by June Tate
‘He’s the bloody enemy! Think about it, if he and your father met on a battlefield he would shoot your father without a second thought.’
‘And Dad would do the same. It’s war, Mother – that’s what happens!’
Dora calmed down. ‘Yes, you’re right, but Sarah, there is no future in it, don’t you see? You get too friendly and then he’s sent to a prison camp and you’ll never see him again. Then how will you feel?’
‘Devastated! I love him, you see.’
Her mother was speechless for a moment. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, you are far too young to be thinking that way. Infatuated, maybe, but love . . . That’s preposterous.’
Sarah stood up. ‘I don’t expect you to understand – I hardly understand myself – but you can’t tell me how I feel. Gunter and I are in love, German or not.’ She ran upstairs to her bedroom.
The next morning she told Gunter what had happened. He reached through the wire and took her hand. ‘I can understand how your mother feels, liebling. Mine would probably say the same. But no matter what happens, who wins the war, we’ll be together. Now off you go or you’ll be late for work. I’ll see you this evening.’ He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.
He watched her walk away, ignoring the coarse remarks from his fellow prisoners about his friendship with the girl. He hated the war, saw no reason for it. So many people dying – and for what? To satisfy the Führer? A demented man, overcome with a power complex. He had no time for Adolf Hitler, and neither did his father, but now both of them were in the German Army, fighting for a cause they didn’t believe in. It angered him that this madman could cause such mayhem and bring death to thousands, just to satisfy his ego.
The only thing that lifted his spirits was Sarah. He counted every minute of every day until he could see her. He dreaded being moved away and wondered if he would be allowed any mail if it came to pass. He wanted to be able to keep in touch with the girl with whom he’d fallen in love. How could they be together in the future? He felt saddened by what seemed to be an impossible dream.
The month passed quickly, and despite the shortages and difficulties that such times can bring, life in the town went on. Jenny and Brad continued to meet at the stables whenever they were free and occasionally met for dinner. Their friendship grew and they slipped into an easy relationship, both learning about one another and appreciating each other. Finally Jenny received a letter from Adam, telling her he was coming home on leave.
As she sat in the garden reading his letter, she had mixed emotions. She was, of course, delighted that he was safe, but during the long time he’d been absent, she’d built a life for herself. She was no longer Jenny Procter, wife of a prominent citizen of the town. She was now Jenny Procter, busy woman, on several committees, doing what she hoped was useful to the war effort. Her work with the American soldiers, she felt, helped both the Americans and the locals to appreciate one another, therefore also helping to keep the peace between them.
Brad Jackson was pivotal in this, of course, and because of their shared responsibility, they had a common interest. Now Adam was coming home on leave for three weeks. Her routine would be upset because he would demand her total attention and would have little patience with anything less. And how would he feel about her spending time with a male friend? Well, he would have to understand that the work she was doing was important, and although she would try and give him as much of her time as possible, he would have to make allowances – like it or not!
Two days later, Jenny waited for her husband to arrive. She was unbelievably nervous. How ridiculous this was, she chided herself as she sipped a gin and tonic to calm her nerves. After all she had been married to the man for eighteen years, although she’d not seen him for the past three. She heard a car toot outside and, taking a deep breath, walked to the front door.
Adam Procter climbed out of the military vehicle and walked towards her.
He had changed, was her first thought. He looked older, careworn and tired.
‘Hello, Jenny.’ Adam kissed her briefly on the cheek and entered the house; his driver walked behind him, carrying his luggage. ‘Just put those down there, Corporal.’ Turning back to Jenny, he said: ‘I could do with a drink!’
The corporal left, and the two of them walked into the drawing room. Jenny poured Adam a stiff gin and tonic. As she turned towards him she saw that he was looking round the room, eyeing every item of furniture, the drapes at the window, and eventually he walked over to the French doors and looked at the garden.
Jenny joined him and handed him his drink.
‘You have no idea how many times I’ve closed my eyes and tried to picture this room, this view . . . and you.’
She was at a loss for words. This was so unlike the man who had left three years ago, and she didn’t know what to say.
He turned towards her. ‘You look wonderful. How are you?’
Taken aback by a compliment from the man who in the past had seldom noticed what she wore, she said, ‘I’m fine, but how are you? Were things really bad over there?’
He crossed to the settee and sat down. ‘It was dreadful! I lost a lot of my men during the fighting, which was hard, because in wartime your company becomes your family, so it’s like losing a relation. The Germans were better equipped than we were led to believe, so it was a nightmare.’
She sat beside him. ‘I am so sorry, but in these three weeks you will be able to rest and recharge your batteries.’
He smiled wearily. ‘It’s good to be home, not to have to listen to the sound of guns and the whistle of bullets. It all seems very strange . . . but wonderful.’ He drank deeply. ‘My God, that feels good. Now I want to sit in a hot bath and relax.’
This was not the time to remind Adam that he was only allowed a certain depth of bathwater, Jenny decided. She felt he had earned the right to a decent soak.
‘You finish your drink and I’ll run a bath for you,’ she said and left him sitting quietly getting used to his surroundings.
‘Darling,’ he called, ‘would you put out some comfortable civilian clothes for me to change into? I want to get out of this damned uniform.’
So it had started, she thought as she turned on the taps. Why he couldn’t sort his own clothes she didn’t know, but then, of course, in the past, she had always laid out his clothes for the day, every morning, as he had washed and shaved. So not a lot had changed, really.
Jenny was in their bedroom when Adam climbed out of the bath, and he entered the room with just a bath towel wrapped round his torso. He stood behind her and gathered her into his arms, kissing the back of her neck, caressing her breasts. Breathing heavily.
She shut her eyes and tried not to tense. It had been a long time, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for such intimacy. But Adam was.
He removed her clothes with almost indecent haste and pushed her on to the bed. His kisses were demanding, almost brutal in their intensity. She struggled to try and calm him down but he was hell bent on sexual relief.
There was no tenderness in his love-making, and when it was eventually over, Jenny felt as if she’d been used like a whore, rather than as a wife, and she was angry.
She got off the bed, dressed hurriedly and left the room.
Downstairs, she fumed. She would not be used like that again. Only the fact that Adam had just got home, after obviously having been through a great deal, stopped her from venting her anger. She opened the French doors and strode into the garden, walked around it until her anger subsided, then sat on the bench beneath the trees and lit a cigarette. This was where she and Brad often sat after they had been riding, and she couldn’t help but compare the two men. Her friend Brad, with his quiet manner and sharp humour, his gentleness and understanding that was no doubt helped by the fact that he was a doctor . . . and Adam. She didn’t know what to make of him after the scene in the bedroom. There had been no gentleness there. No concern for her and her needs. It had been all about him . . . as usual.
Climbing on her bicycle she rode to the stables and, with Beth’s permission, saddled a horse and rode out to the wood. Here among the trees, surrounded by nature, she began to relax.
As she rode, she tried to make allowances for her husband, attempting in her own mind to picture what he might have been through. It was impossible, of course. She had no idea at all what it was like to be on the field of battle, to see men killed, to feel the fear coursing through you in case you were the next man to stop a bullet.
As she headed back to the stables, she told herself she had to show a little more understanding . . . but then so would Adam. After all, she had certain responsibilities, and they were all to do with the war effort. Her way of fighting the enemy, if you like.
Four
The first few days of her husband’s leave seemed to be nothing but a whirl of social activity, Jenny thought. Adam, resplendent in his uniform, calling on old and influential friends – re-establishing his place in society.
On the Wednesday, Jenny had promised to meet Brad at the stables to give Beth a hand, and she told Adam she would be out all day.
‘That’s fine,’ he said. ‘I’m going to play golf at Stoneham, and after that I’ll have some lunch at the golf club with friends. I’ll see you back here in time for dinner.’
Jenny arrived at Beth’s house and put her bicycle up against the wall. She saw Brad’s parked jeep and wandered over to the stable yard, but to her surprise, the American talking to Beth was a stranger.
‘Jenny! Captain Jackson can’t make it today but he’s sent this gentleman in his place. Wasn’t that kind of him?’
The tall, fair-haired soldier smiled at Jenny. ‘Corporal Chad Maxwell at your service, ma’am!’
At that moment there was a terrible racket coming from inside one of the stalls. A clattering and a banging, followed by the sound of a horse neighing in fright, filled the air. As they rushed over to see what was happening, one of the grooms hurtled out of the stable, slamming the bottom half of the door shut behind her. The girl was white, and her hands shook.
Beth and Jenny ran over to help her, but the corporal walked over to the stable door, talking softly, trying to calm the terrified animal. Eventually the horse stopped rearing and kicking its hooves against the wall. The three women watched in astonishment as the American opened the door slowly, still talking softly – and entered.
‘Is he mad?’ asked Beth in horror. ‘The PDSA – you know, that veterinary charity – asked me to take the animal, but he’s dangerous. I’m going to ask them to take it away or one of my staff could be seriously injured.’
The sudden quiet from inside the stall fuelled their curiosity, and they approached warily. Inside stood Chad Maxwell, stroking the nose of the animal, speaking continuously in his quiet voice. The women watched in fascination as he patted the horse’s flanks, then picked up a curry comb and started grooming it.
The steed snorted every now and then, shook its neck and pawed at the ground, but Chad didn’t flinch. Eventually, after stroking its nose and nuzzling its neck, he left the stall, closing the door, leaning over the open half – and waited. After a few moments, the horse ambled over to him, snorting softly.
‘I know, I know,’ said Chad, stroking its neck. ‘But things will get better.’ He picked up a carrot from a basket nearby, fed it to the animal, then walked slowly away.
Beth followed him. ‘I’ve never seen anything like that in my entire life!’ she exclaimed.
‘That poor beast has been traumatized,’ he told her, ‘but I think I can sort him out if you’ll let me. I have a forty-eight-hour pass, which would give me enough time to work with him.’
‘Of course! What do you need?’
‘A place to sleep and the use of your practice ring without too many people around.’
‘You’ve got it!’ She looked at Jenny. ‘Why don’t you take Corporal Maxwell into the kitchen and give him some coffee? That’s the least we can do for him.’
Once the two of them were settled at the table with their drinks, Jenny asked the question that was intriguing her: ‘Where did you learn how to handle horses in such a manner?’
‘I was brought up in Wyoming, and I’ve been around horses all my life. My dad was a rodeo rider – he used to break horses for a living, and he taught me how to do so at a very early age.’
‘But that wasn’t just breaking an animal. That was far more!’
He looked bemused. ‘When I was fourteen, I discovered this . . . gift, if you like. It was like I was able to read their minds, knew what made them tick, what it was that turned them maverick. It just started there and kinda developed. At home they call me a horse whisperer.’
‘Amazing!’ she said. ‘Can I come and watch you work tomorrow?’
‘Sure, as long as you don’t spook the animal.’
‘I promise. When we’ve finished our coffee, would you like to help me exercise two of the horses? I ride out whenever I can to help Beth.’
‘That would be great,’ Chad said with a broad grin. ‘When this war is over – if I survive, of course – I’m going to buy a small ranch back home and break horses for a living.’ He looked wistful. ‘I long for the open range, dinner round a camp fire, the peace of the countryside . . . How about you?’
Jenny sat and thought about her life. Was she content? She had been a bank clerk, which was how she met Adam. Had it been her dream job? No, it was what was on offer at the time and what she’d felt capable of doing. Then had come marriage, and eventually the big house, but no children, which was a great disappointment. She’d never really had a dream. How sad is that? she thought.
‘I’ve never lived in a big city, only Southampton. I suppose I’m satisfied with my life as it is.’
He looked intently at her, as if reading her mind. ‘I don’t think that’s true,’ he said quietly. ‘I think deep down you want much more.’
She didn’t like to ask him what he meant, but it unsettled her.
As they rode out Jenny discovered that Chad was good company. He made her laugh with tales of the army, his life on the range and his musings on how strange an English saddle was, as opposed to a Western one.
‘You ride well, Mrs Procter, but you need to relax into the saddle more . . . like this.’
She did as she was told and immediately felt better. She smiled her thanks.
‘There you go,’ he said. ‘Come on, I’ll race you across the field!’
Chad flew ahead of her, and she could see he was at one with his mount and envied his natural talent.
Breathless, she reined in beside him. ‘I had no chance!’ she protested.
‘Of course you didn’t, I knew that, but it was fun wasn’t it? You should come out to Wyoming after the war – you’d love it. You would feel free; it would be good for your soul. You would blossom, be able to give rein to all those hidden dreams.’ He stared at her and smiled. ‘You have no idea what I’m talking about, have you?’
Jenny shook her head.
‘You will – in time.’
Whilst Jenny prepared the dinner that evening, she couldn’t help but relive the extraordinary experience of the day. She’d never seen anything like it. Chad Maxwell was amazing, but also an enigma. The way he’d handled the frightened animal was unbelievable, and then when they rode out together, his insight into her personal feelings was extraordinary. It started her soul-searching. Was she as happy with her life as she thought she was? She realized that indeed she was not. Her marriage was all right; it certainly wasn’t perfect, but that was life. After eighteen years with one man, the excitement had long died. She and Adam just went through the motions. Was it enough to sustain her in the years to come? With a sudden realization, she knew that it was not.
At that moment, Adam walked into th
e kitchen. As he leaned forward to kiss her cheek, she could smell the alcohol on his breath and turned her head away. He hardly noticed as he put his arms around her.
‘Hello, darling, did you have a good day?’ he asked as he nuzzled her neck.
Oh no, she thought, remembering how he’d used her in bed the previous night . . . not again. She eased herself from his hold and moved away, pretending she needed something from the other side of the kitchen.
‘Go and freshen up,’ she told him. ‘Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes.’
He looked at her through bleary eyes. ‘Can’t it wait?’
‘No, Adam, it can’t! It’s hard enough to find decent food these days, and I’m certainly not going to spoil it.’ She glared at him. ‘Fifteen minutes!’
He did not look pleased. ‘For Christ’s sake, Jenny, I’ve been away a long time.’
All her thoughts of trying to be understanding flew out of the window. ‘I’m well aware of that,’ she retorted, ‘but that’s no excuse to treat me like a whore when you take me to bed.’ There, she’d said it.
He was outraged. ‘A whore? Whatever do you mean?’
‘You didn’t make love to me, Adam, you used me. That was the first time and the last. If it’s a whore you want, go into town and pay for one!’
His shocked look almost made her smile. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d stood up to her husband, and it gave her a good feeling. In three years, she’d changed. Now she was not just his wife, but her own person, and she knew that nothing was ever going to be the same again.
With a feeling of excitement, Jenny cycled to the stables early the next morning to watch Chad work with the maverick horse. He was leading the animal out of the stall when she arrived. The horse was frisky – rearing, snorting and prancing – but Chad just kept talking to it as he led it to the practice ring. With Beth and the female groom, she waited and watched.
Once inside the ring, the American removed the lead rein and let the horse go. It raced around, tossing its mane, rearing and neighing. Chad stood in the centre and watched it. Eventually the animal slowed to a stop, pawing the ground, a wild look in its eyes, ears pricked. Chad sat down and waited.
