by Jane Peart
“Yes. I’ve lost many comrades, but Luc was more like a brother. It’s hard to shrug and say c’est la guerre when it comes to someone you love. But Luc will survive. If anyone can, he will. He’s strong.”
“And he has something to come home to now. His wife is expecting their baby.”
“Ah, c’est bon. I think we’re beginning to see some light, a possibility of victory in all this darkness.” He paused, then asked, “Your new assignment. You like it?”
“I’m good at it. It helps to know you’re doing something that may help end this awful war.”
“What you’re doing here is good, Niki. Not everyone could do it. It may not seem exciting or daring, but it is important. Believe me.” Paul shifted his coat sleeve and looked at his watch. “I must go, Cherie.”
“Oh, Paul, can’t you stay? We could go somewhere …”
He shook his head. “I have meetings, and—” He halted. “I came here mainly to see you. I felt bad about how we parted. I was afraid I’d made you feel somehow—”
“That I didn’t measure up? Well, yes, for a while I did.” She smiled. “But then someone I care about very much suggested that it might not have been God’s plan for my life. That made me feel better about it.”
Paul lifted his eyebrows. “Someone you care about very much?” he repeated. “Are you in love, Niki?”
“I think so. Yes.” She smiled again. “I wish you knew him. You’d like him. He’s like Luc in some ways. Actually, they’re cousins. Maybe someday we’ll all meet.”
“Someday. Let us devoutly pray so, Cherie,” Paul sighed. “No matter what happens, I shall always remember that last day in Paris. You, Luc, and I, we took a picnic, sat on the bank of the Seine. We were so young, so happy. Do you remember?”
“Of course I remember,” Niki said, feeling the tears gather in her eyes.
“Now I really must go,” Paul said.
She walked out to the hall with him. At the door they embraced. “Au revoir, Cherie,” Paul whispered. “The French farewell is so much more optimistic than the English. And we shall see each other again.”
Don’t know where, don’t know when. The words of the song she and Fraser called their own echoed in Niki’s mind. They kissed and Paul left. As she watched Paul go down the steps, Niki hated the war more intensely than she ever had.
chapter
26
TWO WEEKS LATER Niki found a note in her mailbox that read, “Urgent, call number”—it was a number she recognized. Fraser’s quarters. It took ages to get through to him. The circuits were busy. The connection, never good in this time of war, was terrible. There were beeps, squeaks, and buzzes on the line. When Fraser finally answered, his voice was tense. Immediately Niki’s alarm flags went up. He told her in guarded terms that his training was completed and he had a weekend pass. From the tone of his voice Niki felt a shiver of fear. There was more to this message. Her hand clutched the receiver compulsively. She was experienced enough now in the way of war to know that what Fraser wasn’t able to tell her was that he was being sent overseas.
“Can you get some time, meet me somewhere?” he asked. She heard the urgency in his voice. “I have three days.”
“I’ll try,” she said breathlessly, already frantically grasping for a reason to ask for leave. Family emergency? Did her tenuous connection to Fraser qualify as a family relationship? Would her commanding officer be more lenient, be more likely to grant her leave, if Niki frankly said it was her fiance who was leaving for unknown battle duty?
As it turned out, in checking her file it was found that she had accumulated time off, and her papers were signed forthwith. Hardly able to believe her luck, Niki phoned Fraser back. The line was faulty; squeaks and crackling noises made it hard to hear. “Got a pencil?” Fraser asked “Write this down. I’ll meet you there. I’ve made all the arrangements.” They rang off. Niki folded the piece of paper on which she had jotted down the information Fraser had dictated and stuffed it into her jacket pocket. Then she ran upstairs to pack.
Elly came off duty while Niki was packing. “Where are you off to?”
“Got three days,” Niki replied and went on packing, folding things with elaborate care.
“You sure you’re not off to some romantic rendezvous?” Elly teased. Niki’s hands froze. Had Elly hit the mark? All the unspoken thoughts, questions, that had raced through her own mind during Fraser’s call now surfaced. What had Fraser in mind? If he was going off into the thick of things and this was the last time they’d be together, did he …?
“You are such a nut!” Niki retorted as casually as she could manage. Then she turned with a swift movement and bent over her bag again, as if checking the contents before closing it.
Elly didn’t say anything more, just gathered up her toilet bag and wandered down to the showers. Niki wondered how much her roommate suspected. But there wasn’t time to figure that out or try to explain. She had to get to the train station, hope she could get on the first train to the town where Fraser was supposed to meet her, a short distance outside London.
London looked old, gray, dirty. It was a city at war, battered, streets lined with bombed-out and boarded-up buildings. Most of the people were in uniform. Sandbags were piled on sidewalks. Arrowed signs pointed to air-raid shelters.
The huge train station was crowded as usual, thronged with service men and women. Clutching her ticket, Niki pushed through and was propelled along with others down the platform and finally onto a train car.
For the first time in the last frantic hours, Niki had a chance to think of what she was doing, where this was leading. She dug out the scrap of paper and studied it. Windsong Inn. Niki took a long, trembling breath. How romantic that sounded.
At the small train station she was given directions.
“‘Tis a pleasant walk, Miss,” the weary-looking station manager told her kindly, tipping his hat.
When the Windsong Inn came into sight, Niki saw it was the English inn of all the tourist brochures. A rambling Tudor building painted white with crossed timbers and a sloping roof. A garden in front and a brick pathway leading to an arched blue door under a trellis trailing with roses. Too quaint? Or just right?
So this is where Fraser had arranged to meet. Niki’s heart beat painfully hard. At the gate leading into the garden she hesitated. Fraser had once mentioned that his friend, Plover, had offered them the use of an aunt’s cottage for a weekend. Niki had never responded to his implied possibility. She had realized that she had only to say the word and it could be theirs.
They were in love, there was no question of that. If it were not for the war, they would no doubt be making wedding plans. That was in some hazy future. A future that was, hour by hour, moving out of their reach. There was no more time for planning or patience.
Being together for however long was all that mattered. To live in the present was all the choice they had. With the world splintering around them, why should they not be together?
Niki pushed open the gate, walked along the garden path and into the house. Inside, the pink-cheeked, gray-haired woman behind the registration desk greeted Niki warmly. “Oh yes, Lieutenant Montrose made reservations. I’m Mrs. Dahglen, the hostess. Dinner is served at eight. You’ll have time to rest and change if you like. He phoned to say he might be delayed, but he said to assure you he’d be here as soon as possible.”
The room to which Niki was shown was bright with flowered chintz, but under the ruffled curtains at the dormer windows were blackout blinds. Instructions posted on the door said, “Pull blinds securely after dark.”
Even that reminder that it was wartime seemed unreal in this charming place, Niki thought. Moving as one in a dream, she took off her uniform and changed into the dress she had worn the night she and Fraser had met for the second time at Birchfields. It was one that Fraser particularly liked. It was pre-war, velvet, the shade of a ripe plum. It was simply styled with a jewel neckline, long sleeves. Lastly she pinned the lucken-b
ooth brooch to the bodice.
Too restless to remain in her room, Niki went downstairs. She peeked into the dining room, where a few early diners were seated. The room was dark; flickering candles on each table gave it an intimate atmosphere. The tables were placed all around the room, at discreet distances from each other so conversations could not be overheard. A fireplace set into an old-fashioned inglenook burned cheerily.
Niki’s heart gave an excited little lift. Soon Fraser would be here. They would sit, hands touching across the table, eyes feasting on each other. She sighed in anxious anticipation. Until he came, she decided she would take a walk in the garden that beckoned invitingly.
She went outside and was enchanted by what she found. Some romantic had fashioned a dream here, created for lovers to stroll through in leisurely enjoyment. A waterfall divided the garden, flowing down over rocks and flowers, its spray plinking softly into the pool as it descended. The trees bending over either side added to the mysterious magic of the place.
Quite suddenly Niki felt melancholy. It was sad to be alone in this fairy-tale setting—like being alone at the Taj Mahal in moonlight. What was needed was a hand to hold, enriching the moment with the sweetness of familiarity. It would be doubly romantic to be with someone you adored, someone who was devoted to you.
“Fraser, my love. Hurry!” she whispered.
Just then she heard footsteps on the gravel path behind and turned in happy expectation. But it wasn’t Fraser. It was Mrs. Dahglen.
“There’s a phone call for you. If you’ll come, you can take it in my parlor in private,” the innkeeper told her.
Niki followed her inside and into the cozy little parlor behind the registration desk.
She picked up the receiver, said a breathless hello, and heard that familiar voice with its identifying burr. “Darling, it’s Fraser. Orders changed. I … I can’t meet you. I’m so terribly sorry. In a matter of hours. That’s all I can tell you, except I love you and I would give all I have if things were different.” His voice was tight with stress, disappointment.
Niki felt weak. No, this couldn’t be happening! All she managed to say was, “Then you’re not coming?”
“I can’t.” His answer was brisk, almost curt. Then in a rush of words he said, “Niki, I love you more than I can ever tell you. I tried to get a special license, permission from my commanding officer, so we could be married this weekend…. I wanted it all to be so perfect. Oh, darling—” His voice broke.
Her hand gripped the phone. “I know. I understand. It can’t be helped.” She wanted to tell him that permission or not, license or not, she loved him now and forever. There was so much she wanted to say. But now there wasn’t time for anything but good-bye.
Although she didn’t think she would, being worn out with tears and weariness, Niki slept deeply. She awoke to the patter of rain on the crisscross panes of the bedroom windows. She stretched her arms, feeling the smoothness of the linen sheets, which smelled lightly of lavender, and snuggled into the down comforter as she came slowly awake.
Then gradually awareness returned. Fraser was on a troop train going somewhere. To France? Would she ever see him again? A sob caught in her throat as she remembered yesterday and what this morning might have been.
She got up and put her uniform back on and went downstairs. Breakfast was being served in the dining room. The morning meal cheered her a little, gave her strength. She hadn’t eaten dinner but had gone straight to her room after the phone call from Fraser. She hadn’t had such food in months. Fresh apple muffins, country butter, amber honey shimmering in a glass container.
Afterward when she stopped to settle the bill, Mrs. Dahglen said, “Oh, the lieutenant took care of everything beforehand.” Her blue eyes were sympathetic. “It’s too bad it didn’t work out, dear. But then, maybe it’s all for the best. Who knows? The Lord does, we can count on that.”
On the walk back to the small station to catch her train back to London, Niki thought about what the woman had said. Yes, she was probably right. Maybe the Lord did know best. She had to believe that. If this weekend was not theirs, then God had something better for them. Niki felt confirmation flow through her. It was almost as if God were promising that he would take care of Fraser, protect him, bring him back, so that they could really be together—forever, in God’s timing.
Birchfields December 1944
The persistent ring startled Garnet out of a sound sleep. Her heart pounding, she sat up in bed, reached for the phone in the dark. Her fumbling hand knocked it off its hook, and before she could grab it she had to first turn on the lamp beside the bed. As she did, she looked at the clock. It was four in the morning. Christmas morning.
“Hello,” she said breathlessly into the mouthpiece.
“Grandmother, it’s Bryanne.”
“Yes, darling, what is it?” Garnet clutched the phone.
“It’s Alair, Grandmother. She’s had her baby. It’s a boy, a sweet, healthy baby.”
“Oh, my dear, I’m so glad, so relieved. And Alair?”
“She’s fine. Tired but so happy. She sends her love.”
“And give her mine. I’ll tell the others.” Garnet’s voice shook a little.
She put down the receiver and took a deep breath.
Pushing the pillows behind her back, she sat up in bed. A new baby. A little boy. Born on Christmas Day. What a special blessing. What a special little baby. It was a sign of hope, of life renewed. How pleased his father would be when he knew. She wondered how long it would take to give Luc the happy news. They’d have to go through the Red Cross to get word to him in a German prison camp to tell him of his son’s birth. Dear God, have mercy. On all the men whose sons are born in this awful time. Let this birth be some kind of symbol that the world will never let a war like this happen again.
That’s what we said the last time, Garnet reflected. This is what Kitty tried to say in her book. But we did let it happen again.
Well, she was not going to be morbid. Not today. Today was a celebration of Christ’s birth, and Luc’s son shared it. They were having a wonderful party today for all the men under this roof, men who were recuperating, putting their bodies, minds, and emotions back together. Today she would do everything she could possibly do to make this a glorious, happy day for everyone.
1945
chapter
27
Birchfields
May 1945
GARNET WATCHED FROM THE TERRACE as the last car disappeared around the curve of the driveway. She had sent them all away to the celebration taking place in the town hall and everywhere in the village. The long-prayed-for peace had finally come with the announcement of Germany’s surrender. Church bells had rung, and there had been shouts, cheers, hugs and tears, dancing and singing. All day long “There’ll Always Be an England” and “Hail Britannia” were being sung in schoolrooms and pubs and being played over the radio. Occasionally, even such songs as “Yankee Doodle” and “Over There” were also heard. And for good reason, Garnet thought. After all, the Americans had helped bring about this glorious day. The brilliant strategist General Eisenhower, working with Britain’s flamboyant General “Monty” Montgomery, hero of the North African campaign against Rommel, had accomplished the successful invasion of Normandy. Of course, it was the retaliatory bombing of Germany that had brought about the German surrender. Garnet shuddered. War!
Thank God it was over. It had been a long five years, and at times the future had looked very bleak indeed. Providentially, this part of England had been spared much of the devastation that other places, less remote and more important, had suffered. Still, everyone was exhausted. For all the excited elation she had felt earlier when the news of victory was officially announced over the BBC, Garnet felt a little weak and shaky now. She hadn’t realized what a toll these past years had taken. “Feeling my age, I guess,” she murmured out loud, something she might not have admitted if anyone else had been around to hear. However, she was alone. Brya
nne had been reluctant to leave her, but Garnet had insisted. Steven had driven over from the hospital to share the news, and Garnet had urged them to go with the others to the village celebration. They had both earned it. Steven had worked tirelessly as a medical officer, and Bryanne had not only managed the hospitality weekends at Birchfields but also headed the local Red Cross. They had a right to be part of the joyful celebration.
Today had been wonderful, but now Garnet was feeling tired. She would go to her bedroom and relax. Before going inside, she paused to look over her garden. It needed work. At the beginning of the war, they had turned some of the flower beds into planting areas for vegetables. Now she could plan to bring it back to its former magnificence. Men would be returning; she could get gardeners again. She would have to decide which bulbs she wanted. Tulips perhaps, all colors, if poor Holland’s fields had not been completely ruined during the Nazi occupation. Garnet sighed, leaned heavily on her cane. So much to do. She went inside. The house was strangely quiet, because Garnet had let her small household staff go off as well.
Upstairs Garnet stretched out on her chaise lounge. Things had been so hectic, she hadn’t even taken time to read the newspaper. She put on her reading specs, unfolded the paper, and skimmed the bold headlines on the front page, then turned to Grace Comfort’s column.
Several weeks before, when Lenora and Victor Ridgeway were visiting Birchfields, Victor had told Garnet that he had already written the column they would use when victory finally was declared. “By writing it, I was standing on my conviction that in the end good would overcome evil, right would prevail, that the human race is still capable of grand and noble deeds.”
Privately, Garnet had always felt that Victor, writing as Grace Comfort, was a bit over the edge optimistically, sentimentally. Still, she was curious to read what he had written before VE Day.
