A Refuge at Highland Hall (25 page)

“If they don't give us more to eat,” Siegfried said, “soon we'll be too weak to carry a rake or shovel. Then who will be left to work like slaves in their fields?”

“We aren't slaves. We're paid for our work. And we've no call to complain about the food. It may be plain, but it's sufficient.”

Siegfried snorted. “Not for me.” He narrowed his eyes and looked toward the kitchen. “What I wouldn't give for a plate of eggs and sausage with some toast and marmalade.”

The thought of sweet-tart marmalade made Marius's mouth water. They'd had some last Christmas but none since. He dismissed the thought and turned to Siegfried. “We can't expect to eat like we did before the war. Think of the troops in France, living in the trenches. I'm sure they wish they had a hot breakfast like this.”

“You can bet they eat better than we do, and most of them get packages from home with extra food to go along with their regular meals.” Siegfried reached the head of the line, and when the balding, muscular man behind the counter held out a steaming bowl of porridge, Siegfried grimaced. “Why do we have to eat the same thing every day?”

The server's eyebrows drew down in a V. “No one says you have to eat it.”

Siegfried huffed, took the bowl, and moved down the line.

Marius stepped forward and accepted the next bowl. “Thank you.”

The man behind the counter gave a slight nod and continued scooping porridge.

Marius took a slice of dark bread from the tray and laid it on top of his bowl. He picked up a cup of coffee, then turned to search for an open spot at one of the tables. Siegfried motioned him over. Marius crossed the room and sat down next to his friend. Siegfried leaned over his bowl and dug into his porridge, but Marius lowered his head and closed his eyes to say a silent prayer.

“I don't know how you can thank God for this slop.”

Irritation sparked, and Marius lifted his head. “This
slop
keeps me going. I'm grateful to God for it.”

“If God had anything to do with it, or with us, He'd see that we had something decent to eat.”

Marius clenched his jaw. He'd had about all the negative talk he could stomach from Siegfried. “If you don't want yours, pass it to me.” His voice came out harsher than he intended.

Siegfried pulled back. “You don't have to get mad.” He glanced around, then leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I've got an idea.”

Marius blew out a breath. Not again. Siegfried was forever coming up with plans for escape. Thankfully, he had never tried to follow through on any of them. Marius didn't want to encourage him so he took a spoonful of porridge and pretended he hadn't heard.

“If I can get assigned to kitchen detail,” Siegfried whispered, “I bet I could slip away in one of the delivery trucks.”

“Don't waste your time thinking about it.”

“Why not? I'm sick of being treated like a criminal.”

“It's a foolish idea, and the sooner you forget about it, the better.”

“I could make it work. I'm sure of it.”

“And what then? Even if you got out of camp, you wouldn't get very far before they'd arrest you and put you in a real prison where you'd never see the light of day.”

Siegfried gulped down a swig coffee and pulled a sour face. “This tastes like mud.”

Marius shook his head. Nothing was ever good enough.

The whistle blew. “Five minutes! Finish up!” the head guard shouted.

Siegfried grumbled under his breath and shoveled in his porridge.

The whistle sounded again. “The following prisoners come forward for mail.”

Marius stilled and looked up. It had been more than a week since he'd written to Lydia. Each time they announced mail, he hoped he might receive a reply, but it hadn't come. He looked down and focused on his half-empty bowl, trying to pretend he didn't long for a letter.

The guard called several names. Marius tensed and strained to hear, then he scoffed at himself. He was the foolish one now. Why would a sweet and caring woman like Lydia Chambers want to write to a scorned German prisoner? Better not to hope, then he wouldn't be disappointed.

“Hans Huber, Miles Kauffman, Heinrich Renke, Siegfried Schultz, come forward.”

Siegfried grinned and elbowed Marius, then sprang off the bench and sauntered up to accept his letter.

Marius's spirit sank. He must put his hope aside. Lydia would not write.

The guard reached in the large canvas mailbag and pulled out a package wrapped in brown paper. “Marius Ritter, come forward.”

Marius pulled in a sharp breath and rose to his feet. Had his mother sacrificed her own needs to buy something for him? He hoped not. She needed every shilling she earned from taking in laundry and ironing to support herself and his sister, Jenny. He strode forward.

The guard cut the string around the package and peeled away the brown paper. Marius clenched his jaw. All packages had to be opened in the presence of a guard and inspected. It was the usual routine. Still, it seemed unfair.

The guard scowled. “Books.” He flipped open the covers and shook them. An envelope slipped out and fell to the floor.

Marius reached down and snatched it up. He read the name on the back—
Lydia Chambers, Highland Hall
—and his heart swelled.

“Go ahead.” The guard waved him away. “Take them.”

“Thank you.” Marius grabbed the two books and strode back to the table. Lydia had written and she'd sent him books. He glanced at the titles, surprised and pleased with her choices. How did she know just what he would enjoy? He supposed he had mentioned he liked being outdoors in nature and looked forward to returning to the work crew. And from that comment she had chosen
A Pocket Guide to British Birds
and
Treasure Island.
They looked new, not used. How much had they cost?

Siegfried frowned at the books. “Your mother sent those?”

Marius shook his head, unwilling to say who had sent them.

“Who, then?”

Marius laid the books on the table. “We'd best finish our breakfast.”

“Why won't you tell me who sent the books?” Siegfried tipped his head to read the titles. Suddenly, his eyes lit up, and he snatched the envelope sticking out of the top book.

“Hey!” Marius reached for it, but Siegfried pulled back.

Siegfried scanned the back of the envelope and grinned. “So, you've made a friend at Highland Hall.”

“Give me the letter! Now!”

Several men turned and stared at them.

“Take it easy.” Siegfried tossed the letter on the table. “I was just teasing.”

Marius snatched up the letter, shoved it in his shirt pocket, and rose from the table. He could not listen to Siegfried one more minute, or there would be no accounting for what he would say or do. He grabbed his bowl, tucked the books under his arm, and strode away from the table.

“Marius, you don't have to go off in a huff,” Siegfried called.

But he didn't turn around or answer. Better to stay silent than show Siegfried and everyone else that he most certainly
did
need to leave.

Before they both regretted him staying.

J
ulia sank down on the stool of her dressing table and stared at her father. “Pregnant? Are you sure?” She couldn't deny she'd considered the possibility, but she'd made excuses for each sign, not daring to hope it might be true.

Her father's eyes glowed with happy light. “Quite sure.”

She shook her head, feeling dazed. “But with William away…I didn't think…”

“I'd say you're almost four months along.”

“Really?” Happy tears came to her eyes. “Then I'm past the time when I lost the other babies.”

Her father's smile faded, and compassion softened his expression. “Yes, but you still need to be cautious. I'd advise you to avoid strenuous activities. And you must eat well and rest as much as possible.”

Julia gave a quick nod. “Of course.” She would do whatever she could to protect the precious life growing within her. But her thoughts clouded, and she looked up at her father. “There is so much that needs to be done with William and Clark away.”

“Do what you must, but let the staff and family take on the rest.” He thought for a moment. “Perhaps your mother and I could lend a hand. We may not know much about managing an estate, but we learned some practical lessons from our time overseeing the mission station in Kanakapura.”

“I'd welcome your help.” How pleased her mother would be to know there was a second grandchild on the way. And now Kate and Jon's baby would have a little cousin who was only a few months younger, if everything progressed as it should.

She looked up at her father again. “Do you think the baby will be all right?”

“There's no reason not to hope for the best.” He placed his hand on her shoulder. “Try to rest in the Lord and have a positive outlook.”

“I will.” A new surge of hopeful possibilities rose and filled her heart and mind. “Thank you, Father.” She stood and reached for his hand. “Will you keep this to yourself for now? William is coming home this weekend, and I'd like him to be the first to know.”

His blue-gray eyes twinkled. “I'll have a hard time keeping it from your mother.”

“Oh, it's all right to tell her. I know she can keep a secret.”

He grinned. “Yes, she's quite good at that.”

Julia stepped forward and embraced her father. “What a comfort it is to have you here with me.”

He gave a soft sigh. “Yes, we're blessed, and I'm grateful to God for His kindness and faithfulness to our family.”

Julia stepped back and ran her hand gently across her abdomen. What a wonder. She couldn't feel any difference, yet there was a tiny life growing inside. A thrill ran through her, and a prayer rose from her heart.
Please, Lord, bring this dear little baby safely into the world. And may he or she be a joy and delight to all the family and give us another reason to hope for a brighter future.

Her father sent her a warm smile. “I should be going. I'm headed to Northcote this morning.” He took his medical bag from the table by the bed. “I believe our friend, Lieutenant Alex Goodwin, is expected to arrive today.”

“Yes, Jon mentioned that in his last letter to Kate.”

Her father's brow creased. “Did Jon tell you he's quite concerned about him?”

Julia nodded, her shoulders tensing at the memory of Jon's letter.

“He asked me to look in on him to see what I can do to help.”

Her father would be a wonderful blessing to Alex. “I'm glad. We've all been praying for him.”

“Yes, that's what he needs, the Lord's strength and healing.”

“Did you know Alex and Penny have been writing to each other? They met in London at Jon and Kate's before he left for France.”

“Yes, Jon confided that to me.”

“From what Penny says, they've grown quite close, but he hasn't been in touch with her since he was injured. You can imagine how upset she's been, waiting for news, and then to hear from Jon that Alex didn't want to see her.” Julia shook her head. “She was quite hurt.”

Her father paused at the door. “Recovery can be very difficult. Some have lost arms or legs and gone through unimaginable pain, waiting for treatment on the battlefield and in the field dressing stations. For many the course of their lives is permanently altered by their injuries.” He looked up and caught her gaze. “And sadly, some of their sweethearts can't accept the changes and they break things off.”

“I can't speak to the depth of Penny's commitment to Alex, but I believe she has the strength of character to look past his injuries and be a great support.”

Her father gave a slow nod. “Don't say anything to her yet, but I'll see what I can do.”

Julia settled back in her chair. If anyone could get through to Alex, it was her father. She only prayed it happened soon.

Before Penny lost all hope.

Alex stepped outside and slowly made his way across the gravel walkway toward the chairs set up on the lawn at Northcote. Each step took more effort than he would have thought possible. Amazing how weak a man could become after two surgeries and weeks lying in a hospital bed. Finally, he reached the nearest chair and lowered himself into it with a stifled groan.

The day was warm with only a few clouds overhead. He let his blurry gaze travel across parkland to the fields beyond. Several sheep grazed on the hillside to his right, while a few others lay in the shade of one of the large trees. Low rock walls and thick hedgerows crossed the fields, keeping the sheep from wandering too far. To his left, the lawn dipped down to a small stream, and past that stood a thick forest of trees.

He sniffed the air. Fresh-mowed grass and honeysuckle filled his senses. Quite a change from the dense, stuffy air in London. He should be grateful he was no longer stuck in St. George's Hospital, but somehow he couldn't drum up the appropriate emotion. He grimaced and turned his face away from the view.

Why couldn't he shake off the dark cloud hovering over him?

Before he left St. George's, Jon encouraged him to take a more optimistic view and think of all the reasons he had to be thankful. Well, he could at least give Jon's advice a try.

He frowned, struggling to come up with something for which he was thankful. He was back on his feet…but he had to use a cane to get around, and his legs were so weak he felt as shaky as a newborn calf—

He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, replaying all that had happened since the crash. Each memory tore at him, until he finally shook them away.

What was the use of looking back? That was only more depressing than the present.

He gave a disgusted grunt and shifted in his chair. There was the problem. No matter which way he turned his thoughts, he always came to the same condemning conclusion. He had no one else to blame for his trouble but himself. He'd been in that cockpit and made the decision to try and make it back to St. Pol. One foolish choice had destroyed his future.

“Lieutenant Goodwin?”

Alex looked over his shoulder. A tall, distinguished man in a brown tweed suit crossed the lawn toward him. He had silver hair with a beard and moustache, and he carried a small black bag. As he came closer his face came into focus, and recognition flashed through Alex. “Dr. Foster?”

The older man smiled. “Yes. You have a good memory.”

“Jon mentioned you worked here.”

“Volunteer, actually. I'm just here three days a week. I'd like to do more, but my wife is not in favor of it, and we must keep her happy.” He smiled. “You remember Mrs. Foster, don't you?”

“Yes, sir. She was always very kind to me when I was a boy.”

Dr. Foster nodded. “That's Mary, for sure.”

Now that they'd finished their greetings, Alex looked away, uncertain what else to say.

“How are they treating you so far?”

Alex gave a slight shrug. “Fine, I suppose. I just arrived this morning.”

“Has Dr. Addison been by to see you yet?”

Alex shook his head. “No, sir.”

“So they haven't set up your treatment plan yet?”

Alex sighed. “I'm blind in one eye. There's no treatment that's going to cure that.”

Dr. Foster studied him a moment. “What about the other eye? How is it functioning?”

It seemed the doctor would not leave him alone until he answered all his questions. He turned back and looked up at the man. “My distance vision is blurry but not too bad. I have more trouble reading or seeing anything up close.”

“Not to worry. They'll do a vision test soon and prescribe glasses. That should help a great deal.”

He'd heard that before, but glasses wouldn't hide the ugly scar cutting through his face or keep people from staring at him everywhere he went. He sighed again and looked away.

“Mind if I sit down?”

Alex hesitated. He couldn't very well turn away Jon's father, though that was exactly what he wanted to do. He motioned toward the chair next to him.

“How are your ribs healing?”

Apparently the doctor had seen a list of his injuries. “They're still sore, but the pain is not too bad.”

“And your arm? How is it healing since the surgery?”

“Fine, I suppose.” He still wore the sling and went out of his way to keep anyone from bumping into him.

“May I take a look at it?”

Irritation flashed through him. What did Dr. Foster hope to achieve?

The doctor looked as though he could read Alex's thoughts. “I'd like to make sure there's no infection. A nurse or doctor should check it every day.” He waited, apparently unruffled by Alex's irritation. “May I?” He gestured toward Alex's sling.

“All right.” The doctor stood and untied the sling from around his neck, then he lifted his sleeve and unwrapped the bandage from Alex's arm.

Dr. Foster pushed his glasses up his nose and leaned closer to see the wound at the site of the surgery.

Alex glanced down at the stitches and pressed his mouth closed. He'd seen several men who'd lost an arm or leg, and he certainly didn't want to add a similar loss to his list. “How is it doing?”

“Very well. No sign of swelling or infection.” The doctor rewrapped his arm.

Alex released a deep breath. At least he would have the use of two arms when he eventually left Northcote. That was something he could be thankful for.

“So, Jon tells me you wouldn't see your sister when she came for a visit last week.”

Alex stilled, then lifted his gaze to meet the doctor's. “I don't know why that should be any of your concern.”

“My role here at Northcote is visiting physician, counselor, and mentor. I like to take a personal interest in some of the men, help them through their time here and as they transition to the next phase of life. In order to do that, I have to take into account all aspects of their condition—physical, emotional, social, and spiritual. Then I can see what's needed and how I might help.”

That certainly seemed beyond the call of duty.

“I'd like to do that for you, Alex, if you will let me.” His tone was gentle, and unmistakable kindness filled his eyes.

Alex's throat tightened and he turned his face away. He had to swallow twice before he could answer. “Don't waste your time on me. There are plenty of other men who will make a complete recovery and be fit to fight again.”

“That's true, but I've been praying about it, and I believe the Lord wants me to help you.”

Shock waves rippled through Alex. Why would this doctor care? Why would God care, for that matter? “I don't know what to say.”

“There's no need to say anything now.” Dr. Foster stepped closer and laid his hand on Alex's shoulder. “Just think about it. I'll be back on Monday, and we can talk again.” He started to walk away, then turned back. “Oh, I was at Highland Hall this morning.”

Alex's head jerked up, and he searched the doctor's face.