A Refuge at Highland Hall (23 page)

She tore open the envelope and pulled out the two folded sheets of paper.

Dear Lydia,

I am writing to thank you for your kindness and the help you gave me the day of the accident in the orchard. I am very grateful for the courageous way you stood up to the guard and insisted I be taken to Highland Hall. If you had not been so brave and taken up my cause, the results of my injury could have been much worse.

Lydia's heart lifted. She had never thought of herself as brave. But she did care about people, especially those who needed someone to stand up for them. That's what she'd done for her sister, Helen, when Charlie mistreated her, and she supposed that was what she'd done for Marius as well. Still, it didn't seem brave. It was just the right thing to do.

I'm sorry I did not find out the address of the doctor who attended me. I thanked him before he left, but would you tell him again how grateful I am for his excellent care? I was a stranger, but he treated me as though he had known me all my life, with skill and compassion.

My leg is healing, though not as quickly as I would like. I have been allowed to stay in camp and rest for now. And I'm thankful, since I know that is what is needed for my leg to heal completely, but the days are long and quiet when all the other men go off to work.

It may seem odd to you, but I am eager to go back to work in the fields and orchards. You see, I feel alive and free when I am outdoors, surrounded by God's great creation. He is a wonderful designer, and I never tire of observing all He has made. The changing seasons, the growth of flowers and trees, the work carried on by the birds, insects, and wild creatures are all such a wonder. They feed my soul and give me the strength to carry on.

Lydia read that paragraph again. A man who loved nature and gave God credit as designer was a rare thing.

I also enjoy reading, hiking, woodcarving, and fishing, although I'm not allowed to do any of those, except reading, while I am here. But we have very few books in camp. When one of the men receives a book, we pass it around to be read over and over by everyone.

Perhaps she could ask Sir William if he had a few books she might send to Marius. But would Sir William approve of giving books to a German prisoner? It might be better for her to go to Fulton, visit the bookshop, and choose a book or two there. Yes, that way no one would scold her for it. A prickle of unease traveled through her, but she pushed it away.

I have a few friends here who have a good outlook and can be trusted, and I am glad for that. I try to encourage others to make the most of each day and trust God for the future. Some men scoff and call me a fool, but I don't mind. My faith in God keeps me strong and helps me look ahead with hope.

Warmth rose and flowed through Lydia. He not only believed in God, he let his faith guide him through hard times. That was rare indeed.

My mother and sister write to me sometimes, but those are the only letters I have received since I've been here. I would welcome a letter from you, if you would be inclined to write. I can tell you have a good heart, and I would like to know you more. If you are engaged or prefer not to write, I will understand and not think less of you. But if you would like to correspond with me, my address is below. May God bless you for your kindness and give you strength for each day.

Your friend,

Marius Ritter

Lydia stared at the last few lines. Should she follow through on her idea and send him a book or two along with a letter? Her stomach fluttered. Should she accept his offer of friendship…and open her heart to the possibility of something more?

Jon strode down the second-floor hallway at St. George's Hospital and stopped at the nurses' station. “Where will I find Lieutenant Alexander Goodwin? I believe he arrived late yesterday afternoon.”

The gray-haired nurse took a clipboard from the desk and scanned the list. “He's in Ward B, bed number eight.”

Jon thanked her and set off down the hall. Dr. Gleason was Alex's attending physician, but Jon wouldn't let that hinder him from visiting his friend and making sure all was well.

He reached in his jacket pocket and touched the letter Penny had given him last weekend at Highland. She'd made him promise he would put it in Alex's hand as soon as he arrived at St. George's. And the sweet, sincere look in her eyes made him understand how important it was to her.

But the last time he introduced Penny to one of his friends…

He gave his head a little shake. Theo's choice had certainly been a surprise to Jon and Kate and quite a letdown for Penny. But Kate told Jon not to worry. Penny would bounce back. And she had. Still, he didn't want to encourage his sister-in-law to pursue another ill-fated romance.

Perhaps he should speak to Alex and try to discern his intentions before Penny became too attached…

Remembering the look on Penny's face when she found out Alex was coming home told Jon it might be too late for that.

He walked into Ward B and scanned the room. Men with bandaged arms, legs, and heads filled the beds. Some slept, while others read books or played cards. A quiet hum of conversation floated across the room as nurses and female volunteers stopped at the men's bedsides, adjusting pillows and delivering medications, newspapers, and words of encouragement.

A curtain was partially drawn around Alex's bed. Jon stepped closer and looked around the side. A young female volunteer stood opposite Jon, holding out a tray of food. Alex lay on the bed propped up by several pillows, one arm in a sling, and a black patch covering his right eye.

Jon's chest tightened. A jagged red scar ran from the center of Alex's forehead, behind the patch, and across his cheekbone.

“I'm not hungry. Take it away.” Alex's gruff voice surprised Jon.

“Hungry or not, you should be thankful for your food and eat your meal.” The young volunteer moved the tray closer to Alex.

“I said, take it away!”

The girl's face flushed and she straightened. “You have to eat so you can regain your strength.”

His mouth twisted. “Just give it to someone else.”

“I can't very well do that. Not once it's been delivered to you.”

Alex turned his head away but not before Jon saw the glitter of moisture in his one good eye.

Jon pulled in a deep breath to steady his own emotions. He saw hundreds of wounded men every week, but this was his friend, and the broken look on Alex's face cut him to the heart. He stepped past the curtain on Alex's right, but Alex didn't see him.

The young woman looked up, and her eyes widened. “Doctor.”

“It's all right, miss. Take away the tray.”

Alex turned toward Jon, and recognition flashed across his face.

As the young woman slipped out past the curtain, Jon walked around to the left side of the bed, pulled up a chair, and sat down. “I'm glad to see you, Alex, though I'm sorry your need to recover is what brings you back to St. George's.”

“So am I.” Alex lay back on his pillows and stared at the ceiling.

Not a promising response.

Jon studied Alex more closely. The purple and green bruises around his scar contrasted sharply with his pale skin. His cheeks were sunken, and his face had a pain-filled, haggard look.

It seemed his friend needed encouragement as well as physical healing. “We're all very proud of you for taking down that Zeppelin. You lifted everyone's spirits. In fact, I'd say you've given the whole country a reason to hope for victory.”

He huffed. “Really?”

“Yes, it was quite daring the way you turned off your engine and outsmarted that Zeppelin crew.”

“Too bad I wasn't smart enough to shoot it down somewhere else.” Alex's tone was raw, his words clipped. “Did you hear? It crashed into a convent. Three nuns and seven children died.”

Jon gave a slow nod. He'd read the report in the newspaper a few days ago and wondered if Alex knew where it had crashed. “It's not your fault, Alex. Everyone knows that was not your intention. The Germans are responsible for that, not you.”

“If I'd known it was going to crash there, I—” Alex clenched his jaw and he looked away.

“You were assigned a mission, and you carried it out. At great cost to yourself.”

He shook his head. “It's not that simple.”

“It won't help to second-guess your actions now. You can't change the past. You have to focus on the future and on getting back on your feet.”

“Why
should
I?” Alex jabbed his finger toward his eye patch. “You know as well as I do that this takes me out. I'll never fly again.”

Jon swallowed, trying to push past the pain he felt for his friend. “I'm sorry, Alex. I know it's a hard blow. But you still have two legs, two arms, and a sound mind. You're not out of the game yet.”

“This is not a game. We're fighting a war. We need pilots.”

“Yes, we do. But flying is not the only way to win the war. You can still do your part.”

“Right.” He waved his good hand toward the window. “The King wants to award me the Victoria Cross and parade me around town so he can raise morale and enlist more troops.”

“Receiving the Victoria Cross is an honor. You should be proud to accept it.”

He shook his head. “I'm not going to do it. I don't want people staring at me, pitying me.”

“No one will pity you unless you pity yourself and give up the fight.”

Alex leaned forward, his one-eyed gaze intense. “Look at me, Jon. Can you honestly say this won't make a difference in how people see me?”

Jon studied Alex's scarred face. “I won't lie to you. It might…put people off at first. But it won't matter to those who know you and truly care.”

“And who would that be?”

“Me for one.” Jon reached in his pocket and took out the envelope. “And Penny Ramsey, for another.”

Alex stared at the missive in Jon's hand, and a muscle flickered in his jaw. “Send it back.” He turned his face away.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because once she sees this face, she won't want anything to do with me.”

“Don't be ridiculous. Penny is not that shallow. She knows outward scars have nothing to do with the man you are inside.”

“Return the letter. I don't want to see her. I mean it, Jon!”

Frustration coursed through Jon. “This is no time to make a decision like that. You're not thinking clearly.”

“Why should I keep writing? What could I offer her? I'm blind in one eye, and I only have one good arm.”

“I read your chart. Dr. Gleason believes they can repair your arm with surgery. He wants to schedule it as soon as possible.”

“With my luck, it won't make any difference. I'll probably be crippled for life and have to live off charity.”

There had to be some way to break through his friend's dark mood and offer him hope. Jon leaned toward Alex. “Listen, I know you're hurting and discouraged. That's a natural response to what's happened. But in time I believe you will see things differently.”

Alex stared at the wall, pain glittering in his eye.

“Even though you can't see it right now, I believe God is at work, healing and restoring you. He has a plan and purpose for your life, and these injuries don't have to prevent you from finding it.”

“I don't see how I'll be much good for anything now.”

“That kind of thinking isn't going to get you anywhere.”

Alex shook his head and closed his eye, looking more miserable than before.

Jon's throat tightened.
Please, God, give me the right words. You know what Alex needs to hear.
Within moments, a calming Presence filled him. “I won't lie to you. You're facing a difficult challenge.”

Alex raised his good arm across his chest and grabbed his injured shoulder, as though trying to shield himself from Jon's words.

“You have a choice to make, Alex. You can either let your losses destroy you, or you can take hold of courage and, with God's help, forge a new future…It's up to you.”

Alex's gaze drifted back to Jon. A tremor shook his chin. He blinked and looked away.

Jon rested his hand on his friend's shoulder. “You're not alone. There are many people who want to help, and Penny is one of them. I hope you won't close the door on a trusted friend.” He placed her letter on Alex's bedside table.

“She's probably just writing because she feels sorry for me.”

Jon stood and looked down at Alex. “She cares about you. And if I were you, I'd do whatever it takes to convince her you're still a man worthy of her trust and admiration.”

Alex's mouth twisted, and he started to reply, but Jon held up his hand.

“I think we've both said enough for now. I'll come back and see you tomorrow. If you have a reply for Penny, I'll make sure it's delivered.” He turned and strode out of the ward, his heart thumping hard in his chest.

Had he done the right thing…or had he just doubled the pain of a wounded hero and destroyed his bond with one of his oldest friends?

A
lex clenched his jaw, fighting back the surge of anger rushing through him. He didn't deserve a lecture from Jon or anyone else.

His so-called friend had no idea how he had struggled to stay sane and keep flying after losing so many friends in his squadron. Nor did Jon understand the pain and shock he'd gone through since the accident.

Should he have told Jon he woke up in a cold sweat two or three times a night, trying to escape terrifying nightmares? Or that he started each morning in pain, confused and exhausted and dreading nightfall, when he would have to fight his way through those same nightmares again?

What would Jon say then?

Alex closed his eyes, trying to push away the wave of hopelessness washing over him. The agony of his injuries was hard enough, but knowing he had caused the death of innocent nuns and children…

He choked back a sob. It was almost more than he could bear. There was no way to make that right. And to know he would never fly again?

Alex flung an arm across his eyes. Who
was
he now? What good was his life?

But Jon expected him to shrug it all off and press on.

How was he supposed to do that? He couldn't just pretend the crash and the last few weeks had never happened. His world had turned upside down, and he didn't know if it would ever come right again.

He looked at the letter from Penny on the bedside table. A painful ache rose in his chest. He longed to tear it open, soak in her kind words, and let them ease the pain of his guilt and losses. But what was the use? His life, as he had known it, was over.

There was no hope for a future with her now. He might as well accept that truth and let her go, along with every other hope he'd had for his life after the war.

He clenched his jaw, fighting a tug of war with his conscience.

If he were truly brave and honorable, he'd read that letter, then write to her one last time and end their friendship.

He reached for the letter with his good arm, and pain shot across his upper chest and shoulder. He grimaced and lowered the envelope, then pinched it between the fingers on his broken arm and slowly tore it open with his good hand.

The letter slipped out and fell between his sheet and blanket. He slowly fished it out, then struggled to unfold it with one hand.

Squinting, he tried to decipher the small, neat handwriting. The doctor in France said in a few weeks his left eye would adjust to doing the work of two eyes, then they could test his vision and prescribe glasses. Until then, he had to make do. He lifted the letter closer, and the words slowly came into focus.

Dear Alex,

I am so very relieved to know you're on your way back to England and will soon be at St. George's, where you can receive the very best care possible. The children and all the family send their greetings and wishes for a speedy recovery.

How very pleased and proud we were to read about your brave and daring actions to destroy the Zeppelin. I've clipped all the articles from the newspaper and saved them for you, but how I long to see you and hear you tell the story yourself.

His throat tightened and burned. If she knew what he looked like now—the scarred face and patched eye—she wouldn't long to see him. He shook his head and dropped his gaze to the letter again.

The first article we read in the newspaper said that you had crashed after taking down the Zeppelin, but there was no information about your condition. I was so concerned I convinced Julia to go with me to London to see if we could learn what had happened to you. We met with William and Jon and asked them to find out what they could. Then we visited your mother and sister to see if they had heard any news, but all to no avail.

She had visited his mother and Lindy? How had she found them? He didn't remember giving her their names.

I feel a little foolish now for being so desperate for news of you…but I do care, and I felt such a strong urgency to see what I could do to help. Finally, Jon brought us the news we longed to hear, and I wrote this letter and sent it with him to be hand delivered to you.

Please let me know how you are doing as soon as you're able. I understand you have a broken arm, so writing may not be possible, but perhaps you could dictate a letter to one of the nurses or volunteers, or you could send a message through Jon. We are all so eager to hear from you and be reassured that you are improving and feeling stronger each day.

What could he tell her? Would she be satisfied with a list of his injuries, or should he be totally honest and give her a painfully clear report of his dismal future? He stifled a groan and looked down at the letter again.

Our invitation to come to Highland still stands, and we would welcome you here if you need a place to rest and recover after your time at St. George's.

I hope to come to town and see you soon. Until then, you are in my every thought and prayer.

With fond affection,

Penny

He lowered the letter and closed his eyes. That settled it. He would write to her and put an end to it before she tried to come to London to see him.

But his head throbbed and his chest ached so much he could barely think straight. He couldn't do it today. Soon…

But not today.

Lydia placed the books she had chosen on the counter and looked across at Mr. Dickson, owner of the Fulton Book Shop. “I'd like to buy these two, please.”

It had taken her almost half an hour to make her selection, but she had finally chosen
Treasure Island
by Robert Louis Stevenson and
A Pocket Guide to British Birds.

“Very good choices, miss.” Mr. Dickson smiled, making his gray moustache twitch. He totaled the sale and told her the amount.

She took the money from her purse and handed it to him. “Could you please wrap them together in brown paper? I want to mail them to…a friend.”

“Of course, miss. I'd be glad to.” The old man's eyes twinkled. “That will just be an extra pound.”

Lydia pulled in a sharp breath. “A pound?”

He chuckled. “Not really. I'm teasing. There's no charge for the wrapping paper.”

Lydia's cheeks warmed, and she returned a slight smile. She should've guessed he was making a joke, but she was so anxious to finish her purchase and leave the shop that it had gone right over her head.

Mr. Dickson pulled a piece of brown paper from the roll behind the counter and tore it off. “I'll weigh these and let you know how much the postage will be.” He placed a small pad of paper and a pencil on the counter. “Just write down the address where you want them sent, and I'll take it to the post office for you.”

Lydia froze, her mind racing. “That's kind of you, but there's no need. I'll take care of it.”

“Are you sure, miss?” He cocked his head and studied her.

“Yes, I'm certain.”

“I have a few other packages to mail today. I wouldn't mind taking yours.” He swiftly wrapped the books. “No charge.”

“I'm headed that way now. I'll take them.” Lydia reached for the books, then stepped away from the counter. “Thank you.” She turned and hurried out the door before he could ask her any more questions.

The bell overhead jingled as she pulled the door closed behind her. That was close. She'd almost had to confess she was mailing books to a prisoner at the camp. It wasn't that she was ashamed of writing to Marius or sending him the books, but she wasn't sure Mr. Dickson would understand. And she certainly didn't want to make trouble for herself or Marius.

She set off down the street toward the post office, dodging puddles and trying to keep her shoes and skirt hem dry. She had a letter for Marius in her pocket, and she wanted to add it to the package before she sent it off. But if she unwrapped the books and tucked the letter inside, how would she seal it up again?

She rushed around the corner and ran smack into a woman. The package tumbled out of her arms and landed in a puddle with a splash. “Oh, no!” Lydia bent and tried to snatch it up, but she only managed to pull off the brown paper.

“Lydia?”

She looked up and stifled a gasp. “Miss Penny!”

“Are you all right? I'm terribly sorry. I should've been paying more attention.” Penny reached for one of the books, pulled it out of the puddle, and wiped the cover with her gloved hand.

“Oh, don't dirty your glove, miss.” Lydia grabbed the other book out of the water and shook it off.

“It's all right. If we wipe them quickly, there might not be too much damage.” Penny brushed off the book again, then held it out to Lydia. “I'd hate to think I've spoiled
Treasure Island
for you. It's a wonderful story.”

“Mr. Dickson said it's one of his favorites.”

Penny's eyes widened. “You just bought these at the bookshop?”

“Yes, miss.”

“You know Sir William is happy to loan any book you'd like to read from his library. You just sign them out and then check them back in when you've finished.”

“Yes, that's very kind of him.”

Penny tilted her head, obviously waiting for an explanation.

“These aren't for me, miss. They're a gift for…someone.”

“I'm so sorry.” Penny glanced down the street toward the bookshop. “You must let me take you back to the bookshop and replace them.”

“Oh, no, miss. You don't have to do that.”

“I'd be glad to. Are they a birthday gift for someone in your family?”

Lydia's face flamed, and she shook her head. “Please, don't worry. I'm sure a little water stain won't matter to him.”

Penny's eyebrows rose. “Him?”

Lydia lifted her hand to her mouth. Now she'd done it.

Penny's eyes flickered with understanding, and she laid her hand on Lydia's arm. “Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

“My secret?” A tremor shook Lydia's voice.

Penny leaned closer. “I know Mr. Lawrence and Mrs. Dalton don't approve of young men coming around to see the maids, but that seems so unfair. Everyone ought to have a chance to find love and someday marry and have a family.”

Lydia's face burned. She didn't know what to say to that.

“Is he a kind, respectable man?”

“I believe so.”

“I see he's a nature lover.” Penny motioned toward the
Pocket Guide to British Birds
in Lydia's hands. “That speaks well of him.”

Lydia nodded and tried to smile, but she was sure it looked false.

“Did you meet him here in Fulton?”

Lydia bit her lip, trying to think of an answer. She couldn't lie, not to Miss Penny. “No, miss. I met him at Highland.”

Penny's eyes shone, and she leaned closer. “So he's someone on the staff?”

Emotion swelled in Lydia's throat. If only that were true, it would be so much easier. She shook her head.

“Is he's one of the tradesmen who makes deliveries?”

Lydia shot a glance around, but there didn't seem to be any way out of telling Miss Penny the truth. “His name is Marius Ritter.” As soon as she said those words, she couldn't hold the rest back any longer. “He's one of the German prisoners from the camp, but he's not really German. He's lived in England for years, ever since he was a boy. He tried to volunteer for the Army, but they wouldn't take him. And then they arrested him and put him in the internment camp, when he was the only man left in his family to care for his mother and sister. Don't you think that's unfair?”

Penny blinked and stared at her. “You're sending books to one of the prisoners at the camp?”

She swallowed and nodded. “He's the one who stayed at Highland after he got that terrible cut on his leg. I think you were away in London when that happened. I was in the orchard with the children when he was injured, and I brought him back to the house. Dr. Foster sewed up his leg, and I helped take care of him.”