by Stacy Henrie
“There are days I wake up,” she admitted in a quiet voice, “and think for a minute that he’s still off fighting. And yet on other days . . .” She let her voice trail out, afraid to continue.
Hugh gave her fingers a gentle squeeze, though he wasn’t looking at her. “Other days you wonder if you are wrong for not missing them as keenly as you once did.”
“Yes,” she said with a startled laugh. That was exactly how she felt.
Releasing her hand, he turned toward her. But his gaze appeared to be on something or someone else from the distant past. “I went to France last year. To see how our boots were holding up and also to check on Harry for my mother.”
“You were there?” she said, shaking her head. “You never mentioned it.”
He gave her a sad smile. “I didn’t write you that first letter until several months later.”
“Will you tell me now, what it was like there?”
Hugh ran his hand over his clean-shaven face, drawing her attention to his attire. He looked rather handsome in his evening suit. “Do you really wish to know?”
Did she? She knew Hugh would be frank, though perhaps not completely thorough in sharing his experience. Still, she’d wanted to know for some time what war had been like for Ned and Harry and what it was like for those, such as Thomas, who were still fighting.
“Please,” she answered. “Ned said so little in his letters.”
“All right.” He pushed out a sigh, his pensive expression returning. “What hits you first as you get near the trenches is the smell. It’s fouler than anything you can imagine, and yet, the soldiers take no notice. They go about their tasks in holes filled with disease, mud, and vermin. And all the while, the enemy is lying in wait in his own filthy trench, intent on destroying you before you destroy him.” His voice grew gruff with intensity. “Then there are the battlefields. I only came close to one, but the quagmire of blood and death and even more mud has haunted me since.”
It was Ada’s turn to reach out. She placed her hand on his jacket sleeve. The reality of what he’d witnessed rested heavily on him, but she thought she detected a note of longing beneath the horror.
“Do you wish you’d gone off to fight as they did?” Her question might be bold, but she and Hugh had been friends long enough now that she didn’t think he would be offended.
He looked out over the garden again. “There have been times, yes. Though I have tried to tell myself our brave boys need shoes on their feet to keep going and I can provide those.” Hugh returned his gaze to her face. “I think it’s been good for my mother to have one of us here.”
“I think so too.” She offered him a brief smile. “You and I fight different battles than the soldiers, but I’ve come to believe that is because this is what God needs us to do.”
His brown eyes lit with appreciation. “Ned told me nearly the same thing, when I saw him in France.”
“You saw him?” Ada lowered her arm to her side. “You talked with him?” A feeling of envy swept through her, though she recognized its futility.
He mistook her words for concern. “If you’d rather I didn’t speak of it.”
“No. It’s all right. I’m only jealous.”
His eyebrows rose. “Of being in a war zone?”
“That is not what I meant,” she said with a chuckle. “And you know it.”
His mouth turned up in a half smile at her teasing before his expression sobered once more. “I am sorry you weren’t able to see and speak with him one last time, Ada. Ned talked of you and Rosemary that night. He even . . .”
“He even what?” she prompted, anxious to hear.
Hugh looked at her directly. “He asked me to look after both of you if something were to happen to him, and I promised that I would.”
“Y-you did?” She felt a strange mixture of gratitude and confusion. “Is that why you wrote those letters and sent the Christmas gifts last year?” Had she been wrong in thinking her and Hugh’s friendship was genuine? Had he merely been keeping his word by reaching out to her?
When he shook his head, she found she could breathe easier again. “That was my reason for writing that first letter, yes, but everything after that was more selfish in motive than simply fulfilling a promise.” He cleared his throat. “I kept writing because I rather enjoyed our letters.”
Pleasure filled her at his admission. “I enjoyed them too.” Too hide the embarrassment she felt at voicing such a thought out loud, she changed the subject. “Was it good to see Harry while you were there?”
“It was, and I will always cherish those hours.” He rested his hands on the balcony as Ada had earlier. “This war has certainly made a great mess of too many hearts.”
“Yes, it has,” she agreed, unable to say more.
Neither of them spoke for another minute or so, but Ada felt no awkwardness in the silence. Instead she felt shared grief and empathy between them.
“There you are, Ada.”
She spun to face her mother, feeling suddenly guilty for being caught talking with Hugh, alone. That was silly, though. They were good friends—nothing more. “Yes, Mama?”
“Some of your guests are asking about you,” Victoria said.
Glancing at Hugh, Ada took a step toward the house. “I’m coming.”
“I will let them know.” Her mother returned to the house.
“Ada?” Hugh called after her.
She felt suddenly self-conscious as she turned back. “Yes?”
“You can do this.” He tipped his head in the direction of the terrace doors. “You’ve survived the loss of your husband and the reality of almost losing your daughter. You can manage this party.”
Her embarrassment disappeared at his words, replaced by fresh confidence. “You’re right.” They started toward the house together, but Ada stopped to look at him. “Thank you, for being honest with me, Hugh.”
“I will always be honest with you.” His tone held no levity this time.
“I know and I am grateful for it.” They resumed walking. “Will you be staying?”
He appeared regretful as he said, “No, Mama mentioned before I stepped outside that she was feeling tired.”
Disappointment filled her. She’d very much enjoyed their time together, however brief. “I appreciate you coming tonight and I hope to see much more of you . . .” Realizing how that might sound, she hurried to add, “You and your mother.”
“We would both enjoy that,” he said, giving her a rare full smile.
As Ada led him back into the drawing room so she could say good night to Helena, she realized her headache had vanished, along with her hesitation about the party. The night hadn’t turned out to be as unbearable as she’d expected, especially the last thirty minutes. And she had Hugh to thank for that.
• • •
September 1917
“Please stop pacing about, Ada,” Victoria said, her tone clipped. “You are going to make us dizzy.”
Ada ended her circumference of the room by the window, where she drew aside the curtains. There were still a few hours to go before dinner would be served. “I apologize, Mama. It’s just that there is nothing to . . .” She let the rest of her sentence fade into silence—she was in no mood for another lecture on the privilege of leisure.
If she read any more books or played the piano in the music room one more time, she might scream. She’d only been back at Stonefield Hall for six weeks, but she felt restless and unproductive during the hours Rosemary was at school.
Ada kept up her daily walks to visit Minnie. But now that her friend was working as Gran’s cook, she had less time to talk than before. Even Hugh hadn’t come around as much as Ada had hoped. She had seen him at church, and she, her mother, and Rosemary had attended dinner at Whitmore House twice. But on each occasion, there’d been little time to converse privately with him.
“Do you want to go for a walk, pet?” she asked Rosemary, who sat on the sofa beside Victoria. Ada’s mother was teaching
her daughter needlework.
Rosemary glanced up. “No, thank you, Mummy. I want to keep sewing.”
“All right then.” Ada crossed the room toward the door. “I shall be back before dinner.”
“Did you not already go for a walk today?” Victoria asked with a puzzled expression.
Ada forced a smile. “I did, but I think another might do me some good.”
Slipping into the hall, she was relieved her mother didn’t detain her with more questions. She’d quickly learned that her parents didn’t understand, and didn’t wish to, about her life in London. How then would an upper-class woman like Victoria Thorne relate to the restlessness Ada felt here in the country?
There were days she dreamed of returning to her job at the paper warehouse, if only for something to do for herself and the war effort. In contrast, her parents seemed determined to pretend there wasn’t a war going on—that everything at Stonefield Hall, especially now that Ada had returned, was exactly as it had been for the past two and a half decades.
She put on her hat and gloves as she exited the house. Which direction to walk? She considered taking out one of the horses for a ride. Except she’d prefer having someone along for company when she rode a horse for the first time in seven years.
Perhaps Hugh would be willing to accompany her if she asked. Cheered by the possibility, she set out for Whitmore House. The early evening air felt invigorating, which was something she couldn’t say for London. If only she could find some cause or activity to fill her time.
When she arrived at the Whittingtons’ home, the butler led her inside and down the hall to Hugh’s study, where Ada waited outside the door.
“Mrs. Ada Henley to see you, sir,” she heard the man announce.
Ada nodded approvingly—he’d gotten her name correct.
“You may show her in,” Hugh replied.
Giving the butler a grateful smile as he stepped back from the door, she entered the study. Hugh stood up from behind his desk.
“This is a pleasant surprise.” His evident delight at seeing her eased some of the nervousness she suddenly felt at making an impromptu visit. “Please, have a seat.”
She sat in the chair opposite the desk. “Thank you.”
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked, taking his seat again.
Ada glanced at her hands. “Well, I wondered if perhaps you might like to go riding . . . with me.” Why did she feel tongue-tied when she hadn’t the night of her parents’ party? “Perhaps we could go this evening before dinner.” She forced her gaze upward to meet his. “Or another day this week.”
“I would very much enjoy a ride, however . . .” His mouth flattened. “I’m afraid I will not have time for another week or two.” He waved a hand at several stacks of papers on his desk. “My secretary, Mr. Bertrup, was no longer exempt from enlisting and left to fight.”
Ada felt more than a prick of disappointment, but it fled as she studied the exhausted lines she now noticed on Hugh’s face. “How long have you been without a secretary?”
“Let’s see.” He rubbed at his forehead and pushed out a weary sigh. “Three weeks? Four perhaps? I have largely been able to crack on by myself, but only because I bring much of the paperwork and correspondence home from the factory each day.”
A sudden notion had her leaning forward with excitement. It was the perfect solution to both their quandaries. “I’ll work as your secretary, at least until you are able to find a replacement.”
“What?” Hugh chuckled as he shook his head. “I cannot ask you to do that.”
Ada shot him an arched look. “Why ever not? Is it because I am a woman?”
“Not at all,” he said, looking uncomfortable. “I happen to employ a great many women at the boot factory.”
This was a brilliant plan, if she could just get him to see it as such. “I am quite good with numbers and correspondence.”
“I am sure you are . . .”
“Besides, you’re not asking, Hugh; I am offering.”
He sat back in his chair, his expression conflicted. “You do not have to do that, Ada. I can manage on my own.”
“I don’t doubt that for a minute.” She rested her clasped hands on top of the desk. “You’ve been managing on your own since you were twenty.”
A flicker of pain she hadn’t expected entered his brown eyes before he glanced away.
“What I mean”—she hurried to explain—“is that you have been a great help to a great many people in your life, including me. But who helps you?”
Hugh frowned at his desk. “Have you been plotting with my mother?”
“Your mother?” Ada echoed with a laugh. “No. Should I?”
His mouth lifted slightly at the corners. “Never mind. Are you certain you want to do this?”
“Absolutely. You will have the help you need and I will have something to do.” She lowered her voice to a loud whisper, “Really you’re helping me, Hugh. If I do not have something to do soon, I am liable to go mad.”
He deepened his smile. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” She watched the play of hesitation, understanding, and acceptance cross his countenance before he exhaled. “All right. You are hired.”
“Thank you.” She eagerly rose to her feet.
Hugh stood as well. “Keep in mind, I am still going to pay you.”
“But I don’t need—”
“That is my one stipulation, Ada.”
This time she eyed him with momentary indecision. The money wasn’t necessary, now that she was back at Stonefield, but if that was the only way to help him and herself, she would capitulate on the wages. “Very well. I accept.”
“Excellent.” He rounded his desk. “Why don’t you come to the factory tomorrow morning, once Rosemary leaves for school?”
Ada followed him to the door. “I will.”
“Thank you, Ada,” he said quietly, pausing with his hand on the doorjamb. “I appreciate your offer to help . . . and for what you said earlier. I don’t want to be so prideful that I cannot see my own need for help now and again.”
Standing this close, she was struck by the deep russet color of his eyes and the fine-looking lines of his jaw. A memory flitted through her mind. Something her maid Hetty had once said, long ago, about Hugh being the handsomer of the two Whittington brothers. Ada had to admit—she agreed with that sentiment.
Her cheeks heated at her errant thoughts and the curious way Hugh was watching her. “It often requires as much strength to ask for help as it does to soldier on,” she said into the silence.
“Very true.” He opened the door for her, thankfully widening the distance between them. “I will see you tomorrow morning.”
Ada nodded and returned his smile. “I’ll be there.”
She couldn’t wait to tell Minnie and Gran about her new job. Perhaps one of them would have an idea of how she might break the news to her parents, who would not be pleased. Whatever their reaction, though, she was looking forward to tomorrow for the first time in weeks.
Chapter 17
Hugh arrived earlier than usual at the factory the next morning to make certain his office and Mr. Bertrup’s desk were as tidy as he could make them, in preparation for Ada’s first day as his secretary. He still hadn’t decided if her offer to help was a godsend or not. The idea of seeing her each workday was appealing, and yet, he hoped their friendship could remain the same, even with him as her employer now.
“Good morning.”
He glanced up to find her smiling at him from the doorway. Like most of the women in the village these days, her dress of muted blue looked worn. But Hugh still thought her as pretty as ever and he admired her for not purchasing a new wardrobe after returning home. He could imagine what Victoria Thorne had said about Ada’s attire.
“Come in,” he said, standing up from his chair. He glanced at the clock. “You are right on time.”
Ada shrugged, though her dark eyes sparkled. “It’s hard to break some h
abits. Being late to the warehouse would have likely cost me my job, so I learned for the first time in my life how to be punctual.”
“Your desk is the one right outside the office.” He crossed the room to the door. “Once you’ve looked it over, I can give you a tour of the factory if you would like.”
She nodded. “I would love a tour.”
After she’d seen her desk and stowed away her hat and gloves, she followed him through the factory’s main rooms. Hugh introduced her to the foreman, Mr. Nelson, a man in his fifties who’d been in the same position under Hugh’s father. The man’s trusted council had been an asset for years, especially during the first ones when Hugh was learning how to run a factory.
The familiar hum of machinery filled the air. It was a sound Hugh often heard in his dreams. A number of the women workers eyed him and Ada with open curiosity. Several whispered to those seated behind them when he and Ada strolled past. Hugh didn’t mind them talking as long as they completed their work.
“It is quite impressive, Hugh,” Ada said when they returned to her desk. “I had no idea you could produce that many pairs of boots in a single day.”
He smiled at the compliment. “I couldn’t do it alone. Our workers are efficient and turn out good quality.”
“It may help that some of them are quite enamored with the factory owner.” Her gaze brightened with amusement.
Hugh pocketed his hands, feeling suddenly uneasy. “I don’t believe that is true.”
“No?” She shot him an impish smile. “I observed more than one pair of eyes following you about the room, and then there was all the whispering.”
Had those women been talking about him? He shifted his weight. “All of them have acted with proper decorum and I am grateful for their exceptional work ethic.”
“So no sweetheart among them for you?”
He cleared his throat. “No.”
“Was there ever someone?” Ada tilted her head and regarded him seriously with those dark eyes of hers. “I can’t remember.”
