Home Fires Page 2

  Erik neared the end of the lane, but there was still no trace of Anne. Where could she have gone? He looked toward the dugout, which was clearly visible from here. Could she have wandered over, lost her footing, and fallen in? Or would she deliberately enter the pond? He couldn’t believe someone strong enough to survive the London blitz would now throw away her life because of his brother’s rejection.

  At least he hoped not. She was far too young and far too beautiful to die.

  Just as he was about to make his way across the pasture to the dugout, a flash of red on the main road caught his eye. Erik breathed a sigh of relief. Anne walked toward him, her arms wrapped tightly around herself to fend off the cold wind.

  “I lost my way,” she said. Her red-rimmed eyes told him she’d been crying. “What time is it?”

  “Nearly six. We…my mother was worried about you.”

  She closed her eyes in misery. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to cause her concern. I don’t want to be a burden.”

  “You’re not. We all understand.”

  “Even Ingrid? She doesn’t like me, does she?”

  “Signe is her friend. Ingrid thinks she’s being loyal.”

  “I’d probably feel the same way if I were in her shoes.” She sighed. “I should get back to the house before I cause your mother any more worry.”

  As they began to walk, a sharp, sudden pain knifed through Erik’s leg. He stumbled, then doubled over his cane as he tried to catch his breath, waiting for the pain to subside.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” Humiliation heated his face. The last thing he needed was for Anne to witness his weakness. “I’ve still got pieces of shrapnel in my leg.”

  “And when they move, they cause you tremendous pain.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s sit down and rest a minute.”

  He had no choice but to let her lead him to the side of the road and ease him down to sit on the edge with his legs resting against the slope of the ditch. She sat beside him.

  “I’m sorry about your leg. Did it happen at Dieppe?”

  He didn’t want to talk about it. “We should get back.”

  “A few moments won’t make any difference.” She plucked blades of grass from the ditch. “Have you spoken to Anders?”

  “I have.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Is he…is he happy?”

  He wouldn’t lie to her. “He says he is.”

  She ripped the grass stem in half. “And Signe? She’ll be good to him?”

  His heart broke for her. “She will.”

  “That’s good.” She jumped to her feet. “Do you think you can walk now?”

  “Yeah.”

  She offered him her hand. Erik looked at it for a moment, then at her face. Not a trace of pity marred her beautiful features. He took her small, soft hand in his and was surprised at the strength with which she pulled him to his feet.

  “You’re a lot stronger than you look.”

  She laughed, the first genuine sound of amusement he’d heard from her. “Probably comes from spending the war lifting men twice my size.”

  “Anders said you’re a nurse. Are you planning to continue nursing now that the war is over?”

  Her smile disappeared. “I hope not. I’ve seen enough misery to last me the rest of my life.”

  He nodded. After witnessing the blood bath at Dieppe, he knew exactly what she meant.

  “How far is it to the house?” she asked.

  Erik leaned on his cane. “Not far. Wait. You’ve got dried leaves stuck in your hair.”

  He pulled the offending leaves from her hair, letting his hand linger on the silky tresses. She looked up at him, her dark brown eyes huge and round. But she didn’t move or stop him from touching her. With her porcelain skin and fine bone structure, she looked like a delicate English rose, yet he detected a strength in her that would put any man to shame.

  “We should go,” she whispered.

  Erik dropped his hand. What was he doing? This beautiful English rose was still in love with his brother. His handsome, fit, unscarred brother. She didn’t want him.

  He’d do well to remember that. He’d already been rejected by one beautiful English girl because of his scars. Another rejection would be more than he could bear.

  ****

  Erik walked silently beside her all the way back to the house. Anne glanced at him from beneath her lashes. What exactly had passed between them a few moments ago? His touch had been so gentle, so reverent, so sensuous it had frightened her, even as it left her wanting more.

  What was wrong with her? She’d just been told her fiancé didn’t want her. How could she take pleasure in another man’s touch only hours later?

  It must have been the shock of hearing Anders had married someone else. She had no other explanation for it.

  As they reached the farmyard, Ingrid and Astrid hurried to them, Astrid throwing her arm around her shoulders.

  “Are you all right? Where were you?”

  “I’m so sorry. I got disoriented and couldn’t find my way back.”

  “You poor thing, you must be exhausted. Let’s go into the house. Ingrid has a nice beef soup on the stove. We’ll soon set you to rights.”

  Astrid’s kindness overwhelmed her. She wanted nothing more than to curl up with her head on Astrid’s lap and let her look after her as if she were her own mother. But she no longer had any claim on this family, and no right to seek comfort from them.

  When they reached the kitchen, she turned to Ingrid. “I didn’t know Signe was waiting for Anders. He never talked about her. But Erik tells me she’ll be good to him.”

  Ingrid blinked at her, surprised. “Yes, she will. She loves him.”

  “That’s good.” She closed her eyes and swallowed. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how much she wished things had turned out differently, she knew Anders was now part of her past. She had to go on, alone. “How can I help? Shall I set the table?”

  “Of course,” Ingrid said. “The bowls and cups are in the cupboard to the right of the wash basin. Spoons are in the top drawer.”

  Anne found everything she needed and in a few moments had the table set, while Astrid cut thick slices of homemade bread. She helped Ingrid fill the bowls with soup. Her stomach growled.

  The soup tasted even better than it smelled. And the bread, which she slathered with a generous dollop of butter, melted in her mouth. After six long years of rationing she’d almost forgotten how wonderful white bread with butter could taste. She’d had her first egg and toast in months on the Mauritania, the ship that had brought her and dozens of other war brides from England. They had all been overwhelmed by the quality and quantity of food on the ship. But after the first couple of days, the seas turned rough and she’d been too seasick to eat anything more.

  After they finished their soup, Astrid made tea. While they waited for it to steep, Anne cleared her throat.

  “I’ve decided what I’m going to do. I’ll write one of the Red Cross ladies who escorted us from Southampton. I’m sure she’ll be able to help me get the money I need for a return ticket to England.”

  Astrid nodded. “If you think that’s best, then it’s what you must do. I’m sure your family will be happy to have you home again.”

  “No.” Even after five years the pain could still blindside her. “They were all killed in the blitz, early in the war.”

  “Oh, my dear. I’m so sorry.”

  “My mother’s parents were living with us because my grandfather needed extra care. He wasn’t well enough to hurry to the bomb shelters when the sirens went off, so my father dug an Anderson bomb shelter in the back garden, big enough for all of us—my grandparents, my parents, my younger sister, and me. It worked well, until our house took a direct hit. I would have been with them, but I’d traded shifts with another student nurse whose boyfriend had one night of leave. I was at the hospital that night.” The guilt of not dying with them, of being the only
one to survive, still haunted her.

  Astrid reached across the table and took her hand. “There was nothing you could have done for them.”

  “No, I suppose not.” She needed to change the subject. “Perhaps you know of a room I can rent in Emerald until I can book my passage.”

  “Rent a room?” Astrid looked horrified. “We couldn’t let you do that. You’ll stay with us as long as you need to.”

  “I don’t want to impose.” She looked at Ingrid and then at Erik. “I’ve got a little money, enough to rent a room, at least for a while. And I could probably get work somewhere.”

  Ingrid shook her head, the previous animosity Anne had seen in her eyes all but gone. “No. There’s no need for you to leave. Is there, Erik?”

  Erik fixed her with his blue gaze. It mesmerized her once more, making her feel as if he were again stroking her hair. She blinked to break the spell.

  “No,” he said at last. “There’s no need for you to leave at all.”

  Chapter Three

  Smoke billowed from the woodstove as Anne frantically pulled blackened loaves of bread from the oven. Ingrid raced into the house, milk from her pail spilling onto the floor. She grabbed a tea cloth and pulled out the last loaf.

  “What on earth happened?”

  “I don’t know. I added wood to the stove just as Astrid said. But then it started to smoke.” The heat made Anne’s face damp with perspiration. She had no experience with baking, much less baking on a woodstove. It was impossible to control the heat on the iron beast.

  “I think perhaps you were a little too generous with the wood.” Ingrid examined the charred bread lying on the lid of the oven. “It’s not so bad. We can salvage some of it.”

  Anne hung her head in embarrassment and shame. She felt completely out of her element. Everything was so different here. “I’m sorry.”

  Ingrid waved off her apology. “It’s all right. It’s not your fault.”

  Astrid arrived with another pail of milk. “Oh, dear. I should have stayed and helped you stoke the stove. It takes some practice, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m sorry, Astrid. All your hard work—”

  “Nonsense. After all these years I can bake bread in my sleep. In a couple of days we’ll do it again. It’ll give you a chance to practice.”

  Anne nodded, feeling close to tears. Astrid squeezed her shoulder. “For now, let’s open the windows and air out the kitchen. Everything will be fine, dear.”

  She wondered at that. Perhaps returning to England was for the best. She’d never fit in here.

  ****

  Erik found Anne sitting on a wooden box in the barn, her head bent and her shoulders slumped. She looked so sad it broke his heart. He sat beside her.

  “What are you doing here? I thought you were getting a cooking lesson.”

  She gave him a wry smile. “Apparently I have no talent for cooking. I hope you like your bread well done.”

  He chuckled. “That would explain the smoke pouring out the windows. Have you never baked bread before?”

  “No, never. When rationing came, Mother took over all the cooking. Food was too precious to waste on a novice cook’s experiments. After my family died, I lived in the nurses’ residence and ate in the cafeteria.” She lowered her head once more. “I feel so useless here.”

  He understood about feeling useless. Every time his injuries prevented him from being able to do his chores he felt less a man.

  “There’s something you can help me with. Every day the cattle need to go to the dugout for water. Until freeze-up, you can let the milk cows out into the pasture in the morning after milking and bring them back in the afternoon in time for their second milking.” The milk cows were gentle and docile and wouldn’t give her any trouble. Besides, they knew their routine so well they could practically herd themselves. “What do you say?”

  She smiled. “I say show me what to do.”

  They walked from the barn to the adjacent corral where his ten milk cows idly munched on the last of the summer’s grass. He opened the gate to the corral and clapped his hands.

  “Hey up!” he called. The cattle slowly made their way through the gate, following one after another in single file. Erik and Anne followed, walking the quarter mile through the pasture to the dugout.

  “It’s so peaceful here. Quiet. I’ll miss that when I’m back in London.”

  When she was back in London. How dull and grey his life would be then. She’d brought much-needed color to his world. He desperately pushed the thought away. “Are you looking forward to going home?”

  She shrugged, her dark hair rippling in the cool wind. “I don’t know. Aside from a few good friends, there’s nothing left for me in England. Maybe that’s why I said yes to Anders. I needed a new start.”

  “How did you meet?” He had to know, even if it hurt to hear how much she’d loved his brother.

  “We met at a dance hall. He paid me a lot of attention, and at first I ignored him—a lot of soldiers liked to flirt. He started showing up at the nurses’ residence, bringing me little gifts, things like chocolate and silk stockings. Not that I didn’t appreciate them, but many soldiers tried to impress us British girls with black market gifts.

  “But then one day he found me reading a book of poetry. I told him how my father had loved poetry and had a whole room in our house devoted to books. Of course, they’d all been lost in the blast. A couple of weeks later, he showed up at the hospital with a copy of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Sonnets from the Portuguese. After that I saw him in a new light.”

  It was like Anders to pursue the object of his desire with single-minded attention. But in pursuing Anne he’d hurt her, and that Erik could never forgive.

  “I really thought we had something special together,” she said, gazing out over the countryside. “Something that would last. So I said yes when he proposed. We couldn’t arrange the wedding before he was shipped back to Canada, so I agreed to wait until I arrived here. Since I had no family, it didn’t matter to me where we married. Just as long as we did.” She stopped walking and turned to face him. “Do you think he would have gone back to Signe even if he and I had married before we left England?”

  The hurt in her eyes felt like a knife twisting into his gut. “I don’t know. I can’t tell you what my brother might have done. All I know is that I’m sorry he hurt you.” And I’m sorry you have to leave.

  “So am I.” She pushed her wind-blown hair from her face. “Tell me about Dieppe. How were you injured?”

  Erik blinked at the abrupt change of subject, his gut tightening as it did whenever he thought about Dieppe. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

  “Perhaps talking would help.” She smiled. “Besides, you’ve listened patiently to my painful stories. It’s time for me to reciprocate.”

  He looked into her dark eyes. Since he’d been home, he hadn’t spoken to anyone about that day. No one here understood the pain, the fear, the anger. But Anne had lived through the horrors of war herself. For the first time, he felt able to talk.

  “The whole thing was a debacle. The raid depended on the element of surprise, but a couple of German trawlers spotted some of our landing craft and opened fire. The Germans manning the gun positions on the beach heard the gunfire and were ready for us. They shot us like fish in a barrel as we tried to land on the beach.” He closed his eyes and saw men falling around him, the beach turning red with their blood, their cries echoing in his ears. “I remember jumping out of the landing craft onto the shale. Then there was a pain in my leg that burned like fire. The next thing I remember was waking up in hospital.”

  “You were lucky. A lot of men didn’t make it back.”

  He nodded. Over a thousand were killed, hundreds more wounded or taken prisoner. If someone hadn’t scraped him off that beach and thrown him into a landing craft heading back to one of the ships, he would have been another death statistic.

  Sometimes he wondered if he might have been bett
er off dead. His life was never going to be what he’d hoped for before the war. His dreams were simple; he wanted his own farm, children, a wife who loved him. But even those modest dreams were beyond his grasp now.

  “You were lucky,” she repeated, her gaze holding his. “You’ve still got your life. So many men never got the second chance you’re getting.”

  When she looked at him he could almost believe he’d been spared for a reason.

  They arrived at the dugout. The milk cows stood on the edge and dipped their heads to drink. Soon the coldest weather would come and the water would freeze. He wasn’t looking forward to smashing holes in the ice to allow the cattle to drink. The work was wet and cold and miserable, made slow and painful by his injured leg. Maybe he’d be better off selling the farm. He and his mother could move into Emerald, or perhaps Prince Albert. Hopefully, he could get a job that didn’t involve too much physical labor.

  Who was he kidding? He’d hate living in a city and he’d hate working for someone else. Assuming anyone would hire him.

  “So, this afternoon I round up the milk cows and bring them back to the barn, right?”

  “Right. Are you going to be okay?”

  She winced. “They are awfully big, aren’t they?”

  “Don’t worry, they won’t hurt you. But if you’re afraid, just call me.”

  “I won’t be afraid. I’ll be fine.”

  Erik wondered if she was trying to convince him or herself. He put some levity into his tone. “If you’d rather, you can help me muck out the stalls in the barns. I’ve got a pitchfork just the right size for you.”

  “I can do that, too.”

  “I was kidding, Anne. You don’t have to clean the barn.”

  “And I was serious when I said I didn’t want to feel useless.” She started walking, then turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised. “Are you coming?”

  He couldn’t hide his grin. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  Chapter Four