by Tricia Goyer
“I’m glad you approve.”
“Do you live in Henley?”
“No, but near. Medmenham.”
To Emma’s surprise Will was easy to talk to, and she found herself relaxing into the train’s seat. “And how curious that I saw you in the bookshop and now here we are on the train. And you’ve just moved to Henley. Serendipitous.”
“My mother always called them divine appointments.” He brushed a piece of lint off his jacket. “She believed that when you open yourself up to be a friend, you’ll find one wherever you go.”
“I have a question for you too.”
He cocked his head, waiting.
“Are you an artist?”
The surprised look on his face pleased her. “How did you know?”
“Your hands. There are a flecks of paint under your nails. And I noticed a blue spot on your shoe.”
“I’m impressed. Are you always so observant?”
“My brother would—” She bit her lower lip. She was about to say, “My brother would have said so,” but even thinking of him caused her throat to constrict. Instead, she touched her cheek, realizing she was smiling. “No one got away with anything around my house growing up.”
“And you concluded my occupation from a few flecks of paint?”
“And the art book you had tucked under your arm at the bookstore.”
“Ah, you are observant. I imagine our country is thankful to have you.”
Emma pressed her lips together, unsure of how to respond. Did he guess her work? Or was he just saying that in general?
“I believe every person has a unique talent that can be of some use to the war effort.” She dared to glance over at Vera, but her friend was busy in conversation with an older woman sitting next to her. Emma guessed that those who lived in Henley knew that Danesfield House was being used for some important military purpose, but did they have any idea what? There were too many traveling by automobile and train not to know something was happening, but she doubted this man—new to the area—had any idea what she truly was involved in, or its importance.
“I agree with you, but for a time I questioned that.” He rubbed his arm, and she remembered how it had hung awkwardly when they were in the bookstore; sitting here she never would have known. “Thankfully, even though they didn’t allow me on the battlefield, they found a use for my skills.”
“Are you talking about your art?” Emma straightened in her seat, intrigued.
“Yes, good ol’ Britain created jobs for me and hundreds other artists. We’re recording England, you see, with paints and ink. They claim my paintings will build morale and capture Britain’s changing landscape before it’s too late, but I feel like a plum fool every time I set up my easel while the bombers roar overhead.”
She gave him a sympathetic look but didn’t know how to respond. He was so open, so unhindered, as if they’d been acquainted for years, not minutes. Should she ask more about his injury? More about his paintings? Or maybe what he’d already experienced during the war? Everyone had a story. She was learning that. Emma decided to stay with the safe subject.
“Are you working on a canvas now?”
“Actually, I’m starting something new—thus the new location. Over the next few days I’ll be looking over the area of Henley, maybe Medmenham.”
She bit her lip and nodded. “I’m sure you’ll find some beautiful places to paint.”
The train carriage hummed with conversation. There were many in uniform, no doubt heading back to the air base located not far from Medmenham. Vera’s laughter carried through the train car, and Emma attempted to ignore it.
“I assume you’re stationed at Royal Air Force Benson.”
She shrugged. “Something like that.”
She glanced at Will again, realizing how much she’d like to get to know him better. Was he always so proper? Or were there times he let down his guard? Was there playfulness behind his proper English manner?
His light hair was perfectly slicked back. His face was boyish, and only the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes gave away the fact that he wasn’t just out of high school.
They talked of other things after that. He asked where she was from in America, and she told him about the small fishing town where her parents still lived.
“All my roommates complain about the damp air, but it’s just like home to me.” She shared about Acadia National Park, not far from her home. “You can see the first sunrise from the top of Mount Cadillac in the park. My mother had a tradition of taking my brother and me there on the first day of every year to watch it rise together.” A lump formed in Emma’s throat and tears threatened to fill her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away and changed the subject. “Have you ever been to the states, Mr…?”
“Please just call me Will.”
“Okay, have you ever been to the states, Will?”
“I was planning a trip there before this war business started. I wanted to tour the country and paint. I might have been able to make it happen if I’d been more diligent, but I waited, and the paperwork and rubber stamps got to be too much. Then there were all the troops arriving…well, they became the priority for transportation.”
“And then you found your work.”
Will smiled. “My work found me. I used to teach art.” He paused, as if he were going to say more about that, but then continued on. “It’s interesting though. The government saw what was coming—a war greater than the last, on land, sea, and air. And they saw the destruction of the Blitz and worried our country’s landscape would forever be changed, and so they decided to record it.”
“I suppose this war has brought a lot of change.” She didn’t want to bring up the threats of invasion, yet from the serious look in Will’s eyes he was thinking of that too.
“The landscapes are changing, Emma, politically and physically; this is certain. But changes would have happened even without the war. Progress, housing developments, road building, and expansion are things we can’t fight.”
Emma leaned on the armrest, brushing the sleeve of Will’s jacket, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she relaxed into the carriage seat even more, amazed again how easy it was to converse with Will. “And do you pick what you’d like to paint?”
“Sometimes, but other times an assignment or location is given—as in this case. But now, well, I’m thankful for it. I mean, if I’d been sent to Kent or some other location, we wouldn’t have met on the train.”
His words warmed her, and they continued their conversation for the next forty minutes. They talked about Tremont and the simple, honest folks back in her hometown. She shared about her journey to Oxford and her year at Saint Hilda’s. Will asked about her reasons for joining the service, but she quickly changed the subject and instead pointed at the gray, winding river in the distance.
“Look, this is my favorite part of the journey when the Thames comes into view. I have to admit I cannot wait for summer.”
“For the warmer weather?”
“Oh, that too, but I’d really love to get on that river and row.”
His eyes widened in surprise. “You row?”
She lifted a hand. “Now don’t sign me up for a regatta, and I’ve never been on a team—not that type of rowing—but I love rowing in the harbor back home.”
A smile filled Will’s face. “You are quite surprising.”
His words were simple, but Emma’s chest filled with warmth, and she had a feeling her face glowed from the compliment. And as the miles took her ever closer to Henley, Emma willed each minute to last an hour.
ELEVEN
As Emma and Vera exited the train, great rain drops splashed down around them. The shower that had started as they neared Henley promised to turn into a lengthy downpour.
“Do you see Danny?” Vera asked, stepping under the portico of the small depot. Emma stepped beside her.
“No. He mustn’t have been able to get away. Or perhaps he’s driving someone to or back from London. What should
we do now?”
“Danny’s not here, but look.” Vera pointed.
It was Will, waiting by a black Rover. He waved as she looked his direction. He held a folded newspaper over his head. Then with a welcoming smile he lifted his hand palm up and peered up at the gathering clouds. “Looks like a bit of rain. Do you care for a ride?”
Vera offered a crooked smile, but Will’s gaze was fixed on Emma.
Emma had never been pursued before. Not by a man of Will’s caliber. She felt flustered and uncertain. Should she accept? Was he safe? They knew so little about him really.
Both Will and Vera watched her, waiting for a reply. Emma frantically searched her mind for the right answer. When she didn’t respond immediately, he approached.
“I don’t mind offering you a lift, really I don’t.”
“How could we accept a ride when we don’t even know your surname?” Her words sounded foolish even to her, but Will had her so flustered she didn’t know what to say.
The smallest hint of a smile curled up his lips.
“You’re right. That wouldn’t be wise, so I’ll solve that. My name is Will Fletcher. I’m staying in Henley-on-Thames for a time for work. I have an auto that is serviceable, and I am guessing that with the increasing rain you might appreciate a ride since yours apparently didn’t show.”
“And what type of work do you do?” asked Vera, obviously enjoying this game.
Emma didn’t wait for Will to answer. “He’s an artist.” Her eyes met his, and she realized she did want a ride. More than that, really. She was thankful for more time to spend with him.
Vera shivered and pulled her coat tighter. “An artist? There is a need for artists during the war?”
“Obviously our country seems to think so.” Emma attempted to keep her tone light, but that didn’t stop Will’s brows from folding. And worry seeped into her heart. She truly intended to be playful, but she had a feeling she offended him.
He swallowed and then forced a smile. He turned to Vera, repeating the information he’d already given Emma. “My arm was injured during the Blitz. Though I tried to enlist, the military gave me the boot. And it seems the government is afraid this bombing business is going to destroy the beauty of Britain as we know it. I’ve been commissioned by the government to paint the countryside. I suppose they’re doing me a favor, and I do love to paint. Yet I have to say that not wearing a uniform has hurt my luck with the ladies.”
“With the ladies?” Emma pulled her scarf higher under her chin as raindrops increased. “If I’m clear how things work, you only need one.”
Will turned back to her. “Will you provide me with the honor of seeing you to Danesfield House then?”
Vera squared her shoulders in an attempt to appear to look taller. “And me. You can’t forget I’m stuck here too.”
Vera moved in the direction of the auto. Will followed.
“Wait.” Emma’s words halted Will’s steps.
He turned back and eyed her curiously. “Is something the matter?”
“How did you know where we were going—that we live at Danesfield House?”
He chuckled softly. “I assure you I have no ill will. And I’m certain if you polled one hundred citizens, at least ninety-five of them would be able to deduce that two WAAFs disembarking at this location lived and worked at Danesfield House, especially since you already told me you weren’t stationed at Benson.” He smiled as he leaned closer. “What you do inside the establishment may be a secret, but I assure you your presence is not. The person who acquired my cottage for me told me that many beautiful women lived at the estate.” Will laughed. “Perhaps he believed it would pique my interest in being assigned to such a sleepy little town.” The humor in his gaze caused Emma’s shoulders to relax. Of course. It all made sense.
She jutted out her chin. “In that case a ride would be most appreciated.” Then, linking her arm into Vera’s, she winked at him. “Just as long as we don’t forget my friend.”
After leaving behind the sign that read “Exiting Henley-on-Thames” they headed along a road that wound alongside the River Thames. She knew the village of Medmenham was only three miles from Henley-on-Thames and also from Marlow, but it seemed much more secluded than that. The auto drove on a narrow road through a dense forest, yet even in the forest she gained glimpses of the river through openings among the trees.
A string of houses, flocks of sheep dotting the riverbanks, and old timber-framed cottages pointed the way home. One section of cleared land led down to a slipway on the river, and Emma saw an old rowboat pulled up on the bank. It had been there every time she’d passed, although not in the same position, telling her that it was often used. One of her drivers had also mentioned that the slipway used to be a ferry landing, but with roads and automobiles, most of the boating on the river was now left to sport.
For the briefest moment Emma closed her eyes and pictured herself setting off in that rowboat with Will. They could row downriver until they reached the riverbank just down the slope from the gardens at Danesfield House. She knew what a beautiful view the river was from the dormant gardens, and she guessed that the view from the river to the estate would be equally beautiful, especially in the spring.
The ride to Medmenham was quiet, and soon the sleepy little village appeared before them like watercolor drawings in a child’s storybook. The cottages were stone with thatched roofs that sagged with age. Some of the buildings were pressed against the street, and she imagined that horse-cart tracks had been recently widened, expanded, and paved right to their doors. There wasn’t a soul out, which gave the village an empty appearance, especially after the bustling, noisy London.
When the transport driver had first brought Emma to Danesfield in the late fall, she’d marveled how the headquarters of such an important organization had been tucked away in such an unlikely place. Unless one knew it was there, one would never know to look, which was exactly what the Allies had planned for. Then again, those around town knew something was going on at the estate. They may not have understood the full extent, but the importance of Danesfield House could not be denied.
An uneasiness stirred in her gut, and she glanced over at Will. His eyes were focused on the road, and he seemed lost in his thoughts. He had been friendly on the train and now generous in giving them a ride. She just hoped that the handsome stranger was all he appeared to be. And, Emma reminded herself as her body rocked with the movement of the auto over ruts in the road, she needed to be extra vigilant in watching her tongue. If she saw him again—which she hoped she would—she needed to ensure that nothing she said would give away anything about her work. That was the first thing she’d learned in her training. Loose lips sink ships, and all that.
Vera scooted forward and rested her arms on the back of the front seat, talking over Will’s shoulder. “So have you lived in Henley long?”
“No, I’ve only recently been assigned to this area. I’ve driven into Medmenham before, years ago, but I’m not familiar with this area, so you’ll have to give me directions.”
Emma pointed ahead of them. “It’s not too hard. You’re going to go a couple more miles and turn off the main road.”
“It’s not far,” Vera commented.
“And it’s not icy today, so you should have no problem getting up the hill. It’s a steep narrow incline.” Emma clutched her bag to herself, wondering what to say when he dropped her off. Would she thank him and that would be the end of it?
“But the view from the top is amazing!” Vera added. “It’s not a bad place to…” She let her voice trail off.
Emma’s heart settled with the gentle rocking of the automobile, filling in the awkward silence. “So you haven’t been to this area?”
“Can’t say I have, although I’m eager to explore it more. I haven’t been much past Henley.”
Emma looked to her friend, and Vera winked. “Oh, I think you’ll find Danesfield House beautiful.”
When Emma pointed wher
e to turn, they drove onto the side road, and both Emma and Vera held their breath as the auto chugged up the hill. Then, like a bride waiting at the end of a long aisle, their home away from home filled the view.
Will’s jaw dropped, and his mouth opened slightly. He let out a low whistle. “You have quite a place here.”
Constructed with the locally quarried white rock chalk, the two-story mansion house was built in a flamboyant, Italianate style. The gatehouse, courtyards, towers, large latticed windows, crenellated stone teeth, and decorated, red brick chimneys made Emma feel as if she were in another world. Across the ground floor arched openings gave the place a Mediterranean feel, but the gray sky and misty rain reminded them they were far from the Mediterranean. The bare limbs of beech and willow trees hinted of lush foliage come spring, but like the war that raged, it was hard to imagine such beauty when everything was stripped away.
“Mrs. Spencer says the locals call it the Chalk House, but others call it the Wedding Cake.” Vera shook her head. “I favor the latter description, yet it would be more fun if we could actually have a wedding here. If the Royal Air Force had to requisition something,” Vera said, sighing, “I’m glad they did it in style.”
“Mrs. Spencer?” Will asked.
“She’s an older woman who lives in the village,” Emma explained. “We met her when we were exploring—not that there’s much to look at in town. She’s a widow with no children and offered to do mending for us. We visit when we can. She’s lonely and enjoys visitors.”
“Yes, especially Emma, the American.” Vera lowered her chin and mimicked the woman’s thick South English accent. “‘Came all this way to help the likes of us, now did you?’”
Will slowed the auto as they neared the gates and then pointed. “So, Emma, which tower is yours, so I can serenade you in the night?”
Heat rose up her cheeks, and she placed her hand on the door handle. “You’ve known my name less than an hour and you’re speaking of serenades. The English are cheeky now, aren’t they?” She pursed her lips playfully as the vehicle stopped in front of the expansive gates where the security detail waited.
