A whistle pierced the air. Beads of water on the deck began to roll backward.
“You better get ashore,” William said. “This isn’t your ride.”
The flat hollowness of his voice cut into her like glass. “Please don’t send me away.”
“Everything between us was a mistake. I never should have allowed it to happen.” He turned his head back to the water. A vein throbbed in his neck. “Go. Forget me. Forget all of this.”
“It was never a mistake. Not when I love you, and I know that you l—”
“Lieutenant, please escort this lady to shore.” William signaled to a sailor with a clipboard in his hand. “She has no right to be on this ship.”
“Come with me, miss.” The officer tugged her to her feet. “All unregistered passengers must go ashore.”
“William, please.” Tears crowded her throat.
The officer’s fingers curled around her elbow, pulling her along. “Ashore, miss.”
“Take this, if you’ll have nothing else of me.” She pushed the Bible towards William. It thumped against his uninjured leg.
Staggering down the gangway, she stood on the dock until the ship faded to nothing against the churning deep blue waves. The wind chapped the tears streaming down her face, but she didn’t lift a finger to dry them. Let them burn. Their sting was the only thing left of him.
Another love. Gone. First her mother, then Eugenie, and now him. She should have fought harder. Should have forced him to … to what? To want her? To need her?
Blackness caved her insides, stealing the shred of hope that she had tried to cling to. She stared across the empty waters. The world, once wide and open, disappeared in a void as deep and cold as the one plunging in her heart.
CHAPTER 29
Throwing Rosie into park, Gwyn scrambled around to the back and flung open the doors. “I’ve got two head cases, trench fever, and a leg,” she announced to the orderlies as they unloaded her wounded and carried them inside the hospital.
“Got some potatoes on the fire and a fresh mix of coffee,” one of them told her before hooking a sturdy arm around the leg patient. “Get it while it’s hot and steal the chill from your bones.”
“I’ll do a cleaning first.” Gwyn’s stomach rumbled traitorously. She couldn’t leave a dirtied transport in case a new request came in. The cold was misery enough. The men didn’t need to sit in a previous man’s filth just because she decided to get coffee.
The orderly’s face soured in disapproval, but Gwyn grabbed a bucket and marched off to the water pump. They all looked at her that way. Never approving of the tasks she took on, the extra shifts she picked up when one of the other drivers didn’t feel well, or the amount of time she took sweeping the workshop. If she didn’t do it, who would?
She filled the bucket with icy water before grabbing a broom, sand pail, and disinfectant. She trudged back to Rosie for a thorough scouring.
“What are you doing out here?” Bundled in a dark gray fur coat and matching hat, Cecelia glared at Gwyn from Rosie’s open back doors.
Inside the ambulance, Gwyn threw another handful of sand to soak up the foulness in the corner. “What does it look like?”
“Like you’re making a mess.” Cecelia stamped her feet in the slush. No matter how much gunk surrounded her, she managed to stay spotless. “You’ve been out in the cold too long. Let someone else do that while you come inside and get warm. It’s starting to snow again.”
“I’m not asking someone else to do this for me because the last time—”
“The last time they did it wrong, and you had to start over from the beginning. Yes, I know. All the drivers know, the town knows, all of France knows.” Cecelia rolled her eyes. “Who is supposed to meet your standards when you set them at impossible?”
“They’re not impossible. I just like them done a certain way.”
“A certain way? The old Gwyn I knew cared not a snap for standard practices.”
A sudden pang pinched Gwyn’s heart. “The old Gwyn you knew lived in a dream.”
“That’s it. Bruce, take her bucket away.”
Bruce, their part-time driver and handyman, jumped into the ambulance and snatched the bucket from Gwyn’s hand. “Sorry, Miss Ruthers. I don’t make the rules.”
Gwyn pointed an accusing finger at Cecelia. “And she does?”
“When she sneaks me an extra slice of pumpkin bread she does.”
“This is ridiculous.” Gwyn reached for the bucket. Bruce’s long arms held it out of her reach.
“Stop being difficult, and come down from there. I’ve got a slice for you too.” Cecelia stamped her feet again. “Hurry up. My feet are turning to ice blocks.”
Gwyn debated arguing, but it wasn’t worth it. Bruce was stronger, and Cecelia could outlast her in stubbornness. With a heavy sigh, Gwyn climbed down and patted Rosie’s fender. “I’ll be back, old girl.”
“Not for a while.” Cecelia hooked an arm through Gwyn’s, dragging her across the slushy car park and straight into the kitchen.
Gwyn balked at the doorway. “I can’t go in there. I’ve been stomping around the field all day. Look at my shoes.”
Cecelia didn’t bat an eyelash as she slipped off her fur coat and hung it on a peg by the door, then peeled Gwyn out of hers and added it to the collection. Reaching back into her coat pocket, Cecelia extracted a silk bag and handed it to Gwyn.
“Cecelia, these are house slippers.” Gwyn held up the thin-soled dainty bits of satin.
Cecelia beamed as she took off her hat and patted her hair. “Aren’t they darling?”
Gwyn sighed. It was no use. Wear the frippery or slide around an infected hospital in her stocking-clad feet.
They slipped into the kitchen for two hot mugs of coffee and settled in the far corner next to the fireplace, its heat filling the space with toasty comfort.
“I thought you were off duty this morning.” Cecelia sipped her warm brew. “You drove last night, as well.”
Gwyn shrugged and took a nip of her drink. Without sugar to aid the taste, the bitterness sliced down her throat in one horrible rush. At least it was warm. “I like to stay busy.”
“Staying busy won’t bring him back.”
The cup slipped in Gwyn’s hand. She caught it before it spilled to the floor. “I stay busy for myself and the men.”
“The men on both sides of the line are quiet. It’s too cold for them to bang away at one another, especially with Christmas only a few weeks away.” Lowering her cup, Cecelia grasped Gwyn’s hand and leaned close. “It’s all right to miss him.”
Gwyn stared into the orange flames crackling against the back of the fireplace. The pang from earlier wedged into her like a splinter. “He didn’t want me.”
“So you give up? Where’s the pluck and backbone?”
“I’m not giving up, but I’m not chasing after someone who wants nothing to do with me. There are more important things calling for my attention right now.”
Wildfire leaped in Cecelia’s eyes. “You’re hiding, G. And it doesn’t become you.”
Gwyn surged from her chair. Hot coffee splatted across her knee. “What do you know about it?”
“I see you throwing yourself into everything except the one thing you should be doing. Fighting for William!”
Tears speared the backs of Gwyn’s eyelids. “I did fight for him, but it’s a losing battle when you’re left standing on a dock holding the broken pieces of your heart in your hand.”
“What is this shouting?” Lady Dowling appeared in the doorway. “You two. Come with me, please.”
Like naughty schoolchildren, Gwyn and Cecelia followed her upstairs to the small office. Ice frosted the edges of the window, the cold tendrils slipping through the cracks and curling around the room. Gwyn rubbed the gooseflesh on her arms and stepped closer to the potbellied stove.
Lady Dowling stood at the window, her pointed chin held high and long fingers clasped behind her back. “Is there a rea
son for raised voices in hospital?”
Cecelia stiffened. “We were only having a discussion, m’lady.”
“A rather loud one, wouldn’t you say?”
“Only because Gwyn tries to keep her ears closed.”
Turning from the window, Lady Dowling arched a thin eyebrow. “You were on duty last night. And then again this morning.”
“Yes, m’lady. I got up early and volunteered to take another shift.”
“We do have other drivers. More than enough, I find myself at odds to admit, with the action suffering under winter’s strain.”
“Most of the injuries we have coming in are from trench fever and frostbite,” said Gwyn. “Not even the Germans feel like wriggling from their safe holes to battle the icicles.”
Lady Dowling’s fingers tapped against the edge of her desk. “And yet you still try to take on the other drivers’ shifts. Where do you find the energy?”
Her tone seeped into Gwyn’s bones faster than the frigid air. “If the men are in need, then I’ll do whatever it takes to get to them.”
“Interesting choice of words.” Lady Dowling continued to tap as her eyes remained fixed like a bird of prey. “But, as we just mentioned, the action has slowed. Why your sudden burst of exertion?”
“I like to stay busy. It helps ease the days.”
Cecelia huffed with impatience. “It’s time.”
Lady Dowling blinked, breaking the tension. “I’m afraid you’re right. I hate to do it, but I see no other course.”
Uneasiness pricked Gwyn’s palms. “Time for what?”
Lady Dowling sighed, rustling the taffeta across her bosom. “I’m sending you home.”
“What?” Gwyn’s outburst ricocheted off the stone walls. “No. I can’t leave.”
“You can, and you will.”
Disbelief surged, knocking the breath from Gwyn’s lungs. “Have I done something wrong?”
“You are the best driver I have, the best I’ve known, in fact. Reliable, quick, and dutiful past the point of exhaustion. That’s why you have to leave. And the sooner, the better.”
“But the men—”
“Will go on without you. You are not the only person standing between them and death.”
“Lady Dowling, I beg you to reconsider.”
“This is not a negotiation.”
Gwyn grabbed a chair and dropped onto it before her knees gave out. Leave France? Leave the men with one less driver? Certainly, they needed ambulances in England, but here she felt most useful. To take that away now … she’d feel like a failure. As if the pressure had become too much. Her grand adventure would come to a grinding halt, at least until Stinson offered her another chance. If they ever would again now that she’d put herself back on the waiting list.
She dropped her head to her hands to ease the blood pounding in her temples. “Why?”
“My dear, as old as I am, I can still see when a person is trying to hide by throwing herself into her work.” Taffeta rustled as Lady Dowling walked around her desk and pried open a drawer. Something flat and bulky smacked the desk’s surface. “This is why.”
A leather-bound journal, small with worn pages. With trembling fingers, Gwyn touched the smooth cover. She’d seen it before. Flipping it open, she discovered a fantastical world of sketched horses, buildings, countryside, and soldiers slogging through mud. At the last page, her breath caught in her throat.
Soft pencil strokes etched a wide field with horses grazing among the tall grass. A woman stood on the edge of the field dressed in a long gown that caressed the tops of her bare feet. Her long dark hair danced on a breeze, soft tendrils teasing her neck. Her face was turned towards the hills, but Gwyn knew. He had drawn her as part of his dream.
She traced the curved lines, running a thumb over the shaded areas he had captured with the perfect dimensions of light and dark. His fingers had created this. Each brush of his pencil an extension of his mind and the emotion he kept locked away from the world.
The world faded away as her eyes blurred above the drawing. Oh, William. This is where I belong. Closing the journal, she cradled it to her heart. “When do I leave?”
CHAPTER 30
Gwyn flung out her folded pairs of drawers and stockings for the third time until her fingers hit the bottom of her bag. “Papa! Where did you put that extra box of ointment? I can’t find it anywhere.”
Her father slouched in the doorway of her bedroom, wiping his blackened hands on a cloth. “In the bag, already packed and waiting by the door.”
“The extra bandages, chamomile, oil silk, and carbolic lotion?”
“In the same bag, though I’m more than sure the hospital has plenty in supply.”
Gwyn refolded the discarded garments and stuffed them back into the suitcase. “We didn’t in the field. We had to have our own stock in case.”
“This isn’t the field. It’s London.”
“And London is overflowing with soldiers, so the better prepared I am, the smoother things will go.”
“You think they’ll just allow you to march in and take over a patient? A severely injured officer with an actively retired general father?”
Gwyn snapped the locks closed and cinched the buckle of her bag before looking at him. “I’ll get in.”
Papa tucked the cloth into his back pocket and eased himself onto the room’s only chair with a bone-weary grunt.
“Are you all right, Papa?”
He waved her off with a smile. “Long day under the bonnet with a pair of loosened bolts. Wrenched them into submission, though.”
Guilt pricked her heart. In her time away, gray had streaked its way through her father’s hair and deep lines carved around his eyes. She sat on the edge of her bed and took his calloused hand. “You work too hard.”
“Ah, I wondered where you got it.” He smiled. “That, and the stubbornness to keep going when logic tells you to stop.”
Her gaze dropped to his hands. So large and warm, they had cradled her when she’d scraped a knee and helped her change her first tire. They were as adept at installing new gear shifts as folding in prayer. “You don’t think I should go?”
“I think you have to do what you believe is right.” He lifted her chin with his thumb. “The boy is hurting, in body and pride. It’ll take stubbornness to pull him from it. And as much love as you can give him.”
“He sent me away once. He’ll try to do it again. I know he will.”
“I tried to make the same mistake once with your mother. Mind you, once. She never let me do it again, and I praise God for it every day because I wouldn’t have you if I’d let my pride stand in the way.”
“What do you mean?”
Standing, her father walked to the tiny window that peered across the gravel drive. “She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Thick hair, a touch of auburn lighter than yours, and a quick laugh. Her dream was to travel the world and see the places she’d only read about in all her stacks of books. For some reason, she fell in love with me.”
“Mama was smart.”
Papa’s sad smile reflected in the glass. “Aye, I thought so, too, until she decided to give up her dreams and become a poor mechanic’s wife.”
Gwyn’s fingers curled into the coverlet folded at the foot of her bed, longing for a mother’s touch that she hadn’t felt in years.
“I told her to leave,” he continued, “that I never wanted to see her again, never letting on that my heart was breaking with each word. Tears clouded those beautiful green eyes of hers, the same ones she gave to you, baby girl. ‘Bernard Ruthers,’ she said to me, ‘you are the stupidest man I’ve ever met, but I love you still. Order me away if you like, but I’m not leaving. Marry me now, or I’ll tell everyone you stall in second gear and cheat at cards.’ What could I say to that?”
Crossing to her nightstand, he took the silver-framed picture of her and Mum and extracted the black and white photograph. Gwyn, not more than a year old, sat on her mother’s k
nee while staring up at the woman who she now looked so much like. Stroking a loving finger over his wife’s hair, Papa flipped the photograph over and handed it to Gwyn. Her mother’s delicate script scrawled across the back in a message she’d never seen.
New List
Take Gwyn to feed the swans on the Thames.
Learn to drive.
Picnic with Bernard under the stars.
Family trip to the seashore.
Watch Gwyn run barefoot on the sand.
Listen to Lina Cavalieri perform at the Crystal Palace.
Many of the items were crossed off with only a few remaining, including the very last one. Never part from the ones I love.
“All this time. I thought …” Gwyn shook her head as disbelief rocked her settled notions.
“You thought I made her give her life up. That her dreams of doing great things skidded to an end when she gave into love and wasted away into a quiet life above a garage. Dreams often change to include the ones we love.” He smiled sadly. “I knew I could never explain that to you and have you truly believe me. Oh, I know you would want to, but some things must be experienced before true understanding takes place. When you met William … well, I prayed you would discover it for yourself.”
Gwyn hung her head in shame. “I’m so sorry, Papa.”
“There’s no one to say sorry to, my girl. Only yourself.” He turned away from the window and sat next to her on the bed. “I’ve watched you throw yourself into the same hopes as your mother did. I’ve watched you push down boundaries that threaten to keep you from running, but with all this running you’ve limited yourself from enjoying all of life’s possibilities.” He reached out and grazed his fingertips across her cheek. “William is your possibility.”
Tears scalded the corners of her eyes. Her mother had never been forced to choose which life she wanted. Love hadn’t blocked her path. It gave her a new one. Lightness flooded her heart. She didn’t have to choose either. William was what she wanted. Not one day with him had been boring, and they never would be. But … “He’ll fight me.”
“Of course he will, but when have you ever backed down from one of those?”
Among the Poppies Page 28
