Among the Poppies

by J'nell Ciesielski

  She considered a moment, then finally nodded, walking back to her auto. “Can you come closer to Lizzie so I can step on the running board? I don’t think I’m quite tall enough to leap up like you did.”

  Maneuvering Titan, William offered his hand as she stepped up. She grasped his hand, took a deep breath, and jumped. It took a few seconds of grappling, swinging legs, and panicked cries, but she finally settled in behind him.

  “You’ll need to hold on,” he said.

  “I am.”

  Glancing over his shoulder, he saw her white fingers latched to the back of the saddle. “Unless you have glue on your fingers, that won’t keep you on. Put your arms around me.”

  Horror flashed across her face. “I don’t even know you!”

  “Captain William Crawford, at your service. Now, please put your arms around me.”

  She shook her head. “Your uniform will be ruined.”

  “A price I’m willing to pay so I won’t have to take you to hospital after you’ve fallen off and bumped your head.”

  Hesitating a moment, she finally sighed and scrubbed her hands over her skirts. Wrapping her arms around his waist in a death grip, she blew out a breath. “I’m ready.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right back there, miss … I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

  “Gwyn, and yes, I’m all right.” William didn’t bother pointing out that her voice was strung tighter than a pack of grenades. “And thank you for doing this, Captain Crawford.”

  “You’re most welcome.” He tapped Titan’s flanks, setting the horse into motion. “May I ask where we’re headed?”

  “Just head north for about three and a half miles.”

  “Three and a half miles! I’m surprised Lizzie made it that far.”

  “So am I, but part of the way is downhill, so I was able to coast.”

  “Coast?”

  “Allow her to ride with the momentum. It’s the best way to feel the wind on your face.” She sighed, tickling the hairs on the back of his neck. “The only way to feel freedom.”

  Spoken so low, he almost missed her words. Freedom in a reckless deathtrap? “Lizzie is hardly the only way to feel the blowing wind.”

  “Yes, but driving certainly is faster than running.”

  Running and driving. Who was this woman with her arms wrapped around him? The evening was going from dread to delight. William urged Titan into a trot. “I’ll take your word on the driving, but I prefer a good old-fashioned horse. There’s nothing like the power of a horse’s legs as he kicks up the ground beneath him.”

  “And I’ll take your word on that.” Her fists bunched into his stomach as she clung to him. “Oh, please don’t make him do that.”

  William pulled back on the reins, trying his best not to concentrate on the curving warmth pressed behind him. “Not the time for a gallop?”

  “Not unless you wish me to spoil your lovely uniform, and I would hate to do that because it looks like you spent a great deal of time polishing those buttons.”

  “Longer than I care to admit, but most of my uniforms lost their shine and polish long ago in the deep ends of the trenches.”

  “Have you seen the fighting, Captain?”

  His fingers tightened around the reins. The past year he’d seen enough fighting and killing to last him a lifetime. Too many men blown apart, too many faces buried in the frozen ground, too many times leading his men into slaughter. “Yes. I’ve seen it.”

  The clopping of Titan’s hooves filled his ears. Steady and strong, the rhythm echoed off the towering alder trees. Thank God his favorite horse was not drafted into the army like most other animals in the country. I’m sure Father had some sway in that.

  “Have you always wanted to be a soldier?”

  The question took him off guard. No one had ever asked his preference before. “I’ve always known I would serve. Do I think this is the life for me?” He shrugged. “For now it is. Just like every other able-bodied man in the country.”

  “You haven’t been wounded?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Then why are you here? Oh, golly molly, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. It’s just that you said able-bodied, but most capable men are across the Channel. Not that you’re incapable—”

  “You think I’m shirking my duties.”

  “No! Of course not.”

  “Fear not, Miss Gwyn. I’m no truant.” He couldn’t stop the smile as she sagged against him with a sigh. “I’m here on orders to inspect my men on convalescence.”

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  “Some of them won’t think so when they’re deemed well enough to return to the Front.”

  “Are conditions so bad that our wounded are forced to fight again?”

  “It never hurts to have a bigger army than the enemy. We can use all the help we can get.”

  “What kind of help?” Her voice pitched with excitement.

  He bit back a groan. Not another do-good rich girl creating problems. “The men always enjoy care baskets from home.”

  “Yes, I’ve tried those.” Her tone fell flat. “Sister said my mittens served better as pot holders and that I’d better stick to rolling bandages.”

  Hospital work. He hadn’t imagined the tincture of iodine. “I’m sure whatever volunteer work you do is valuable. Even rolling bandages.”

  “I wish it were more. You can stop here.”

  William pulled Titan to a halt and stared down the sweeping drive lined with poplars. Hundreds of lights twinkled from the house. “Clarendon Downs? This is where you live?”

  “Yes, but I can walk from here.” She squirmed behind him. “I’ve taken so much of your time already.”

  “Nonsense.” He grabbed her hands, lest she try to leap and break her neck. “How fortunate that this is my destination as well.”

  “It is?” Panic leaped in her voice. “Oh, dear.”

  William spurred Titan on. Why would a girl of Clarendon Downs’s society be trapped under a motorcar without a chaperone or chauffeur in sight? Proper young ladies did not spend their valuable time in garages. Or perhaps he’d been away for too long.

  “Please stop here, Captain.” Gwyn’s fists clenched against his stomach as Titan trotted to the wide front door.

  Jumping down, William reached back and grasped her waist. Alarm twisted her face as he pulled her towards him. Her hands latched onto his shoulders like hooks. She slid off Titan’s back and into his arms, close enough for him to see the thickness of her eyelashes.

  The anxiety faded from her face. Her fingers relaxed, and a wobbly smile spread over her full lips. “Thank you, Captain Crawford. You certainly saved me a long walk—”

  “Gwyn?”

  Her entire body stiffened. “Mr. W-Whiteson.”

  A tall man with silvered hair marched through the front door, puffed-out chest first. “Gwyn. What are you doing here with the captain?”

  Gwyn leaped away from William as the older man bore down on her like a man-o-war. “The auto broke down on the way to town, and Captain Crawford was kind enough to see me back. I was to get the flowers.”

  The man’s bushy eyebrows shot straight up into his hairline. “The flowers? But I told … never mind all that. Off with you now. I’m sure your father will want to know about the motorcar.” He sucked in a deep breath and turned his eye to William. “Captain Crawford, I apologize for the inconvenience. Please come in.”

  “There was no inconvenience,” William said. “I was more than happy to help the lady, though I think it’s only fair to blame Lizzie for this one.”

  Whiteson scowled.

  Gwyn groaned. “Thank you again, Captain Crawford. Good luck with your men.”

  “Yes, I—”

  She hurried away without a glance, leaving him feeling the fool. What in the world was that all about? And why was she running toward the garage?

  CHAPTER 2

  Running her finger down the checklist,
Gwyn stopped at the next unchecked box. She turned her brightest smile on the man lying in the bed. “Ready for your exercise, Corporal Brown?”

  Brown’s chest rose and fell, expelling deep breaths. His non-bandaged eyelid twitched. Gwyn crossed her arms. “I know you’re not asleep, Corporal.”

  A soft snore fluttered from his bruised lips.

  Gwyn walked to the side of the bed and leaned in to whisper. “You can do better than that.”

  A snort erupted from his throat.

  “Oh, that’s much better. All the practice has paid off, but you still need to exercise.”

  Brown’s intact eye fluttered open. “Why, Nurse Ruthers. I didn’t realize you were here. How nice to awaken to such a lovely face.”

  “Flattery, flattery.” She clucked her tongue to fight the rising grin. “You thought Nurse Shearing was on duty again, didn’t you?”

  “She sponges off my feet with ice water instead of warming it like you do.” He struggled into a half-sitting position and glanced around the room. “And she wears too much perfume. Gives all the men headaches.”

  “Then you shall be glad to know there is a freshly mowed path in the back garden so your afternoon exercise will be filled with the sweet smell of grass and falling leaves.” Gwyn pulled back the covers and angled his crutches into position. “If you’re able to do more than one lap, Mrs. Hower will add an extra dollop of cream to the pie slices tonight.”

  Brown hefted his legs over the bed and grabbed the crutches.

  Gwyn held her arms in a large circle around him as he stood, ready to catch him should he stumble. “Careful now.”

  Once he was stable, he hobbled away. Sadness pinged her heart. Though more fortunate than both of his brothers buried in Saint Grace’s kirkyard, he’d never work at the newspaper office again with one remaining eye and a shattered hip.

  She shook off the pity. He was alive, and that was all that mattered.

  “Gwyn.” Sister glided down the center aisle, clad in her pristine white uniform and cap, with a stack of laundered linens. “I need you to strip the beds of the men gone to the exercise yard.”

  “Yes, Sister.” Gwyn bit back a groan. She hated stripping the beds, especially alone. Hospitals taught nurses to tuck and yank the sheets so firmly into place that—come hurricanes or the Kaiser’s army—those linens wouldn’t budge.

  Thirty minutes and a thin line of perspiration later, Gwyn gathered three beds’ worth of dirty sheets and arched her back. Careful to breathe through her mouth, she trudged down the aisle, trying not to knock over any trays with her tower of spoils.

  “After you drop those off, I need you to help change Sergeant Montine’s bandages,” Sister called as she walked past holding her ever-present clipboard.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Gwyn turned the corner and smacked into a mountain in a uniform. Pillowcases and blankets toppled from the precarious stack and scattered around the floor like dirty snow. “Excuse me, sir.” She grabbed at items as they slipped across the freshly waxed floors. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “My fault for standing as a roadblock,” said a deep voice.

  Dropping to her knees, Gwyn gathered the linens. Highly polished boots creaked as the man squatted next to her, a sweat-stained top sheet in his hands.

  “Oh, thank you ever so—” Gwyn rocked back and landed on her bottom. Her pulse lurched. “Captain Crawford.” After thinking of almost nothing but him for the past two days, he was there. Surrounded by soiled bedsheets. And she sprawled right in the middle of them.

  “Allow me.” Holding her elbow, he helped her to her feet.

  “Thank you.” She had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. One of the few men to make her feel delicate in his presence instead of like a lumbering giraffe. She smoothed a shaking hand over her skirt. “I don’t know if it’s luck or bad timing, but you do find me in the most ridiculous situations.”

  Dressed in a khaki uniform and Sam Browne belt, his wavy blond hair parted and slicked to the side, his smile readied itself more easily than it had the night of the Clarendon party.

  The skin around his dark blue eyes crinkled. “At least this time Lizzie wasn’t involved.”

  “She could cause quite a commotion in here, no doubt.”

  Cecelia rounded the corner and stopped with her mouth forming a perfect pink O. Shimmering in soft green and navy ribbons, she looked as if she’d just stepped from the fashionable streets of London. “What’s happened here?”

  “I was carrying these to the laundry.” Gwyn scooped the scattered sheets into her arms. “I dropped them.”

  Cecelia wrinkled her nose. “I can see that.” Looping a gloved hand under the captain’s arm, she flashed a smile. “I’ve brought William, I mean Captain Crawford, to see how our facilities run. He showed the greatest interest in them the other night.”

  Gwyn shifted her load to better see his face over the top. “Are any of your men here, Captain?”

  “Four.” A slight V furrowed between his eyebrows. “Most of the others were too severe to send across country and will remain in London for the time being.”

  For the time being. Did he mean they would be sent home or back to the Front? “I hope you find our simple facilities to your standards. We take great care and pride in our men.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. These men deserve the best after what they’ve been through.”

  “And that’s what I’m so eager to show you, William.” Cecelia flashed him a dazzling smile. “With top-notch nurses like G, the Ox and Bucks receive more personal care than in some overcrowded London hospital short on staff.”

  William raised an eyebrow. “Top notch, eh?”

  Heat fluttered up Gwyn’s neck. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “I would,” Cecelia said. “She spent three hours trying to teach me how to properly roll bandages, though I could never understand why they need to be rolled when they are only going to be unrolled later.”

  The linens weighed heavily in Gwyn’s arms. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a laundress to see.”

  “May I carry those for you?” William held out his arms.

  Gwyn clutched her load as a barrier. Men in shining uniforms didn’t carry dirty laundry. They rode mighty horses and escorted elegant women to parties. “I can manage. You enjoy your tour.”

  She scurried away, depositing her load in the steaming bleach-filled laundry room, then hurried back to redress Sergeant Montine’s bandages. Not to see William, or to see if the ward met his standards.

  “Is that too tight?” She watched Montine’s face, searching for a wince of pain.

  “No, it’s just fine, miss.” He gave her a gentle smile. The glass that had shattered in his face had done little to mar its sweetness. “A big day for us to have a captain touring our beds.”

  Gwyn tried to keep her eyes on the task instead of watching William examine the perfectly lined bottles in the medicine cabinet. “Have you met him yet?”

  Montine shook his head. “He’s examined every bottle in the cabinet so far. Sister watches like a hawk from her office door.”

  Gwyn giggled. “I doubt he’ll find the slightest thing to correct under her management.”

  “No, but I think she’ll want to have the entire place scrubbed free of fingerprints as soon as he leaves.” Glancing around, he turned back to her and dropped his voice. “Is it true they’re sending some of the men back?”

  She’d heard the whispers between the concerned hospital matrons, but none thought it possible. At least until last month when a lorry arrived to take three of the recovered men to the docks for transport back to France. Two of them were killed almost immediately. “I believe the conditions on the Front continue to cry for help, and there aren’t enough men to fill the duties.”

  “Will they send me back? It broke me mum’s heart the first time I left. Can’t imagine what this’ll do to her.”

  Gwyn desperately wanted to soothe the panic flaring in his eyes, but lying only ma
de the truth that more excruciating when it came out. She couldn’t bear to see him in any more pain than he already was. “It’s not up to the medics to decide such things, and right now your only duty is to get well so you can return to that plow on your farm.”

  Nodding, Montine lowered himself back onto his pillows. His chest pumped in quick breaths. “He won’t tell my officers that I’m well enough to walk, will he?”

  “No, Sergeant.” She tucked the blanket over him. “I’m sure he won’t.”

  Gwyn carried her tray of unused bandages back to the supply cabinet. Why was this job like a double-edged sword? One minute rewarding, the next heartbreaking.

  Cecelia flitted over and leaned against the cabinet door like a wilted dove. “Is he not the most delectable man?” she cooed. “Who could ever resist a man in uniform?”

  “You weren’t too eager to meet him the other night.” Gwyn pushed the row of bandages over to make a new one.

  “That’s before I saw him. Lush hair, and without an ounce of fat ringing his middle like all the others.” Cecelia poked her in the ribs. “You didn’t say one thing about his blue eyes.”

  “I was more concerned with Mr. Whiteson stomping around the garage like a dragon because I failed to retrieve those flowers. He seemed to think the entire night balanced on the edge of failure because of it.”

  “Oh, bother with him.” Cecelia flipped an unconcerned hand in the air. “Mother could not have cared less about them after she saw Captain Crawford.”

  The morning after the party, Cecelia had regaled Gwyn with stories of the good captain’s dashing arrival, his attentiveness during supper, his easy laugh at Lord Somerset’s jokes, the brilliant red of his tunic turning his blue eyes to deep sapphire. He was everything Cecelia had dreamed of but never imagined would actually appear on her doorstep. Lady Somerset had outdone herself in manhunting this time.

  “He’s escorting me to Lady Donovan’s charity benefit on Saturday. I don’t think parties are his cup of tea, at least not until I mentioned they are auctioning off a pair of eighteenth-century Spanish guns. Men.” Cecelia cast a furtive glance at William as he examined the bulletin’s daily list of exercises. “Of course, Saturday is too far off, and I need to keep his attention as much as possible. I suggested that tomorrow would be perfect for a picnic, but he’s only interested in touring more facilities and wards. Did you know his father is a colonel? That’s how he got leave to come here.”