Hero's Bride

by Jane Peart

  "But why isn't she living here with you, Auntie?" Kitty was confused.

  "Well, she is with me, Kitty. Just not in this house. I didn't think it wise for a young child to be subjected to so many distressing sights as she would if she were right here. Naturally, I see her several times a day . . . for tea in the afternoon, and, of course, at bedtime."

  Kitty's face must have revealed some worry, because Garnet hastened to reassure her. "She's very well taken care of, Kitty. Maureen is a wonderful young woman, devoted to Bryanne.And the child adores her. You'll see for yourself when we go over there. First, let's get you settled."

  There was never any use arguing with Aunt Garnet, so she went along submissively and was shown to the room, once Garnet's boudoir, adjoining her bedroom.

  "It's tiny, but the bed is comfortable," her aunt told her. "I hope you don't mind."

  " If you could see my room at the hospice, Auntie, you wouldn't ask!" Kitty laughed.

  "I'll leave you then to unpack. I'll be back in a little while, and we'll go across the lawn and have tea with Bryanne," Garnet said as she left.

  Later, when Kitty saw her little cousin, she had to agree she looked healthy, secure, and happy. Her features held the same promise of beauty as her sister Lynette, although their coloring was quite different. Bryanne's hair was a golden maple shade, her eyes a clear lovely blue. She had not seen Kitty since the summer of 1914 and was somewhat shy with her. Two years could seem like an eternity to a child. When Kitty began to tell her about her sister and brother in Virginia, however, the child's curiosity overcame her initial shyness.

  "You do remember when I brought Lynette to see you, don't you, Brynnie?" Kitty prompted. "We had such fun together!"

  Bryanne nodded solemnly. "She used to send me letters she printed herself and pictures she colored." She squinched up her little face questioningly. "But I haven't got one in a very long time."

  "I know. Right now, the mail is very slow coming all the way from America, but I'm sure Lynette keeps writing to you. She would like to see you very much."

  Over Bryanne's head, Garnet held up a warning hand and shook her head slightly. Didn't her aunt want her to talk to Bryanne about Lynette and Gareth, or her father? Kitty felt torn. She knew how much her mother grieved over her son Jeffs little family, how she regretted their separation. But they were Garnet's grandchildren as well as Blythe's, her beloved daughter Faith's children. Her feelings must be considered, too.

  With the war going on, though, nothing could be done about reuniting them, so what was the use o f aggravating this controversy between the two grandmothers? Sadly, Kitty did not pursue it further.

  chapter

  13

  BY HER SECOND day at Birchfields, Kitty realized how tired she was. Her work schedule at St. Albans had been grueling, not only the physical labor but the added tension to prove herself.One of only a very few Americans on staff, she almost felt that the honor of her country was at stake. There, she had been too busy to think o f anything but her duties, and at night, she was too bone-weary to do much but fall into bed.

  Now there was time to rest and think. Of course, it was Kip who filled her thoughts. She had not heard from him in weeks and, although he had warned her of this possibility, she worried about him. I f he had been injured . . . or worse . . . she would be informed. His family would have received official notification and would have told her.

  But deep down, Kitty harbored an apprehension of some unknown danger. Not the recurrent nightmare from which she awoke panting and drenched with cold perspiration, having dreamed that Kip's plane had gone down in a spiraling arrow of flame. No, there was something else, something she could not name.

  Before she left London, Kitty had written to him that she was going to spend Christmas with Aunt Garnet. She had even suggested he try to get leave and join them for a family celebration. But by the time she was ready to leave for Birchfields, there had been no letter from him.

  Kitty had hoped that perhaps he might write her here. Each morning, she came downstairs in the anticipation that today's mail might bring some word from Kip. She tried to keep busy, volunteering for whatever needed to be done—reading to the men with eye injuries, writing letters home for others. Always a part of her was impatiently counting the minutes until the postman's truck from the village would come puttering up the long drive, and the mail would be sorted and placed on the polished hall table. But there was nothing from Kip.

  Knowing that her Aunt Garnet was depending on her to help make Christmas a happy occasion for the men at Birchfields, realizing also that it might be the last some of them would ever have, Kitty tried to bury her own anxiety in activity. She plunged herself into all the holiday preparations, leaving no room for morbid thoughts.

  Great armloads of greens from the nearby woods were brought in to be made into garlands to twine through the banisters of the staircase, decorate the fireplace mantels, and drape the balcony overlooking the entrance hall. The doors of the drawing room and music room were opened to form one large space, and a six-foot cedar tree was placed in the center.

  A tree-trimming party was planned for Christmas Eve. Early in the evening, Aunt Garnet requested Kitty to play some Christmas carols while the men and staff gathered to participate in decorating the tree. The piano had been moved into an alcove in an adjoining room. While the trimming progressed amid lively chatter and laughter, Kitty seated herself and began to play.

  Kitty played dreamily, memories of other Christmases at Cameron Hall filling her with tender nostalgia. In her mind's eye, she could see the snow softly falling on the sweeping lawns of home, frosting the meadows with white, going to church on Christmas morning at the small steepled church in Mayfield. As she played the old familiar carols, she was completely unaware of the lovely glow cast on her hair and face from dozens of candles.

  This picture, however, was not lost on the Canadian officer who, drawn by the music, left his card game in an adjoining room and wandered over to listen. He stood in the archway and thought that he had never seen a more enchanting sight. Suddenly for him, Birchfields at Christmas had become a shining, magical place.

  Pausing to turn the page of music, Kitty glanced over and saw the tall young man. His left arm was in a sling, and she did not recognize the insignia on his uniform tunic. Their gazes met. He smiled and she returned the smile.

  As she went on playing, he walked across the room toward her and leaned into the curve of the piano, still smiling. He nodded and so did she, acknowledging him. His were the kind of good looks sometimes described as Irish—crisp, curling dark hair, high color, and strong, sharply defined features. Later surreptitious glances revealed that he also had the bluest eyes she had ever seen.

  When she finished the piece, he leaned forward. "Oh, please don't stop. That is, unless you're tired. I could listen all night. You're quite good, you know."

  'Thank you, but I think some people would like to dance. See the group over by the gramophone?"

  He turned in the direction of her nod. "Then perhaps you'd do me the honor of dancing with me. I'm Richard Traherne."

  "I'm Kitty Cameron. And, yes—" She tipped her head to one side, glancing at his sling quizzically—"if it won't be a problem for you. I take it your injury is not terribly serious."

  "Not the kind that merits a medal for bravery." He chuckled. "I hope that doesn't disillusion you in case you thought you might be dancing with a hero." His blue eyes sparkled with good humor. "Actually, it was a motorcycle accident. I'm in Communications and was on my way with a dispatch when my wheel struck a shell hole and I somersaulted over the handle bars, tore some ligaments in my shoulder and leg, broke my wrist . . . . In fact—" He smiled down at her—"as it turns out, I'd say it was a lucky break! Otherwise, I'd be spending Christmas in the trenches rather than here at Birchfields!"

  He came around to the side of the bench where she was sitting, and bowed slightly. "I hope you don't mind a one-armed partner. The wrist's almost heale
d. I don't really need the sling any more, but it wins me some sympathy." He laughed and Kitty joined in.

  "Then I'd love to dance." She rose from the piano stool. "Shall we go see what records we have? I'm sure Aunt Garnet has brought in a supply of the latest tunes."

  "Aunt Garnet?"

  "Mrs. Devlin, the lady who owns Birchfields, is my aunt," Kitty explained as they strolled across the room to the record player where a group of soldiers and nurses was already gathered, looking through the stack of phonograph records.

  At length a selection was made. The record was placed on the disk, the arm and needle set. Then the handle was cranked, and the music began. It was a piece Kitty remembered from summer dances at Mayfield Hunt Club.

  In spite of the sling, Richard was an excellent dancer, leading her smoothly in the latest steps. She followed his strong lead easily, executing an elaborate turn, twirling around and back gracefully.

  "I don't think you need any sympathy at all," Kitty teased. "Vernon Castle better watch out!" She was referring to the male member of the popular ballroom-dancing couple, Vernon and Irene Castle.

  They danced four straight dances. When it seemed that those in charge of the phonograph were having some dispute about the next record, Richard suggested they get some punch.

  Finding two empty chairs in a corner, they sat down to talk.

  "I'm curious," Richard began. "Obviously, you're an American. How do you happen to be here? Or do you make your home with your aunt?"

  Kitty shook her head. "I'm a Red Cross nurse's aide with VAD. Right now, I'm attached to St. Albans Hospice in London, hoping to be sent to France eventually."

  "I would never have guessed," Richard said quietle, his eyes traveling over her as if finding it hard to believe that this aristocratic-looking young woman, fashionably dressed in a blue velvet dress, with pearls in her ears and around her neck, could possibly be a hard-working hospital nurse.

  Kitty blushed a little at the frank admiration in his gaze and quickly changed the subject. "What about you? How did you happen to join the Canadian Army?" By now, she had recognized Richard's distinctive maple-leaf insignia.

  "Well, when I was a child, my father was in the diplomatic service and we lived in England for a few years. The summer after I finished college, a friend and I traveled through Europe. After that, I decided to take some courses at Oxford, and I was there when the war broke out. It didn't look as if the United States was coming in, so—" Richard gave a small shrug—"it just seemed the thing to do."

  Just like Kip, she thought, then quickly amended the thought. Richard Traherne wasn't in the least like Kip.

  "Nobody thought it would last this long," he went on. "The talk was that the fighting would be over by Christmas, but I guess we didn't give Germany credit for being so tenacious." A grin broke through. "But let's not talk about the war. Not tonight. It's nearly Christmas, and "tis the season to be jolly,' right?"

  Taking her cue from his remark, Kitty groped for some lighter topic. However, it was Richard who turned the conversation by recounting some amusing incidents that took place while he was at Oxford.

  "I didn't realize at the time how different our two countries really are until I lived among so many Brits. Wasn't it George Bernard Shaw who said, 'America and England are two countries divided by the same language'? Anyway, I was almost forced to buy a phrase dictionary so I wouldn't miss out on most student discussions!"

  He gave a wry grin, Kitty laughed, then told him, "My brother went to Oxford, too."

  "Oh? When was that?"

  "Years ago. He's much older than my sister and me and our other brother, Scott. It would have been 1895 or '96. As a matter of fact, he didn't graduate. He dropped out to go to France and become an artist. . . much to our parents' dismay, I might add—" She paused. "Of course, now they are more than resigned. In fact, they're extremely proud of him. We all are."

  "Why? Is he famous?"

  "Well, I guess you could say that. He's won some awards. He's represented by the Waverly Galleries and has exhibited at the Royal Academy."

  "I'm impressed. What's his name . . . I mean, besides Cameron, of course."

  "Oh, it's not Cameron. He's my mother's son by her first marriage. Actually, he's my half-brother. His name is Geoffrey Montrose."

  Richard put down his punch cup and stared at Kitty. "Geoffrey Montrose is your half-brother?"

  Kitty laughed at the look of incredulity on his face. "Yes. Really and truly, he is."

  "Well, of course I know his work! That is, I've seen reproductions of his paintings in catalogues and art books. When I was at Oxford, I was at least exposed to painting and poetry. The whole place is haunted by poets and artists, you know. I wasn't a very dedicated student, I'm afraid, but I did absorb a great deal of . . . I guess you'd say, 'culture.'"

  Just then Kitty caught Aunt Garnet signaling her from the doorway. "I'm sorry, I have to go. My aunt seems to need me.

  "My fault for monopolizing you. I assume you're supposed to circulate, spread your grace and beauty among us poor soldier boys—" Then, with a trace of irony in his tone, he added—"who will be returning so soon to the front."

  Kitty reacted with spontaneous sympathy. "It must be dreadful for you."

  "Sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I didn't mean to spoil one of the loveliest times I've had in months. You'd almost made me forget there is a war going on."

  Kitty would have liked to say something to take that look out of Richard's eyes. She found him interesting and amusing and very likable, but she caught Aunt Garnet's impatient glance and said apologetically, "I really must go."

  "Yes, of course. Maybe later? Maybe we could have another dance or two."

  "I'd like that, Richard."

  With that, Kitty hurried away to join some of the other young women that Garnet had recruited to be hostesses for the party.

  Her aunt had made every effort to make this year's holiday festivities as much as possible like those given in the old days before the war. In the dining room, small tables for six had been decorated with centerpieces of greens, holly, and candles. At each place were poppers, containing paper hats, to be snapped open. The hats would be worn during the evening's festivities. For every man, there was a little gift from the ladies of the local auxiliary.

  As a special treat, Garnet had reinstated her own Cameron family tradition of serving "prophecy" cake for this special celebration. This year, so that each group of six would have its own cake, there were individual ones for each table. Inside each cake were baked six tiny symbolic items. A bell meant a wedding soon. A coin promised a financial windfall. There was a horseshoe for good luck, a thimble for a home blessing, and the most coveted of all, a wishbone, granting the finder any wish. Great fun ensued as everyone ate his piece of cake and found the symbol foretelling his fortune.

  Kitty was busy serving during the meal and, since she was also expected to help clear away afterward, she did not see Richard again until much later in the evening.

  He was waiting for her in the hallway by the door when she finally emerged. The party was officially over, the men who had attended in wheelchairs having been rolled back to their rooms and settled for the night. Only a few remained in the lounge and drawing room, chatting in small groups.

  "I don't have a curfew," Richard told her. "Ambulatory patients are pretty much on their own. I hope you aren't too tired and we can pick up where we left off."

  Nodding in agreement, Kitty led the way to one of the window-seat alcoves in what used to be Uncle Jeremy's study, and sat down. Someone had replenished the wood in the fireplace, and flames rose in brilliant blue peaks in the deep, stone hearth, reflecting on the brass fender guard. For a few moments they were content to bask in the warmth of the fire, relishing the companionable silence.

  "I guess I'm being greedy. You're probably exhausted, but I hate to see this evening come to an end," Richard said at last. "It's been so . . . so special." The firelight on his face accentuated its p
lanes, deepening the hollows of his cheeks and making his eyes appear opaque pools of blue. Slowly he turned toward Kitty. "It's helped keep the dark away . . . dark being that three days from now when I'll be back in France—"

  Unintentionally, Kitty leaned toward him, her expression compassionate.

  Richard spoke quietly. "After the hospital, coming here was such an unexpected boon that I'm still making the transition. I'd almost forgotten that there was anything else in the world besides the constant boom of guns, the whine and smash of explosions . . . the mud, the stench, the rats—" He shuddered involuntarily, then looked away from her. "Forgive me, Kitty, I didn't mean to—"

  She covered his hand with both of hers. "Don't apologize, Richard. I understand . . . I do know, at least a little of what you've been through."

  "Of course you do. I forget. It's just hard to imagine you in connection with . . . such dark and terrible things." His eyes took in the lustrous auburn hair swept up from the slender neck, a rhinestone butterfly nestled in its waves, the creamy skin where the folds of her velvet gown outlined the slope of her shoulders.

  Her eyes regarded him with sympathetic understanding, and Richard burst out impulsively, "Meeting you tonight seems like such a miracle, But in a way, it makes things worse. I find I'm dreading going back even more now—"

  Kitty pressed the hand she was still holding.

  Richard shook his head, then with an effort he smiled, and his voice took on an air of forced enthusiasm. "Tell me some more about your family, besides your famous half-brother, that is."

  "Well, I've mentioned my brother Scott and a sister, Cara, who is now an ambulance driver in France. Actually, she's my twin."

  Richard looked amazed. like you? Impossible!"

  The sudden solemn gong of the hall clock striking twelve startled them both.

  "Midnight!" exclaimed Kitty, jumping to her feet. "It can't be!"

  They looked around the room, now nearly empty. Only a few people remained talking and, in one corner, two officers playing chess.