Courageous Bride

by Jane Peart

  War propaganda was at a fever pitch, enlistments were high, the patriotism of all was up for scrutiny and examination. When Gareth decided to report to the draft board and declare himself a conscientious objector, he knew he would be exposing his deep-felt convictions to the scathing skepticism of some. Knowing he could not shield himself, Gareth hung on to his resolve.

  Outwardly composed, he felt keenly the steely-eyed contempt of some of the members of the draft board, the tinge of sarcasm in the voice of the chairman as he was questioned. With only slightly concealed disgust, the man ordered Gareth to fill out additional papers, then wait to be assigned.

  Gareth had known it would not be easy, but he had not realized it would be this hard. He felt as visible as Jews in Nazi Germany must have felt with the yellow stars sewn prominently on their coat sleeves.

  However, it was a choice he had made without anyone’s counsel, approval, or disapproval. He knew he had laid himself wide open to criticism, not only from those of the public who knew of his decision but also from members of his own family. He was made aware of relatives who disagreed violently with his stand.

  Aunt Kitty was the only one who understood. She had written him a beautiful letter, which he kept folded in the inside pocket of his jacket so he could take it out every so often and reread it. In it she wrote,

  Sometimes courage is construed as cowardice. That is when we must be strong and show by our actions that this label is wrong. I believe this quote from J. F. Clarke says it all: “Conscience is the root of all true courage; if a man would be brave, let him obey his conscience. “ I know you are a good man, honest, true to your convictions, and I pray God’s blessing on you wherever this leads you.

  Where it led Gareth was to a janitorial job in an army hospital on the West Coast.

  The dirtiest, grubbiest, most menial tasks were allotted to him, along with the mocking sneers of the sergeant in charge, who issued orders, assigned duties.

  However, when Gareth’s papers caught up with him, when it was learned by the commanding officer in the administration office that he was a landscape architect, Gareth was reassigned to a nearby convalescent hospital converted from a luxury resort hotel, and placed in charge of the extensive gardens.

  In a more congenial atmosphere and with work that used his talent and abilities, Gareth had more time to himself. Many of his off-duty hours were spent in the chaplain’s library, as well as in the hospital chapel.

  Morning and evening he went to the chapel to quiet the turmoil in his heart, to pray earnestly for peace, for Brooke’s safety and their being reunited. Day after day he surrendered his life, his dreams, his hopes for the world, for himself, for his future life with Brooke. Sometimes he felt himself enveloped in a powerful sense of peace. Other times he felt dull and unrefreshed. But he continued to meditate and pray.

  One weekend, given leave, Gareth took the bus to Santa Barbara to visit his Grandmother Blythe, and in a spontaneous moment of intimacy Gareth confided some of his true feelings, his doubts and uncertainties, even what he suspected might be a lack of faith.

  They had been sitting together out on her balcony, the balmy ocean breeze rustling the leaves of the trees that shaded her yard. The scene was so beatific, it was hard to imagine that battles were raging elsewhere in the world.

  Suddenly Gareth broke the peaceful silence. “I don’t know, Grandmother. Sometimes I wonder if I did the right thing, if any of it really counts. Sometimes I worry I might lose my faith.”

  “No, dear boy, you’re not losing it. You are being tested. Faith doesn’t come whole cloth, permanently—not to anyone, if I’m not mistaken. Always there is some struggle. We read Scripture, listen to sermons, study, hear other people’s testimonies. I believe it is a lifelong search—a rewarding one nonetheless. And every once in a while we get the encouragement of an ‘Aha!’—an enlightening. Then we know we have a glimpse of God’s mercy and his love for us.” Gareth tucked away that bit of wisdom from his grandmother with the letter from Aunt Kitty. They kept him going when the going got rough.

  chapter

  14

  London

  Fall 1942

  NIKI SAT ON THE EDGE of her chair, feeling uncomfortable in her new WRENS uniform. Its collar was rubbing the back of her neck bare, because she had pulled her unruly curls up and tucked them into a twist under the brim of her hat.

  Everything had happened so quickly, her head was reeling. After all these months of waiting she had received an official letter to appear for indoctrination. Now here she was to receive her assignment. Excitement stirred within her. At last she could get into the action.

  “You will be assigned as a teleprinter operator.”

  Niki tried to contain her disappointment. Assigned to a dull office job!

  The interview seemed to be at an end. Still, the officer was viewing Niki critically, her sharp gaze running up and down her as if taking her measurements. Hesitantly Niki got to her feet, wondering if she should salute, although she wasn’t sure quite how, or what to do next.

  A few hours later she was on a train with other recruits, traveling on her way to WRENS headquarters, which were fifty miles from London. Upon arrival a poker-faced officer herded them from the train station up the hill to an old resort hotel requisitioned as a dormitory for servicewomen.

  The next few days passed in a daze for Niki. The teleprinter was a combination of typewriter and telephone and looked ridiculously impossible to learn. At first she felt completely daunted by it, and she spent the first two days looking over other operators’ shoulders, totally confused. However, it had a standard keyboard, and since Niki was quick and bright, little: by little she soon learned the basics of using it. Within three weeks she was sitting at her own machine and, tentatively at first, able to receive and send messages.

  Her roommates were a mixture of types. Elly, a small, slender blond with a pretty face and friendly manner, became Niki’s comrade. They hit it off right away, and her friendship made Niki feel a little less adrift.

  Those first weeks in the WRENS were filled with getting used to everything—the rigid schedule, the institutional food, the job, and the other women. Niki had little time to herself. She was so tired at night, she fell into her bunk exhausted, and it seemed she had hardly slept when it was time to get up again and report to duty.

  Gradually she became accustomed to her new way of life. It was then she faced another new and unexpected challenge.

  For the first time in all the months she had been away, Niki was having bouts of homesickness. The summer in France had been too full of new sights, experiences, and adventures for her to feel any twinges. When she returned to England, she had been too excited at the prospect of joining some branch of the service to help fight the war. But now she found her thoughts often turning to Mayfield, especially to Montclair.

  In the narrow bunk at night she would imagine how it was in Virginia just now. October in Virginia, maples lighting up the landscape with scarlet leaves against the dark green pines. Sun-splashed days with clouds scudding across the blue expanse of sky. She would think of her own bedroom there, and the memory would bring quick tears. Squeezing her eyes tight, she would bring it back, the dear familiarity of the room, the late-autumn golden sunlight flooding in through the windows, her desk and bookshelves, the faded flowered-chintz chair where she used to curl up on rainy days and read romantic novels. The view from her window of the barn where her horse was stabled. Did Maggie miss her? she wondered. Was Tante exercising her? No use pretending. She missed it all much more than she ever dreamed she would.

  In December the weather was miserable, and Niki experienced the most dreadful bout of homesickness yet. She missed everything, and with Christmas approaching, she remembered Christmases at Montclair when she and Luc were both little. Tante would supervise the trimming of the tree Uncle Kip had cut on the land and brought in to be set up in its traditional place in the curve of the staircase. Then she and Luc would hang their crudel
y made decorations—the red paper Santas, the green sawtooth trees, the bells and reindeer, the popcorn strings, tissue paper bells, miniature sleighs, red felt poinsettias—and spread white cotton around the base of the tree, sprinkled with glittering dust that always came off on the rug.

  In her memory, that last Christmas she was at home seemed the loveliest of all. She especially remembered Christmas dinner, when they were all gathered round the dinner table, not realizing that this would be the last Christmas they would all be together. Candlelight softened and blurred the elaborate centerpiece of pine cones, pyracantha, and holly. Tall red candles shed their glow on the table set with holly-patterned Lennox china, used only during the holidays. The candlelight sparkled on graceful crystal goblets and heavy silver service. Niki saw it pictured in her mind like a soft-edged Victorian painting of an old-fashioned family scene—sentimental, nostalgic, and unrealistic.

  Two weeks before Christmas a notice appeared on the bulletin board, announcing that a committee was forming to plan a Christmas party. A sign-up sheet was attached. Niki glanced at it briefly as she and Elly came off duty one afternoon. Christmas here in this bleak building with people she hardly knew held little interest for Niki. It made her feel even more isolated. Elly, who had been in the WRENS longer and therefore had more seniority, had received a week’s leave to go home for the holidays. Niki wouldn’t be eligible for more than a three-day pass. But where would she go, what would she do with that? There wasn’t time to get down to Birchfields. Schedules being what they were nowadays, she would probably spend Christmas sitting in a crowded train most of the way, then have to turn right around and come back.

  Another afternoon Elly and Niki went to play some Ping-Pong in the rec room, which was now decorated with paper chains and a Christmas tree of sorts. Even though Niki acknowledged this attempt at cheerfulness, to her it only made the room look even more bleak and was a reminder of all that she missed of Christmases past.

  As they went to pick up their paddles and get balls out of the game box, Niki noticed that some of the Wrens were entertaining company. Several young men in uniform were grouped around the upright piano, where one girl was playing Christmas carols. “For Pete’s sake, do you want to have us all bawlin’?” someone shouted. This was followed by scattered laughter, and then someone went to the phonograph and put on some records. Soon the room was filled with lively dance tunes, providing a musical background to Elly and Niki’s game.

  Niki was about to return one of Elly’s serves when someone caught the ball. She turned and saw a tall young man standing to her left, smiling down at her.

  “Good evening, Miss. Would you care to dance?” asked a voice with the faintest suggestion of a Scottish burr. She looked up into a pair of merry blue eyes. There was a mixture of shyness and confidence in his expression that she immediately found appealing. He was in an army uniform, but she didn’t recognize his rank or insignia. He was broad-shouldered, with thick, reddish blond hair and an engaging smile.

  “Care to dance?” he repeated.

  “Go ahead, Niki,” Elly said, smiling, from the other end of the Ping-Pong table. Niki put down her paddle and took the hand the young solider had offered, and they started to dance.

  “I’m a little out of practice,” he apologized as they moved out onto the floor. It took a few false steps to get into the rhythm, but then they managed quite well. By the second number they were dancing smoothly together. The third piece began, and it was the popular ballad “Where or When.” As they began to dance to it, he said, “You know, those words fit somehow. Now, don’t think I’m crazy, but when I first saw you, I had the strangest feeling that we’d already met somewhere….” At Niki’s lifted eyebrow he grinned. “Honest, it’s not a line. I did. By the way, I’m Fraser Montrose.”

  Montrose! The name gave her a shock. But then, he was from Scotland and that’s where the family originated. It was probably as common a name as Smith or Jones was in the States. Before she had a chance to remark on it, someone came to the door of the rec room and called, “Gilbreaux, you’ve got a phone call.”

  “That’s me. Excuse me,” Niki said and hurried out of the room into the hall, still puzzled by the coincidence of the tall stranger’s familiar name. When she picked up the phone and heard the voice on the other end of the line, all other thoughts vanished.

  It was Luc.

  She practically screamed his name. “Luc! Where are you? What are you doing?”

  “I just got here a few weeks ago. Been getting what they call acclimation briefing. Like we don’t understand English.” He laughed. “It’s the English, the Brits, we don’t understand. We don’t speak the same language, I’m beginning to think.”

  It was so wonderful to hear Luc’s voice with its familiar Virginia drawl, to know that her beloved foster brother was on English soil. Niki could hardly contain her joy. They talked rapidly for a few more excited minutes. Then Luc said, “Now what you’ve got to do is wrangle a pass. Plead the fact that we are long-lost sister and brother, a long way from home, who need to spend some time together during the holidays.”

  “Oh, I don’t know if I can, Luc. They’re awfully strict—”

  “Tell them it’s a family emergency,” he coached. “Maybe we can get down to Birchfields. I’ve talked to Aunt Garnet, and she and Bryanne want us to come. Seems Steven may get leave. But if we can’t do that, at least we can have a little Christmas celebration ourselves.”

  Niki promised to try. After getting a number where she could reach him in London, she hung up and went straight to her commanding officer to obtain a pass. In her excited state, she completely forgot about the redheaded Scotsman with the strangely familiar name, awaiting her return in the rec room. All that mattered was getting to London to see Luc.

  Fraser waited, his eyes glued to the rec room doorway. But Niki didn’t come back. Too bad. He would have liked to get to know her. No time. He was shipping out tomorrow to Cornwall for extensive training. He shrugged. Just one of those things. One of those wartime things.

  chapter

  15

  LUC MET NIKI as she got off the train. At her first sight of him, looking terribly handsome and fit, Niki dissolved into happy tears.

  “Hey, hey, none of that!” he ordered in a strict voice. “This is supposed to be a joyous reunion. Besides, you’re getting my brand-new uniform all damp.” The sound of his familiar laugh soon dried Niki’s eyes, and when he tucked her arm through his, she had to almost run to keep up with his long-legged stride.

  They went to lunch, then walked together along the streets. London was jammed with other young people, mostly all in uniform. Niki felt proud and happy in hers and to be with such a good-looking companion in his American Air Corps uniform.

  Luc had tickets to a music hall performance featuring the popular English songstress Vera Lyn. They listened to her melodious rendition of several sentimental ballads, all of which received resounding applause and even standing ovations from the enthusiastic crowd composed mostly of service men and women. Romantic songs like “I Can’t Begin to Tell You,” “It Had to Be You,” “Always,” sent tingles all through Niki. Somehow they all reminded her of Paul and that special time together at Birchfields. She wondered where he was now and if he ever thought of her. She glanced at Luc, wondering if there was any special romantic interest in his life. Up until now he had never had one girlfriend very long. Luc just seemed to be enjoying the show, not looking nostalgic or wistful. However, girls had always been crazy about him, especially Niki’s Mayfield friends. Casting another glance at Luc’s handsome profile, Niki decided that English girls would no doubt have the same reaction.

  After the show, they went to supper at an Italian restaurant, then on to a club, where they danced on a floor the size of a postage stamp. It was after two when Luc took Niki to the hotel where he had somehow managed to get her a room, before he returned to the officers’ club where he was billeted.

  The next day, Niki took full advan
tage of the luxury of a long bath with no time limit posted on the door. She didn’t even have to scrub the tub afterward, as she did at the dorm. Luc was in the lobby, waiting for her so they could spend the day sightseeing.

  The last afternoon, before Luc put her on the train to go back, he suggested that they go to Saint Paul’s Cathedral. “Uncle Jeff has always talked about the Holman Hunt painting The Light of the World that hangs there. He said it is magnificent, one of the best examples of the Pre-Raphaelite artists’ work.”

  Niki had never known too much about painting. Of course, she knew that Scotty Cameron’s half brother, Jeff Montrose, was a well-known artist. But she had never been particularly interested in art. But that afternoon something happened.

  In the shadowy interior the painting seemed luminous, as though lit by an ethereal light. The figure of Christ, realistically rendered, stood with one hand holding a lantern, the other hand knocking at a closed door.

  Niki, accustomed to portrayals of Christ on Sunday school flannel boards or distant stained-glass windows, whispered, “I don’t understand. What is it supposed to mean?”

  Luc explained in a quiet voice, “The door is supposed to represent the human heart. If you’ll notice, there is no latch. Hunt meant to say that it has to be opened from within.”

  After Luc moved on, exploring other aisles of the church, Niki remained standing before the painting, profoundly moved by it. It was different from anything she had seen or felt before in her life. It was as if she stood on the other side of that door on which Christ was knocking. All her life, and particularly recently, it seemed to her she had been knocking on closed doors. Trying to find out who she was, where she came from, where she truly belonged. She understood what it felt like to be refused entrance. All at once she was reminded of her own indifference to spiritual things. Of course she had gone to church; Tante had always made sure she and Luc attended regularly. But it hadn’t really meant that much to her. She thought of the nuns at the orphanage. They had devoted their whole lives to children and women abandoned by society. She thought of Aunt Kitty, who dedicated herself to making people aware of the horrors of war. Niki realized that most of the time, she had been wrapped up in her own self-centeredness. She hadn’t really prayed about finding her true parents. After all, God knew who they were and where. But Niki realized she hadn’t diligently sought his help.