Daring Masquerade (33 page)

What's the use?
All I have to do is close my eyes and sink back into the mud and oblivion.

Too tired to fight any more, he started slipping away. His body floated upwards and the pain disappeared.

"Ross, don't leave me. Fight Ross, fight for me."

"Harry?" He opened his eyes but he was alone. Only dead men, twisted and grotesque lay out here in no-man's land with him.

Did he want to leave Harry a widow at twenty? Never hold his son? Oh, God, he couldn't die like a dog out here. His body might never be recovered. Harry would wait and mourn, but keep on hoping for years. She would never hear the words 'I love you,' fall from his lips. What a bloody fool he had been obsessing over Virginia, instead of letting himself fall in love with Harry. Now it was too late. She would never know the true depth of his feelings for her. He couldn't do it to her. He must survive.

"Harry, help me. I don't want to die out here, twelve thousand miles away from you," he cried out.

His head spun like a top, every bone in his body screamed in agony. Gritting his teeth, he dragged himself up onto his knees and crawled back the way he had come that morning.

* * *

Harry woke up from a horrible nightmare. Ross called out to her. He must have died. Her nightgown was wet with perspiration and she shook from head to foot. He kept pleading with her to help him, but she couldn't. Every time she reached out a hand to touch him, he would slip back into the mud, just out of reach.

Gilbert slept in the cradle beside her bed. She could hear him breathing and his face felt warm to her touch. She still breastfed him in the daytime, but now he slept through the night.

Lighting the bedside lamp and keeping it turned down so as not to awaken him, she stood staring down at him. How sweet he was. He had Ross' gray eyes and a pretty rosebud mouth. His dark curls were shot with copper highlights.

Oh, God. She grabbed the rag doll and held it to her heart as she rocked backwards and forwards on the bed. Sleep proved impossible now. A glance at the clock on the dresser showed two-thirty in the morning. Slipping on a dressing gown and carrying the lamp, she wandered down to the kitchen, raked up the coals in the stove and set the kettle on to boil. How long would it take to hear anything from the authorities about Ross?

Tears filled her eyes, trickling uncontrollably down her cheeks. The love of her life gone, the two men who meant the world to her were lost, but she still had little Gilbert. God had at least been merciful in that respect.

Next morning Jack called her a fool. "It was a nightmare, a bloody nightmare, girlie."

"No, it wasn't. It seemed so real. He called out to me, I know he did."

"Let's say he did call out to you, it doesn't mean he's dead, for God's sake."

"He lay in mud, covered with blood. I could see him as clearly as I see you. He held his hands out to me. I tried to help him, but he kept drifting away out of my reach."

"You can't go to pieces like this, Harry, it isn't good for you. You've got the baby to think of now."

"I know, I know." She sniffed. "I'm going into town, as soon as I've fed Gilbert. I have to ring Andrew and see if he can find out anything."

"How would he know?"

"He'll know who to ask. If I'm a widow, I want to know."

"I'll drive you in," Jack offered.

"No, it will be quicker if I ride, but come with me, I'm not up to going in there on my own. I'll feed the baby as soon as he wakes up. Can you dress him, Elsie?"

"Yes. Ask Andrew about Ted. I'd die if something happens to him."

"Didn't you say he worked in the field kitchen behind the lines?" Jack asked.

"Yes, but there's always a chance of stray artillery hitting them."

Harry dressed in pants and a shirt for her trip into town, much easier riding like this. She wanted to gallop into town but Jack set a steady pace and would not alter it.

"This is a wild goose chase," he said. "I know it is."

It was ridiculous believing in dreams, thinking they imparted some kind of omen, but she was so upset and agitated she couldn't think rationally. For once she couldn't find solace in the beauty of the country side.

In town, as they cantered down the street, Jack said, "We should buy a motor car."

"Do you think I could drive it?"

"I don't see why not."

"A motorcar? Wouldn't Ross be surprised?" He wasn't coming home, though. Maybe he was only wounded? Perhaps it had been a nightmare after all?

Jack spoke to several people as they hurried into the general store and Post Office agency.

"Good morning, Jack, Mrs. Calvert."

Most of the town's people acted civilly towards her now, but a few still actively disliked her.

"What can we do for you today?" the storekeeper asked.

"I need to use the telephone."

"You know where it is. Help yourself.

"Thank you." With shaking fingers she dialed the exchange and got them to put her through to Andrew.

"Colonel Brady speaking."

So he had got his promotion. "Andrew, it's Harriet Calvert, Ross' wife."

"Oh, how are you?"

"All right, but Andrew, I need your help."

"Again?" he asked with a hint of amusement in his voice. "You only ever contact me when you want something."

"I know." She gripped the receiver so hard it dug into her palm. "It's about Ross. Do you know where he is?"

"Afraid not."

"I had this terrible nightmare last night. I think something has happened to him."

"That seems rather ridiculous."

"Jack said so too. Please." She clung to the telephone receiver as if it were a lifeline. "Something has happened, I know it has. It will take days, weeks even before the authorities let me know anything. Can you try to find out? I swear I'll never ask you for another favor as long as I live."

"I'll do what I can, but only because you sound so upset."

"I am. I'll give you the number here at the general store. Leave a message. Be as quick as you can." Her voice broke. "I'm desperate."

"It might take a couple of days, more even, depends on where he is."

"Flanders, last time he wrote was from Ypres, and Private Ted Farrelly, Elsie's fiancé, try and find out about him as well. She hasn't heard from him for ages and she's worried sick."

"I'll do what I can, but you might be worrying yourself unnecessarily."

"I have this awful feeling of dread. I know people think I'm mad but I can't help it. Something has happened to Ross, I know it has. Oh, congratulations on your promotion."

"Thank you. I'll call back as soon as I find out anything."

By the time she hung up, Jack was talking to the storekeeper, but she had no compunction about interrupting them.

"Andrew is going to see what he can find out. He'll ring back with a message. Could you send someone out to Devil's Ridge? We'll pay for it."

"There won't be any charge, Mrs. Calvert," the storekeeper said. "How can you be so sure something has happened to Ross?"

"I don't know why, but I am. I can't wait for the government to tell me. It could take weeks."

* * *

The next four days were the worst Harry ever spent. She was almost demented with worry, her only solace being little Gilbert. He had several teeth now, could pull himself up and walk around the furniture. Once or twice he even let go and stood on his own.

Dressing Gilbert up snuggly, she took him for long walks in his pram. It wasn't cold, just crisp. Eric's little pine plantation was his favorite place. He sat there happily running the pine needles through his chubby fingers, crowing with delight.

The highest peaks of Devil's Ridge were still capped with snow. She had not gone to the outstation since Ross left, vowing not to go there without him. Now she would probably never go there again. Maybe when Gilbert was older she would take him up to the mountain where his conception took place.

A junior assistant from the general store finally rode out on his bicycle with a message from Andrew. Ross had been wounded at Broodseinde Ridge near Passchendale. She almost collapsed with relief. His wounds, though serious, were not life threatening. After several days in a field hospital, he had been evacuated to England.

"Thank you, God, thank you."

The youth left well-fortified with tea and biscuits and Jack gave him a ten shilling note. Of Ted, Andrew had found out nothing, so for the time being he must be safe. Harry and Elsie hugged each other for comfort.

"If they sent him to England," Jack mused, "they might finally send him home."

"If only they would. If only they would," Harry said fervently.

* * *

In March 1918, Jack drove to the station to meet the afternoon train. Harry sat beside him, and young Master Gilbert sat on her knee.

Would Ross be changed after so long away?

Oh, God, please don't let him be broken in mind like Gil. Physical wounds eventually healed, mental scars ruined a man for life.

Would he find her attractive now her hair had grown and her figure was a little fuller? She gnawed hole in her glove. Had life in the trenches erased the memory of Virginia? Or had it resurrected his longing for her?

Stop this, you foolish woman. The doubts kept rearing their ugly heads and she couldn't push them out of her mind no matter how hard she tried.

"It's so quick in the car." She tried to sound cheerful. "Won't Ross be surprised?"

"I suppose he will, but it's you and the little fellow who will be his biggest surprise."

When they got out of the car at the station Gilbert toddled around squealing with delight as he chased the stationmaster's cat. The blast of a whistle in the distance and a trail of smoke drifting skywards. She strained her eyes to catch her first glimpse of the train bringing Ross home.

"Do I look all right?" She smoothed down the cream skirt she had chosen to wear with a matching jacket.

Ross' letter mentioned leg injuries and a shoulder wound in almost the same place as the one he received on Gallipoli, in what seemed like another lifetime. Would he be able to walk properly? Ride? What if he was tormented and suffering shell shock like Gil? She clenched her hands together to stop them shaking.

Get control of yourself Harry Calvert. God answered your prayers and brought him home to you. Don't be greedy, anything else that happens from now on is a bonus.

* * *

Ross dragged his kit bag down from the overhead rack. What would Harry be like now? From the pictures she sent to France, she had matured into a beautiful young woman. Would she still have the same exuberant love for him she had displayed before he went away?

She was young, and he felt like an old man. Pain and suffering had aged him. His hair was more heavily flecked with gray, his face gaunt and ravaged. Would she still find him attractive? Maybe she would be repulsed by him? Self-doubt and the fear of rejection churned his stomach. His hands trembled. He fought to control his rising panic as he limped down the passageway towards the door.

Harry looked so beautiful. He had dreamed of this moment for so long. Her wayward curls tumbled about her shoulders, bright as a new penny; her eyes were a vivid, dancing green. Dropping his kit bag on the platform, he hurried towards her as fast as his awkward gait would allow him. He halted a few feet away from her. He couldn't move.

"Ross." She dashed up to him and flung herself into his arms. "Thank God you're finally home." She rained excited kisses all over his face and clung to him like a limpet.

"My darling, Harry, I love you." His lips fastened on to hers and she tasted as sweet as he remembered.

Jack, clapping him on the back, finally separated them. "How are you, Ross?"

"I'm all right, but I can't believe I'm home. Who is this young fellow?"

"Meet your son, Gilbert Ross Calvert." Harry picked up the baby and Ross put his arms around both of them and kissed her on the mouth again.

Harry flung her arms around his neck, obviously not caring that the station was crowded as she kissed him again and again. He crushed her close. His lips claimed hers in a desperate wanting kiss. How many times had he craved the taste of her soft sweet mouth, when he could not sleep because of the filth and carnage around him? How often had he thought he might never see her again, when all around him men were felled by silent bullets or screaming shells?

Jack finally pushed his way between them. "There's plenty of time for that stuff. We have to get you home. I just about had to tie Mrs. Bates to the chair she was so overwrought."

"We bought a car," Harry told him excitedly as Jack handed the baby over to him.

"My goodness, he is a fine little fellow." Ross breathed in the baby's perfume, felt his soft warmth. Gilbert made a grab for his cap. He took it off and placed it on his son's head, causing the child to chortle. "I don't suppose you know who I am, young man?"

"Dadda," Gilbert said.

Harry saw Ross' chest swell with pride, but didn't enlighten him that she and Jack had been coaching the baby for days.

"Smell the gum trees," Ross said. "I almost gave up hope of ever making it home."

"Well you're here now." She picked up his hand and brought it to her lips. "I love you. I'm never letting you out of my sight again."

"Don't worry, my darling. I won't be moving from your side. I love you and always will."

The End

About the Author

Margaret Tanner is a multi-published Australian author. She loves delving into the pages of history as she carries out research for her historical romance novels, and prides herself on being historically accurate. No book is too old or tattered for her to trawl through, no museum too dusty, or cemetery too overgrown.

As part of her research she has visited the World War 1 battlefields in France and Belgium, a truly poignant experience.

Margaret is a member of the Romance Writers of Australia, the Melbourne Romance Writers Group (MRWG) and EPIC. She won the 2007 and 2009 Author of the Year at AussieAuthors.com. Her novel, Frontier Wife, won the Best Historical Romance Novel at the 2010 Readers Favorite Award, and another novel, Wild Oats was a 2011 Finalist in the EPIC awards.