by Linda Ford
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Sneak peek of Maryelle
Also by Linda Ford
Lizzie
War Brides
Linda Ford
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Sneak peek of Maryelle
Also by Linda Ford
1
Alberta, Canada. March 1919.
Twenty-three-year-old Elizabeth Hughes leaned close to the train window, her breath fogging the smoky pane. “What if he’s not here?”
Her travelling companion, Maryelle, squeezed her hands. “Don’t look so scared.”
“It’s been two years.”
The last time she’d seen Caleb, they’d been married exactly three days and four hours and had spent the time in a little cottage in the English countryside getting to know each other as man and wife and enjoying themselves immensely. It about tore her heart out to say good-bye to him as he boarded the train bound for France.
There had been letters, of course. She smiled. A great deal more letters from her than from him. And his always so short. As the days passed, even the word or two of love stopped, and his messages grew terse. “Rain here. Mud everywhere.” “When will this end?”
She cried when his letters came. It was like walking on hot coals to think of him suffering the mud and disease of the trenches. And all that death.
She could do nothing but weep and pray.
Maryelle stretched and yawned. “It’s almost time.”
Lizzie nodded, her throat too tight to speak. She’d waited so long. The war had finally ended. Strange, though, how everyone seemed so weary they sort of sat down with a huge sigh. It took time before they slowly picked themselves up and started putting the pieces of life back together. Only to get knocked flat again by the influenza epidemic.
Father had refused to let her travel during the epidemic even though she had begged when news came that Caleb had been deployed home in January. February was almost over before he decreed it was safe enough to travel. He’d arranged for Maryelle, another war bride, to travel with her. Lizzie didn’t envy Maryelle the hours she had left to travel. Already this trip had gone on forever.
Maryelle grabbed Lizzie’s bags and handed them to her. “Now you go and find that man of yours.”
Lizzie paused. “You’ll write?”
“As soon as I can.”
Lizzie stepped from the train. She looked up and down. There was no one in the shivering darkness. “He’s not here,” she whispered. Then she saw a shadowy figure climb the steps at the far end. Boots thudded across the planks in her direction.
Too dark to make out his features, she knew it was Caleb by the way he walked. Her insides turned to pudding; her legs threatened to melt under her. Then, with a choked cry, she threw herself into his arms, clinging to him, weeping shamelessly.
He held her close.
She took a shuddering breath and sniffed a time or two before she lifted her face. “Caleb, I thought I would never get here.”
“You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”
She tilted her chin and stretched until their lips met. The station door opened, throwing a cone of light across the wooden platform; a trolley rattled toward the luggage car, but Lizzie didn’t care. She had waited too long to put this off anymore.
He leaned into the kiss, warming her lips, flooding her heart with heat.
When they finally pulled apart, she murmured, “I thought I’d never see you again.” She planted kisses all over his face. “You taste so good. I will never be able to get enough of you.” She leaned back against his embrace and drank in the sight of him. “You’re thin.” His eyes were sunken, his face drawn. He was only twenty-four, but he had the features of a man decades older. “You’ve suffered,” she whispered, an arrow piercing her heart.
“I’ve been at war,” he muttered.
“Thank God it’s over. Now we can get on with the business of living.” She kissed him again.
“It’s late and cold. We’d best be getting home.”
“Home. I like the sound of that. You and me together at last.” She stepped back. “You’re right. Let’s go home.”
It took a moment to load her trunks in the wagon; then Caleb helped her to the seat and tucked a warm fur blanket around her.
“How far is it?” she asked.
“Not far.”
“I’ve heard that so often the past few days. Sometimes it means a mile, sometimes a hundred.” She laughed. “Please tell me it’s not a hundred.”
“It’s not a hundred.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “But it’s not one either. It’s two.”
She laughed merrily. “Two I can live with, thank you, Mr. Hughes.” She cradled the name to her heart. Mr. Caleb Hughes, husband, and Elizabeth Anne Hughes, wife. What a delicious thing this union was. She pressed herself to his side, revelling in the feel of him after so many months of nothing but dreams.
It might have been a short trip, but Lizzie’s sleepless nights of
anticipation had taken their toll. By the time Caleb reined in before a dark building, fatigue had robbed her of the ability to think. He practically carried her to the door, steadying her as he lit a lamp. She didn’t even look around. As long as there was a bed, it was all she cared about. She swayed and moaned. A chair bumped the back of her knees, and gentle hands pushed her to the seat.
“I’ll be right back,” Caleb said.
Lizzie couldn’t keep her eyes open. How strange, she mused. All evening she had tried to sleep, and her eyes refused to close. Now, when she was determined to remain awake until she could get her fill of looking at Caleb, her eyes wouldn’t stay open. Maybe her eyes understood she would never get enough of looking at him.
The sweep of cold air announced his return. “I’m very tired,” she said, her words slurred.
“It would appear so.” He unbuttoned her coat and pulled her arms out, removed her shoes and peeled off her stockings. He slipped her dress over her head and settled a nightdress on her, then carried her to the bed. She curled against him, pressing her face into the hollow of his shoulder. A sigh came from somewhere deep inside.
“I am so glad I’m finally here,” she murmured, her voice thick with fatigue. She didn’t know if he answered before she fell asleep.
The gray morning light sifted through a dusty window, crossed Lizzie’s eyes, and wakened her. Consciousness came in a bolt, and she turned to greet Caleb.
His side of the bed was empty.
She threw back the covers and jumped from bed. “Ah, cold,” she muttered as her feet touched the bare wood.
Hopping across the floor, she stepped into the other room where Caleb stood over the stove. Reluctant warmth edged toward the bedroom. “Good morning, Mr. Hughes,” she called, hurrying to his side, spreading her hands to greet the warmth above the stove. “How did you sleep?”
“Good morning.” He shoved another chunk of wood into the stove, dusting his hands on his pants before he turned to study her. “You seem well rested.”
She stretched her hands over her head and arched her back, yawning widely. “Feel fit as a fiddle.” Sh
e draped her hands around his neck. “Kiss me.”
He bent his head, and their lips met. The kiss lasted only a moment. She clung to him, wanting a taste of the passion they’d shared on their honeymoon. When he made no effort to kiss her again, she wrapped her arms around herself and faced the stove. “Cold morning, isn’t it?”
“Spring is reluctant this year.” He stood with his hands shoved into the back pockets of his trousers. “Good thing you waited until now to travel. February was miserable.”
He sounded almost pleased about the month of bad weather. His finely chiselled features were sharpened by his thinness. The hollows under his eyes caught the shadows of the room in pools of inky darkness. His hair—dark and wavy—remained his best feature. “I would have come anyway except for the flu,” she said.
“Good thing you didn’t.”
“Didn’t you miss me?”
“Of course I missed you. But it was a good thing you never faced the temperatures of February. The thermometer dropped to minus forty for most of the month.”
A shiver raced up her spine at the darkness in his eyes. “I wouldn’t have liked that.”
“I have chores to do.” He crossed the room and pulled on a heavy coat and overboots. “I’ll be back in about an hour.”
Chill air raced across the room, and she dashed for the bedroom door.
One of her trunks sat at the end of the bed; and she threw it open, pulled out warm stockings, a woolen skirt and jumper, and put them on. She smoothed the pile of quilts on the bed, then hurried back, suddenly eager to see her new home more closely.
Beside the stove, now humming as it kicked out a blast of heat, stood a wooden table, four mismatched chairs, and a narrow cupboard. Across the room, a worn burgundy sofa sagged toward the floor next to a wooden rocker with peeling paint. Empty bookshelves lined the wall. The whole room would have fit into their kitchen back home in Britain, but she hugged herself and smiled widely.
“Home, sweet home,” she murmured. Her sister Patricia had cross-stitched a hanging with those very words for Lizzie to put in the house she would share with Caleb. She’d hang it up as soon as possible to prove she’d finally come home.
Stacks of belongings surrounded her when the door opened and Caleb stood before her, a bucket of milk in his hand. He looked about, his eyes troubled. “I’m sorry I don’t have more to offer you than this mean shack.” He set the pail on the table. “It’s a poor home.”
“Oh, no!” She sprang to her feet. “It’s fine for the two of us, and it will fix up nicely. I was going through my things deciding how to brighten the place. Thanks to Patty and Victoria, I have lots of pictures. Patty made this hanging. Victoria painted these pictures of home.”
Caleb took the pictures and studied them one by one. “Very nice.”
“Vicky would be glad to hear you like them. She’s never forgotten how you teased her for some of her imaginative work.”
“Maybe your sister should have done some of those to send with you.” He handed the pictures back to Lizzie.
Lizzie cocked her head. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Nothing much. Just that it all seems sort of unreal.”
“What exactly are you referring to?” She struggled to keep her voice low and calm as a thousand butterflies took flight in her stomach.
He lifted a crock from beside the cupboard and poured the milk into it. “My time in England, I suppose. Before I went to the Front.”
“Would that include our marriage?”
“You could hardly call it a normal marriage.” He fiddled with the now-empty pail.
Her stomach calmed, not a flutter of anything as she stared at his rigid back. “I don’t know what you mean.”
He looked at her, his expression dark, bottomless. “We were married all of three days. That was two years ago. Does that seem normal to you?” He turned away so she couldn’t see him, couldn’t face his questions, couldn’t face his denial.
“It was normal enough for many couples during the war. I thought”—she gulped back tears—“I suppose I thought because I still love you and wanted nothing more than to be with you again that you would feel the same.” Her voice fell to an agonized whisper.
He sighed. “All I mean is neither of us may be what the other remembers.”
“Caleb, if you no longer love me, tell me. I can’t stand not knowing.”
He straightened and faced her squarely. “You are my wife. Of course I love you.”
“Then hold me and kiss me and sound a little more convincing.” She waited, forbidding herself to make the first move.
His jaw tightened, emphasizing the hollows in his cheeks. A shudder snaked across his shoulders. With a muffled groan, he pulled her to his chest and buried his face in her hair. “Don’t pay me any attention, Lizzie. I don’t know why I say the things I do.”
She clung to him until he squirmed. “I suppose you’d like breakfast,” she said, stepping away. “I see there’re plenty of eggs.” A wire basket on the cupboard held a half dozen. “No doubt that’s one of the pleasures of living on a farm—lots of eggs and milk.” She broke two eggs into a bowl.
“There’ll be more eggs today.”
She hesitated a moment, then broke two more and whisked them with a bit of milk. “Back home we were down to one egg a week. And nothing but tinned or powdered milk for so long I can’t remember the taste of fresh milk.”
“Lots of both here. Mother sees to that.”
She stopped stirring the eggs. “When will I meet your parents? What do they think of me?”
He jerked his head toward the window. “They’re just across the way.”
She hurried to the window, rubbing away the film of dust. A big house stood on a rise, across a rutted trail and a wide expanse of brown grass. To her left stood a hip-roofed barn. A tan-colored cow chomped at her feed.
“We’ll go over after breakfast.”
She hurried to the stove to cook the eggs. In a few minutes, she set a plateful of food before each of them. Caleb offered a short grace. She added her own silent words, Lord, help us find our way back to each other.
His meal finished, Caleb tipped his chair back. “As soon as you’re ready, I’ll take you across to meet the folks.”
“I’ll do the dishes later.”
“No need to hurry.” He ambled over and pulled on his coat and boots.
Lizzie followed on his heels, slipping her arms through the sleeves of her coat. “I’m set.”
Caleb took her hand as they stepped outside. The gesture comforted and strengthened her. She smiled into the morning sunshine. He would soon discover she hadn’t changed, and he’d remember why he loved her.
“It’s a fine morning,” she said, filling her lungs with unfamiliar smells of fresh manure, hay, and the steaming earth.
“The sun is going to shine today.” He lifted his face, closing his eyes. “The sun makes me feel good.”
“It’s lovely and warm. Makes me feel good just to be alive.” She didn’t mean the sunshine alone; her thoughts included the joy of being able to touch him and watch him.
He turned to her, his breath warming her cheeks as he murmured, “I’d forgotten your ready smile. I thought my memories were only a dream.”
She tipped her head back, openly inviting him to see her love and faithfulness; but he shivered, and his eyes darkened. She felt a door close somewhere in his thoughts.
“Caleb,” she murmured, wanting to call him back, but he stepped away.
“My folks are waiting.”
“I’m eager to meet them.” Whatever strange thoughts troubled Caleb, she knew he still loved her. She’d seen a spark in his eyes, the spark that had drawn her to him in the first place.
He led her to the large house and threw open the door, pulling her into a big farm kitchen with a long wooden table and rows of cupboards with bottles and crocks lining the top. A monstrous stove belched in the corner. The house was rich with scents—yeasty bread, wa
rm milk, and a hint of some cleaning compound.
Caleb drew her toward the table. “Mother, Dad, this is my wife, Elizabeth.”
A small woman, dressed all in black from the choker-tight collar at her neck to the closely buttoned sleeves at her wrists to her skirt, rose and gave Lizzie a brisk hug. “Welcome, Elizabeth.”
Mother Hughes released her. Father Hughes closed his Bible and took her hand. “Welcome to Alberta. I hope you like the place.”
“It’s vast and awe-inspiring,” Lizzie said. “And completely beautiful.”
“Would you care for tea?”
Mother Hughes hurried to the side cupboard to get two cups. Lizzie was surprised to see the black skirts of her mother-in-law’s dress went to the toes of her shoes.
“How was your trip?” Father Hughes asked.
“For the most part uneventful. But it seemed dreadfully long. I was grateful for a travelling companion.”
Mother Hughes placed a cup before her and another in front of Caleb. “I didn’t know you were travelling with someone. Somehow I thought you’d be unescorted.”
Lizzie smiled at her mother-in-law, her glance shifting to the framed Scripture verse on the wall behind the older woman. “Be sober. Be vigilant, because your enemy the devil walketh about seeking whom he may devour. 1 Peter 5:8.” She shifted her gaze back to Mother Hughes. “My parents wouldn’t hear of it. Father arranged for another war bride to travel with me.”
“Very wise.” Caleb’s father nodded approval.
Mother Hughes cleared her throat. “And how do you like your new home?”
“I haven’t had time to get settled, of course.” Lizzie reached for Caleb’s hand. “But the house looks quite fine. After being separated for two years, I would live in a tent if it meant we could be together.”
