A Kestrel Rising (36 page)

“I’ll wait for as long as it takes,” he told her. “Just come when you’re ready, when you’re sure.”

“I will.” she kissed his neck, wondering when she would get that chance again. She could hear the train approaching, the relentless rhythm of the engine as it slowed.

“I love you. It feels so good to be able to say that.”

Ilona managed a watery smile in return. “I love you.”

He kissed her with more than an echo of the old longing and desperation and let her go. “Look after yourself, for me.” He opened the door and stepped onto the train, leaning out of the window.

“I will, and you… Take care.” She took his outstretched hand and kissed it then the train lurched forward and his hand fell away. She waved until he was out of sight and stood on the platform for a long time after the train had gone.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Much to Ilona’s frustration, the pre-war passenger ships either were tied up by the war in the Pacific or were still being converted from troop ships. The news that there would be passenger planes flying across the Atlantic had come as an exciting relief and her parents were adventurous enough to consider it. She took great pride in paying for her one-way ticket herself, from the wages that she’d collected during her five years in the WAAF.

To pass the time, she’d persuaded Mrs. Maplin to admit her into her domain and teach her how to cook. It was all very well marrying Francis, but she couldn’t let him live on omelets alone. The cook, very patiently, taught her the basics and, by the time she was ready to leave, her teacher declared herself satisfied that she would not let her husband starve. There’d been some mishaps along the way—burnt pans, soggy dumplings, a cake rendered inedible by a surfeit of baking soda and a stew so bad that even the neighboring farmer’s pigs turned their noses up at it.

“He’s a lovely young man, Miss Ilke,” Mrs. Maplin had said. “He needs spoiling, not starving. Don’t worry. You’ll get the hang of it.”

Ilona agreed. She had, as she’d promised Francis, given the proposal a great deal of thought. She’d dismissed the notion that she would marry him simply to escape an aimless life. She knew that, if she wanted to, she could find a job or learn a trade, even if it was office work. Grace had written to her, offering her a job in her father’s accounting office, which she’d politely declined. Francis’ assertion that he was ‘an ordinary man’ was equally easy to dismiss. The reasons why she shouldn’t marry him fell by the wayside within two weeks of his departure. Her only lingering doubt was leaving home and leaving England. The fact that Aislinn and her family seemed to have settled permanently in their parents’ home had made it a place that she didn’t want to stay. Charlie had managed to find a job in Reading and it was convenient for them to stay at the house until he’d saved up enough money to buy a place of their own. As much as Ilona loved her family, she’d outgrown them a long time ago when she’d left home for the first time. She knew that if she missed anything, it would be the land itself. The green fields sleeping under the sun, the late summer breeze moving through the ripening barley and the cry of a kestrel as it swept along in the wind. She would be leaving the landscape of her childhood behind, but she needed to live in the future and that future was with Francis.

A small part of her fretted that, if she left England, she would be leaving what remained of Ian behind. It was something that was on her mind when she went to Faith and Sandy’s wedding. The wedding, attended by only close friends and family, was held in the village church that Sandy had been christened in. Ilona had been the only bridesmaid. She stood shivering in the morning chill of the ancient chapel while the minister finally sealed a bond that had held together through six years of enforced separation, worry and danger. The August sunlight spilled through the stained glass windows and across the flagstone floors. Light bathed the bride as she smiled up at her new husband and, for a moment, Ilona thought of her own wedding and wondered what it would be like. Faith was beautiful and, for the first time since Ilona had known her, she looked impossibly happy as Sandy kissed her. Afterward, the guests returned to Sandy’s parents’ house for a modest reception. Because the weather was kind, everyone lingered in the garden, sitting in the shade of an ancient oak well into the evening. The setting sun colored the sky with a soft, rosy pink and swifts reeled around the church spire, calling out in the dusk.

“Have you enjoyed yourself today?” Sandy found Ilona admiring the roses.

“I have, thanks, yes. I’m just so glad to see you both married at last. It’s been a long time.”

He took her arm and they strolled toward the bottom of the garden, where children were watching the fish rise for midges from the pond. “I hear you’re going to be married, to your Yank.”

“One of these days, yes, if I can find a way across the ocean.”

“I’m glad.” He ruffled her hair. “I hope you’ll be happy, Ilke.”

“I think I will be.” She paused and stared at the church spire, dark against the twilight. “Do you think Ian would mind, Sandy?”

“Of course he wouldn’t.” He grinned. “He’d be happy to know that you’re getting on with your life, even if you are marrying one of those fancy-arsed fighter boys, and a Yank at that.” He swallowed and looked sad for a moment. “I wish he’d been here today. He’d nagged me for ages about making an honest woman of Faith. I still miss him.”

“So do I. I love Francis with all of my heart, but there’s part of me that will always love Ian and will always miss him.” She wiped her eyes.

“He was your first love and what you had with each other was untouched by rows or silences or sulks. He adored you and you adored him. Of course you’ll always love him.” He kissed her cheek. “But you’re doing the right thing. If there’s one thing the war taught me, it’s that you can’t take anything for granted and you can’t hide away from life, good or bad. Marry your Yank, Ilke. Don’t feel guilty about loving him. Ian wouldn’t want that.”

“I won’t, not now.”

“Well, once Faith and I are settled, we’re coming to visit you and make sure that your fly-boy is treating you right, or he’ll have me to answer to.”

With her mind made up, she wanted nothing more than to write to Francis to tell him, but she reluctantly honored his request. She imagined his reaction when she turned up, unannounced, on his doorstep. It would be worth the long wait and she asked her parents to make sure that his parents did not tell him that she would be there.

* * * *

“Heavens, Ilke, I swear I haven’t seen you fidget like this since you were the twins’ age,” her mother said as the train rolled slowly along the track.

Ilona peered out of the window, trying to take in the unfamiliar and large landscape. The hills were covered in trees, stripped of leaves now that it was November. Farms dozed in the heart of bare fields. “I’m sorry, Mama. I can’t help it. I just can’t settle. This train seems to be crawling. Why couldn’t it be like the one we were on yesterday?”

“Because,” her father replied, “this is a local line. Thank goodness we couldn’t sail. I’d hate to think what you would have been like having to spend five days on a ship instead of fourteen hours on a plane. You’ve waited six months, I’m sure another hour on this train won’t kill you.”

“I suppose so.” It had been a long six months, made worse by the lack of letters and by the uncertainty that she would ever find a way across the Atlantic.

Now, after the flight to Boston and the train from New York, they were nearly there. The train crawled through countryside, dozing and silent beneath a brilliant, icy blue sky. The mid-morning sunlight fell through the trees as the track passed through woods carpeted with sepia brown leaves. Ilona glimpsed the occasional house in the distance and stared at the hills rising out of the plowed soil of rolling fields. She still found it hard to accept that this would be her new home. She found it hard to get used to the immensity of the sky and the
hugeness
of everything. There was nothing cozy about this land which still had a rawness to it.

“This is our stop,” her father announced as the train began to slow. The trees and farms gave way to houses and, eventually, Mayville, which was announced by a simple painted sign on the platform and a solid, red brick Victorian building.

Ilona’s legs shook as she followed her parents off the train. Francis’ parents were easy to find as they stood waiting on the platform. There was a flurry of hugs and tears and she found herself swept up by a tearful Anna.

“I can’t believe this.” Anna laughed. “It’s so lovely to meet you at last. I’ve done what you asked. Francis still doesn’t know you’re coming.”

“How is he?”

“Pining for you.” She took Ilona’s arm. “It’s been very hard to keep your secret. He knows that your parents are coming. We just didn’t bother to tell him when. He’s been keeping himself busy at the factory, but he’s very quiet. He’s been waiting and hoping. I’m so glad that you’re here, Ilke. I couldn’t have wished for a better daughter-in-law, and I just know that you’ll both be very happy.”

“I still can’t believe I’m here.” Ilona looked out of the window of the car as Jonathan drove off the main street and onto a narrow, gently sloping lane. She caught glimpses of the lake between the trees and curled her hands into knots to stop them from shaking. She had endured six months of longing to reach the quiet, wooded lane beside the lake and a house she had yet to see. The last few minutes of the drive seemed to last forever, but eventually Jonathan announced that they’d arrived as he pulled the car up in front of a large, white wooden frame house, a Victorian fantasy of gables and shutters.

“I don’t suppose there’s any point in asking if you’d like to come in,” Anna said, as they climbed out of the car.

“Is he home?”

“He should be.” Anna squeezed her hand. “Just follow the lane down the hill and around the bend. It’s a white house with blue shutters, the one with the black car in the drive.”

“Thank you.”

Her mother kissed her cheek. “We’ll see you later, darling. Go and see Francis and put the poor boy out of his misery.”

Ilona didn’t need any further encouragement. She headed back up the drive and onto the lane. The tiredness from the long journey fell away as she followed the lane along the slope. The trees cast long shadows across the damp gravel and the only sound was the crunch of her shoes. She resisted the urge to run. She didn’t want to turn up on his doorstep all flushed and breathless but she walked as fast as her shoes allowed her. She ignored the scenery, knowing that she would have a lifetime to become acquainted with it. A cold breeze rose from the lake and rattled the bare branches of the trees, sending tiny eddies of dead leaves across her path. She shivered a little as the road curved around to the left and revealed a drive that led to a white house with blue shutters. A black car was parked in front beside a front porch that ran along the width of the house. A gable rose above the front door. Ilona paused for a moment to catch her breath and to look at the house, surrounded by a sweep of leaf-covered lawn. It seemed impossible that it was to be her new home, and she fell in love with it in an instant. She hid her trembling hands in her pockets and climbed the front steps. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door and waited. When there was no answer, she tried the latch and it gave way beneath her hand.

“Francis?” She crept through the front door and found herself in a sunlit hall. A staircase rose to the right and doors led off from both sides of the foyer. She tried the left hand one first and ventured into a sitting room, which ran the depth of the house. Sunlight streamed through several tall sash windows. At the far end, two windows looked out onto the back porch and beyond to the lake.

“Francis?”

The house was quiet and she trailed through the room, past the settee in front of the fireplace and an upright piano at the far end, between the two windows. The walls above the warm, amber paneling were white and hung with pictures—a photograph of a Spitfire in flight and a watercolor of a copse of willows beside a very familiar looking river. There was evidence of Francis’ presence in the shirt draped over the back of an armchair and the mantelpiece above the stone fireplace dotted with mementoes from his sojourn in England—a beer mat from a pub, a pint glass and his flying gloves. The top of the piano was scattered with sheet music, pencils and an empty glass where the smoky tang of whiskey still lingered. It wasn’t hard to imagine him sitting there in the soft, autumn light and playing. She noticed, with a languid twist of her gut, her framed photograph resting on top of the clutter, the dry sprig of heather tucked into a corner of the frame.

The door at the far end of the room led back into the hall and to another door that opened into a large, bright kitchen. Francis’ years in the military were evident in the tidiness of the house. The breakfast plate and mug were neatly placed on the draining board next to the sink. The range gleamed beneath an array of pots that hung from hooks above it. Cookbooks were stacked on a shelf to one side. Back out in the hall, another door led out onto the back porch. She peered through the window and finally found Francis, raking leaves on the back lawn. He was absorbed in the task. Ilona enjoyed the novelty of watching him for a moment. His hair was tousled and touched with sunlight. In spite of the chill of the day, he had discarded his jacket and had pushed the sleeves up on his shirt. She had never seen him looking so beautiful and she had never ached so much for him as she did at that moment. She opened the back door and stepped out on to the porch.

“Francis.”

She watched and waited on unsteady legs. He paused and looked up. Her heart fluttered against her ribs and she couldn’t move, but he did. Before she could either speak or move, he had caught her up in his arms and lifted off her feet. “Oh, darling,” he breathed into her hair. “Ilke.”

She put her arms around his neck and clung to him. The long years of war and waiting and longing fell away and she cried helplessly until he silenced her with a kiss, cradling her face in his hands. It was a kiss rich with longing, promise and passion and it left her trembling. She was left in no doubt that, he had missed her.