by Stacy Henrie
Stopping, Ada bent down to be at eye level with Rosemary. In Ned’s absence, it was Ada’s responsibility to be an example of faith to their daughter. Which meant no more buying newspapers to check the casualty lists. Even as she made the decision, her heart hammered with fear. And yet, she sensed a measure of calm too.
“Rosie, I think you ought to say the prayer at dinner tonight, to bless the food and Daddy. Would you like that?”
Her blue eyes widened as she nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“Wonderful.” She gave her daughter a hug, then stood. It was past time to teach her daughter more about God and faith than mealtime prayers. Ada might not know as much as her husband or Minnie, but she had a desire to learn—like Rosemary—and surely that was enough for now.
Chapter 9
July 1915
Stacks of paper consumed Ada’s days and filled her dreams at night. She was grateful for her job, though. It helped her feel closer to Ned. They were both doing their bit for the war effort—she in London and he in France.
Ada removed another section from the large railway ledger in front of her and tossed it into the waist-high pile beside the table. The old paper would be sorted, stored, and eventually reused. Unlike employment at one of London’s munitions factories, her work at the paper warehouse was safe and required little thought or hard labor, which meant plenty of opportunities to visit with her fellow women workers.
The extra income was welcome, too, supplementing Ned’s separation allowance. A little of Ada’s wages went to her mother-in-law in Yorkshire, and despite Minnie’s protests, a little went to the O’Reillys each month in exchange for watching Rosemary.
“Where do you s’pose Belinda is?” Ada’s friend Lillie asked, looking up from the ledger she was dismantling.
Ada glanced around at the others working nearby. “I don’t know.”
Belinda Kilpatrick was typically the first one in line outside the warehouse each morning. But Ada suddenly recalled with a flicker of concern that her friend hadn’t been in her usual spot today. Hopefully their supervisor wouldn’t notice her absence.
Her hopes plummeted when the man, balding and in his late forties, approached her and Lillie a few minutes later, a scowl on his round face. “Where’s Mrs. Kilpatrick? She’s late.” He rubbed at his forehead with a cloth riddled with smudges. “If she don’t want her position anymore, I can fill it ’fore noon.”
“She’ll be here,” Ada said with confidence. While she didn’t know Belinda as well as she did Minnie, the woman had a husband serving in France. That was reason enough to stick up for her.
Belinda was several years older than Ada and had been unable to have children before her husband left for the war. She’d confided that she’d taken this job to fill her daytime hours with something other than fretting over her husband’s well-being. Ada could relate.
Though she’d vanquished most of the fear she’d felt that first month after Ned had left, there were days she still struggled. So when Thomas had mentioned openings for women at the paper warehouse, she’d immediately applied. The companionship and employment, coupled with her efforts to nurture her budding faith and sharing that with Rosemary, had proven to be a fairly sufficient antidote for her worries.
“She better show,” their supervisor mumbled as he stalked away.
Ada and Lillie worked in silence for a while longer before the other woman declared in a loud whisper, “There she is.”
Lifting her chin, Ada watched as Belinda walked toward them. Her shoulders were stooped, and her face was devoid of color. Ada reached out and took the woman by the elbow. “Belinda, whatever’s the matter?”
“I . . .” Belinda licked her lips, her gaze darting back and forth. “I wouldn’t have been late, but . . .” She lifted her hand to show Ada the piece of paper she held.
Dread curdled Ada’s stomach as she glanced at it. It was a telegram from the War Office. Belinda’s thumb covered some of the words, but Ada could read the worst of them—killed in action and deepest sympathy.
“Oh, Belinda. I’m so very sorry.”
The woman gave a hollow laugh. “Is this what we help with here?” Her gray eyes looked wild with grief. “Sort through all this blasted paper so they can make this?” She waved the telegram. “Is that what we do?” she repeated, her voice catching on a sob.
Ada pressed her lips against the ache swelling in her throat. “Why don’t you sit down for a moment?” It wouldn’t help matters if the supervisor overheard Belinda’s grieving rant.
“No.” Belinda shook her head. “I hate paper. I hate it!” She rushed to the nearest pile and pushed it over. The mountain of pages cascaded like a waterfall across the warehouse floor. “I won’t be a part of this madness. I won’t.” She was fully sobbing now.
The looks of pity from the other women propelled Ada into action. She took Belinda by the arm and steered her around the table, away from the stares of their friends and the ever-watchful gaze of their ornery supervisor. When they reached a sturdier pile of paper, Ada helped Belinda sit on top of the mound.
“Breathe a moment,” Ada directed as she knelt in front of Belinda.
Belinda gulped in a shaky breath. “I can’t live without him, Ada, I can’t.”
How many times had she thought this same sentiment in her darker moments of what-if? But it would do Belinda no good to share that, not when the unthinkable had become her friend’s reality.
“I know it hurts.” While her husband hadn’t been killed, Ada could understand the pain of loss—both from her miscarriage and her parents’ rejection. “There’s nothing wrong with you if it hurts so badly you can’t see straight.”
After a long minute, Belinda’s sobs eased to sniffles. “What will I do, Ada?” She wiped at her wet cheeks, her gaze pleading.
What could Ada say that might help? Snatches of memory, of things Ned had said to her, resurfaced in her thoughts.
“Do you believe in God, Belinda?”
Her friend hesitated a moment, then dipped her head in a nod.
“He believes in you too,” Ada said, feeling the conviction of the words as she shared them. “He loves you. So talk to Him. Ask Him for help.”
She rose to her feet, and Belinda did the same. Some of the whiteness had left the woman’s face and her gaze no longer appeared as harried.
“Do you need some time off?” Not that their supervisor would give it to her, but Ada would work twice as fast if it meant her friend could have another day or two to process her loss.
Belinda shook her head. “No. I can work today.” She slipped the telegram inside the pocket of her skirt. “Thank you, Ada.”
Nodding, Ada returned to her table as some of the other women approached Belinda. A somber mood settled over the entire group when the grieving widow finally joined them in righting the tumbled pile and pulling apart the ledgers.
Ada threw herself into her work, eager to keep her hands busy. Her mind was another matter. She’d felt the truthfulness of what she had told Belinda about God. But this was also the first time someone she knew had lost a soldier to the war. It was sobering and awful. And she couldn’t help hoping and praying as she worked that somehow she might escape this type of a loss, which, unlike the other losses in her life, she felt certain she could not weather.
• • •
“It’s time to go over to Minnie’s,” Ada called to her daughter from where she stood in the hallway.
Rosemary emerged from the bedroom, her shoes dangling from her hand instead of on her feet. “But I don’t want to go,” she whined. “It isn’t any fun without William there.”
Exhaling through her nose and hoping she wouldn’t be late to the warehouse, Ada crossed the room and gently seated Rosemary onto the kitchen floor. “I know it isn’t any fun with William gone, pet.” The two were the best of friends. “But next year you’ll get to go to school with him and Janey. That will be nice, won’t it?”
“Yes,” Rosemary said with a sigh.
“Yes, Mummy.” Climbing to her feet, she placed her small hand inside Ada’s larger one. “Minnie says I’m getting all growed up and I can watch Alroy and Baby Molly all by myself when she makes lunch.”
“That is very grown up, isn’t it?” Ada smiled as she led Rosemary out the door and down the stairs. She couldn’t believe her daughter was already four years old.
Where has the time gone? she wondered with a shake of her head. Rosemary had changed from a toddler to a little girl this last year, and Ada felt a pang of regret that Ned had missed the transformation.
She did her best to keep him apprised of her job and their daughter, but letters were a poor substitute for being together. She longed to touch his face and hold him in her arms, longed to see Ned toss Rosemary up in the air as he used to, all three of them laughing. Hopefully he’d be granted leave soon.
Swallowing her intense feelings of missing him, Ada guided Rosemary into the neighboring building and knocked on Minnie’s door. Her friend answered a few moments later, holding Baby Molly.
“Good morning,” Ada said, running a gloved finger over Molly’s plump cheek.
The baby gave her a toothless smile in return. The sight of it brought as much delight as it did pain. Ada wished she might have had another child before Ned had left for France, but it hadn’t worked out that way.
“I know we’re a little late and I’m . . .” Her words ran out when she noticed Minnie’s red-rimmed eyes. Something was wrong. “Rosie, why don’t you go find Alroy and see if he’ll play a game with you?”
Taking Molly into her arms, Ada ushered Minnie into the kitchen. “Whatever’s the matter?”
“It’s right awful, Ada.” Minnie sank into a chair, stifling a sob with her hand. “’E’s gone and done it.”
Alarm made her heart throb faster. In the five years she’d known Minnie, Ada had never seen her in such a state. “Who’s gone and done what?”
“Thomas. ’E went to enlist this morning.” Minnie dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her apron. “I begged ’im not to go, but ’e said ’e ’ad to.”
Shocked, Ada lowered herself into the adjacent chair, then bounced Molly on her knees. “But he’s already doing war work. He has the badge and certificate to prove it.”
Minnie shook her head. “I know. But ’e sees them women ’anding out their white feathers of shame and feels it inside ’imself. Thinkin’ people are still judging ’im ’cause ’e’s not got a uniform.”
“Oh, Minnie.” Ada placed her hand over her friend’s where it lay limp on top of the table. Empathy brought the blur of tears to her own eyes. She’d once envied Minnie that her husband hadn’t gone to fight, but now she wished Thomas wasn’t leaving.
“What’ll I do, Ada?” Her question mirrored Belinda’s from two months ago. Minnie’s expression crumbled anew as her gaze strayed to the baby. “I’ve got four bairns. The separation money will ’elp, but I’m not sure I can get a job like you to cover anything more.”
“Then it’s a good thing you’re due for a raise from me for watching Rosie.”
Minnie frowned, but before she could protest, Ada rushed on. “We have to help each other, Minnie.” She squeezed her hand firmly, determination welling up anew inside her. “Whatever comes, we’ll make it through together. All right? Well, us and God.”
A strangled laugh escaped Minnie’s lips, followed by a nod of agreement. “All right.” She reached for Molly. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She stood. “You’ve done so much for me, Minnie. I’m grateful for the chance to help you.”
Minnie arched an eyebrow. “And who says you ’aven’t been ’elping me out all these years?” She trailed Ada to the kitchen doorway. “You’ve been a good friend and example.”
“Example of what?” she asked with a self-deprecating chuckle. She’d learned so much from Minnie—she couldn’t think of what she’d shared in return.
“Of strength and compassion and courage.” Minnie bumped her shoulder. “I like watchin’ you come to know God too. Makes me want to be more earnest like that.”
Ada could think of no greater compliment. Growing up, success had been having the most fashionable clothes or the largest estate. And that’s why she’d wanted to cultivate and teach different values than those she’d known. Hearing Minnie’s praise just now, she couldn’t help feeling that she was much closer to having the sort of home and being the sort of person she’d dreamt of for so long.
• • •
Unlike in Scotland, this time it was Ada who was rapidly moving through the train station. She paused beside a group of soldiers, their uniforms pockmarked with dried mud. When she didn’t see that one familiar face among them, she hurried on. She was grateful she’d left Rosemary at Minnie’s so she didn’t have to slow her pace to match her daughter’s shorter strides.
Her heart leapt with anticipation as she searched the faces of a trio of soldiers. But Ned wasn’t with them. She kept walking, winding her way quickly around the scenes of homecoming and farewell all around her.
“Ada!”
She stopped at the sound of his voice from behind. Had she strode right past him? Whirling, she looked around, her pulse threading faster. There he was, standing to one side, near the train. He was skinnier than she’d ever seen him, his blue eyes less bright. But it was Ned. He was home!
His expression lit with relief and longing, then he strode forward and captured her in his arms. Ada held him tightly, laughing and sobbing at the thrum-thrum of his heartbeat beneath his jacket. “You’re here; you’re back.”
“That I am, love.” He kissed her lips hungrily. There were tears shining in his eyes when he eased back. “You’re more beautiful than I remembered.”
Blushing with pleasure, she cupped his thin face between her hands. The scruff of his jaw grazed her fingertips. She could hardly believe this wasn’t a dream—they were here together.
“Rosie is so excited to see you. She’s at the O’Reillys.”
Instead of stooping to pick up his pack so they could leave, Ned remained in place. “I’ve missed you so much, Ada.” The intensity of his gaze renewed the frenzied rhythm of her heartbeat.
“I’ve missed you too,” she managed to whisper. “I can’t believe it’s been over a year.”
A shadow passed over his handsome face, making her wonder what he’d seen and experienced in that time. While he knew nearly everything about her days, he’d shared so little about his own.
Then his eyes sparked with the warmth and kindness she’d seen the first time they’d talked. “I love you, Ada. And I’m proud of you—of us. We made it through, didn’t we?”
“We did.” She had to swallow hard as she added, “Us and God.”
Ned looked momentarily surprised at her words before his mouth lifted in a grin. Embracing her again, he swung her around, making her laugh with dizzy pleasure. When he set her down, it was only to hold her close once more. Ada sensed what he didn’t say out loud—that he didn’t want to let her go. And she could understand the feeling perfectly. Because she, too, wanted to hold him like this forever.
Part 2
Chapter 10
France, May 1916
It was the smell of the trenches, and the men, that first hit Hugh Whittington each time he met with a group of soldiers on reserve. The men took no notice of the terrible scent, one that smelled of unwashed bodies, blood, and death. After the stench, it was the dogged perseverance of the soldiers that struck him next.
The closest he’d come to the front lines since coming to France were the various shelled-out villages he visited—not so different from the one he’d been driven to tonight. And that was fine with Hugh. He didn’t fear the danger; what he feared was the guilt that would surely overtake him if he saw up close what his brother and others had faced—and continued to face—during the war.
Hugh entered the shelled house where he’d been told he would find more soldiers on reserve. Cigarettes and candles pushed the shadows to the corners of the partially toppled walls. Soldiers sat talking quietly or dozing, their equipment at the ready in case they were called up to help in a hurry.
The group’s commanding officer shook Hugh’s hand and introduced him to several of the soldiers seated near the door-less entryway. Hugh explained who he was—the maker of the boots they wore—and asked them what improvements could be made to the shoes.
As he made his way around the room, a soldier in the corner drew his attention. The man sat looking at a photograph, likely of his sweetheart or family. There was something familiar about his thin, bearded face.
Before Hugh had reached his corner, the soldier glanced up. The man’s eyes widened in shock at the same moment recognition flooded Hugh’s thoughts.
“Ned Henley?” he said, hardly believing that he’d stumbled across his former gamekeeper and Ada’s husband.
Ned rushed to his feet and shook Hugh’s hand in a friendly grasp. “Hugh Whittington! What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see firsthand how our boots are holding up in the war.” He grinned as he added in a lower voice, “Although I can confess to you that is only part of the reason I am here. My mother wanted to ensure my brother Harry was all right too.”
