  “You light her up more than ol’ Rosie, mate.”

  William grabbed the leather strop and flicked the blade up and down its length, his mind whirling faster than a dervish. Gwyn’s response to his kiss had left his blood hotter than a July day under full gear, but that didn’t mean she wanted a ring on her finger. How could he cage such a rare bird within the strict rules his military life dictated? “Whoever you think does the lighting up, she has no intention of settling down. And I certainly don’t need the shackles of one more person’s scrutiny on me.”

  “We’re not talking about your father, Will.”

  “And what about you? You’re fine to follow around behind me, giving me lessons on life and love, but is this where you want to be? Do you have a devoted girl waiting for you at home?”

  “No, I don’t, but at least if I had one worth fighting for, I wouldn’t keep her at arm’s length.” The bucket fell back as Roland surged to his feet and jabbed a finger at William’s chest. “If you’re too pig-headed to see it, then you deserve those cold guns. Happy cuddling.”

  Yanking the curtain back, Roland stormed off. William caught Cecelia’s voice before the divider fell back into place. Perfect. After weeks of being shot at, imprisoned, and finally escaping, he’d railed at his friend and sent the only woman who meant anything to him straight into the arms of a busted-up Rolls Royce.

  Grabbing a towel, William wiped away the remaining bits of foam from his face. His skin itched, but he would gladly endure it over those sweating bristles. With the tip of his toe, he flipped Roland’s bucket back over and sat down. William stretched his legs, running his bare feet over the cool grass and wriggling his toes. Confined to scratchy socks, boots that rubbed a permanent scar into the back of his heels, and puttees that constricted blood flow to his legs for far too long, the simple touch of green blades against skin was heaven.

  Closing his eyes, he pictured the hills outside Hereford, rolling and gentle as twilight turned the sprawling grass to blue-green. Horses galloped on the late spring breeze, their powerful muscles flexing and stretching beneath their shiny coats, their hooves devouring ground beneath them.

  Gwyn would love their sheer speed. Barefooted and dark curls streaming behind her, he could see her chasing them, trying to catch up.

  He smiled. That was the life she deserved. That was the life he wanted to give her.

  “William?”

  His eyes popped open at Cecelia’s voice. Standing, he pulled back the curtain and met two anxious brown eyes.

  “I was wondering what was taking you so long.” Her thick eyelashes fluttered against pink cheeks. “I thought Captain Morrison was the one to pamper himself.”

  “His boyish good looks don’t require as much attention as my grizzled face does,” William said. Did she check on all the men like this? “I just need to pull on my boots, then I’ll be out of the way for the next man.”

  “Oh, there’s no line.” Her cheeks flushed. “What I mean is, take all the time you need. You deserve it. Here, I hope you don’t mind the liberty I took in ironing it for you. I thought you could use something crisp like your former uniform, which Gwyn said you lost along the way. It’s so nice to see men in full-buttoned uniform. Very dashing.”

  Ignoring the off-center creases and brown burn marks, he slipped the shirt over his undershirt. His wrists protruded four inches longer than the cuffs. “Thank you for the trouble.”

  “No trouble, especially now that I’ve had lots of practice. My first few days on the job were horrendous. One of the other nurses had to show me how to boil water for scrubbing. Can you imagine? And now I’m the best fire-stoker in the unit.”

  “You should be proud of yourself. Most ladies shun such honest labor.”

  She beamed. “Nursing is not my calling, but I’m trying. Tonight I’ve volunteered to do something a little more in-line with my upbringing and play for the gathering.”

  William fumbled with the buttons on his cuff, but they refused to meet around the bulge of his forearm. Giving up, he rolled them. “What gathering?”

  “A few of the men are putting on skits, and I’ve been asked to play a piano they found in the mayor’s home. With things quiet, the men need a release, and the townsfolk need an excuse to smile again.”

  “We can all use an excuse to smile again.”

  “You’ll be there?” Expectancy flared in her eyes.

  “I have a few people to talk to over at headquarters, but yes, I’ll try to be there.”

  She stepped closer, the scent of rose water floating around her like a halo. Her eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings. How did women perfect that move? And why did they think it necessary? “Maybe afterward we can talk? Just the two of us.”

  A rock lodged in his chest. He didn’t want to hurt her, but she couldn’t pin her hopes on him when his heart belonged to someone else. “Yes, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

  She smiled brighter than an angel, and the rock plummeted to his stomach. He’d rather face the Jerries in only his underwear than tell her his feelings could never match hers.

  “Nurse Hale.” Lady Dowling bore down on them like a U-boat, eyes narrowed, mouth pulled tight, and long skirt snapping around her thin ankles. “I trust you’ve finished the rest of the wash and have started on the bed linens? We’d hate to be down a pianist due to scrubbing duties.”

  Cecelia ducked her head. “Yes, m’lady.” Giving William a sideways smile, she hurried back to her boiling pot.

  Lady Dowling turned to him. “I heard you brought my girl back safe and sound. Thank you for that. We made ourselves sick with worry when she was reported missing. She wasn’t the general’s to command in the first place.”

  “No, m’lady. She wasn’t, but Miss Ruthers performed admirably. Many of the men would have died without her talents.”

  Lady Dowling harrumphed. “She’s a brave girl, a fine girl.”

  “Yes, m’lady. The finest I know.”

/>   Her eyes pierced him like a hawk. “And Miss Hale?”

  Heat crept up the back of William’s neck. “Very admirable.”

  “But not the one you want.” William’s mouth opened. The old woman grinned. “Welcome back, Captain.” Pivoting on her heel, she marched back inside the church.

  CHAPTER 21

  William shifted against the low stone wall as the warm summer night filled with home-sickening melodies of old Blighty. Tears glistened on the troop’s cheeks. Burly mustaches twitched. Those brave enough under the marchioness’s watchful eye passed around flasks of comfort.

  That morning, William had awoken as a man on the run, and he now found himself sitting behind a shelled city hall at a sing-a-long, not that he had any intention of singing. Sensitive ears didn’t deserve his horrendous vocals. Tonight’s serenade belonged to Cecelia.

  Her fingers flitted over the piano keys with easy precision, keeping tune to the melody in a crystal-clear voice. She fairly glowed as all eyes rested on her, transfixed by the magic she created with each song. Nursing may not have been her calling, but entertaining others certainly was.

  “And now, Major Bennett has graciously agreed to accompany me on a few duets.” Cecelia tinkled the keys. “Are you sure you can step away from your patients long enough to give it a fair try, Doctor?”

  Jumping up from his seat on the grass, Bennett joined her at the piano. “How could I say no to such a lovely partner?”

  “You couldn’t, of course.” She flashed a smile that sent red spiraling across the doctor’s face. Ducking his head, he ran a hand over the back of his neck.

  William watched in disbelief as the always calm and collected doctor unraveled like a rug under Cecelia’s fluttering lashes. With each gentle tease, she coaxed him closer until his arm brushed her shoulder.