Drawing Blood (16 page)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Elliot

His dreams were disjointed and hard to follow, the overall sensation of which left him feeling very disconcerted. The only good part was when he dreamed of Janet.

He dreamed that he woke in his bed, safe back at home, and she was stretched along his side, warm from sleep, smiling up at him. Her hand was on his erection already, likely what had woken him. As he blinked more sleep from his eyes she rose up on one elbow to kiss him, and he grabbed her roughly, rolling her on to her back and pinning her to the mattress with his body. She was soft and yielding, immediately welcoming him in to her embrace. The dream jumped from that to waking up under a tree in the dirt, surrounded by the bare and clammy skin of dozens of dead bodies.

When he woke it was with a start, sitting upright in bed. Something metal had banged on the other side of the door. Once Elliot remembered where he was, he took a few breaths to calm down. He hadn’t had a nightmare since D-Day. Hell, he hadn’t really slept since D-Day.

He had a cold sweat on his skin, but he wasn’t feeling ill. That had been from sleep. It felt so real. That putrid, sticky, dead skin all around him, like they were all trying to pull him down with them. But he was out, free. It was just a dream.

He remained on his back, eyes closed. It was so quiet here. So strange to be this close to the fighting, and yet at that moment it was complete serenity. It will be difficult to leave.

But he couldn’t until he had a way to at least get Cleary to medical help; that was his bare-minimum priority. If Canadian forces were advancing on Calais, there should be reinforcements following at some point. He could join up with them again, maybe leave Cleary here and collect him on the way back to take him somewhere secured.

Although, that might not be a great idea. Elliot had seen the way David looked at the woman, Abigail. That was likely bad news, and not just because she was married. It wasn’t the usual youthful want and desire he saw flaring in Cleary’s eye that he had seen on a few occasions back in civilized life. It was hound-dog eyes, the look of young love. Devotion. Awe.

Disaster.

Assuming he would be able to fight again, Cleary would have plenty to worry about other than his heartbreak. Elliot really hoped the kid made it home, safe and sound. Then he could find a nice young girl all his own, start a new life.

The woman, Abigail, had looked at him strangely, though. Maybe she was scared of Elliot, or she was just being very careful. He couldn’t blame her for that. She was alone in a dangerous place, an attractive young woman. The only thing that could have kept her alive was her intelligence and caution.

The longer he lay there, dozing but not sleeping, the more he became aware of the fantastic smells coming from the kitchen. His stomach growled in acknowledgement.

He got out of the bed, cringing as he saw how Cleary’s blood still stained the mattress. He flipped it over and folded up the large quilt he’d wrapped himself in when he’d gone to bed. Under the knit Elliot layered the pajama top as well. He slid the pocket doors open, and the sounds of someone making a meal greeted him. It was so close to home he felt the centre of his chest tighten up. His dream came back to him, and he half-expected to see Janet in this strange, foreign kitchen.

But it wasn’t. Abigail stood at the sink, her hair brushed out over her shoulders, the sides pinned at the back with a barrette. She had changed in to a soft-green coloured dress, fitted smoothly at her waist, flaring out over her hips and draping to her knees. She wore heels, he noticed. Small ones, but black, shined leather all the same. She had dressed for them.

He came in to the room, knocking on the trim work as he did so. She half-turned, smiling. He returned the smile. Her eyes were done up, and she had lipstick on. She looked absolutely lovely.

They stared at each other across the room, and Elliot felt his stomach tighten. He’d been wrong. Her eyes traced over him with curiosity. He felt the warmth in that look. She wasn’t scared of him. Was she … Was she actually attracted to him?

He swallowed painfully. This was new to him. He was out of his comfort zone. No one looked at him like this. He wasn’t sure what to do.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” He offered, voice rough.

“I think I’ve got everything under control. It’s just a stew, but I managed to get deer meat. The neighbours hunt from time to time.”

“I’ll see if I can get David down here, then.”

She pointed to the stairwell. “I found my father’s cane. That might help him. If he can’t move we’ll go up to him.”

Elliot took the wooden cane with him, using it to knock on the door before walking in. Cleary was awake, staring up at the ceiling. He looked down as Elliot entered.

“Hungry?”

“She’s cooking again? I was hoping that was for us. It smells so good.”

“Think you can make it down there?”

Cleary shrugged. “I’m willing to try.”

“If it hurts say so. I don’t want you to start bleeding again.”

There was a pair of wool trousers and a sweater on the chair. The pants would have been short on Elliot, but they fit David. Elliot made sure the bandage was tied tightly in place and the pants came up no problem. He got Cleary’s clean and dry undershirt from the bathroom. They pulled the sweater on over it and Cleary was presentable enough for polite company. Elliot himself traded his pajama bottoms for his trousers, and it wasn’t too bad slipping back in to them now that they somewhat resembled their original colour and smelled nothing like four months of mud and sweat.

As long as Cleary kept that right leg stiff, he could keep the skin of his thigh from moving around too much. Elliot gave him the cane and he used that to put his weight on, then he hobbled on his own steam to the top of the stairs. Elliot got in front of him, and Cleary leaned on his shoulder as they one-stepped it all the way down to the kitchen.

Elliot helped Cleary in to a chair, and put another chair out for him to put his right foot on. He watched Cleary as Abigail set a bowl of hot stew in front of him. The young man’s face was an open book. He smiled at her, desperate for her attention. She smiled down at him, touching his shoulder. “How’s the leg? Was it hard to get down here?”

“Are you kidding? It smelled so good I would have cut it off to get down here.”

She just laughed, her hand going from his shoulder to the back of his neck. Maybe … Maybe Elliot misread her interest.

She returned with another bowl and set it before him. Her smile for him was different. Elliot couldn’t read it. He smiled back and she turned from him, her cheeks colouring.

He wasn’t equipped for this. He didn’t have the charm. And he couldn’t act on any impulses anyway. He was married. He’d just dreamed of Janet for Pete’s sake. What was he worrying about?

Next she surprised them with a bottle of champagne.

“How do you have champagne and no meat?” Cleary asked, laughing as she poured some out in to juice tumblers for them.

Abigail smiled. “Well, that’s a long story. It involves a German officer that has had a crush on me for four years.”

She placed a glass in front of Elliot without meeting his eyes then poured herself a glass as well.

They made a happy group as they sat around the table, chatting and getting to know each other’s histories. She spoke of her husband, and how she wasn’t sure where he was. It was difficult for Elliot to hear that: it made him think of Janet, at home every day waiting for either a letter from him or a letter of condolence from his CO. One meant that a month ago he was alive; the other meant a month ago he died and in between she was none the wiser.

Then quite suddenly, to Elliot’s surprise, Cleary told them about his mother’s death when he was fifteen. It was a story Elliot had never heard and it was heart-breaking; his mother dying in their home while his father drank himself stupid, oblivious not only to his wife’s suffering but his children’s emotional distress as well. Then he finished by adding that he got a letter on June 4th informing him his father had died of liver failure. That was the day before they landed on Juno.

Abigail had been sitting next to Cleary, and she got to her feet and hugged him as he broke down, sobbing at the table in front of both of them. Elliot wasn’t uncomfortable with this show of emotion; he just didn’t know what to say to help. He reached out and took David’s right hand where it sat on the table, since his left hand was hugging Abigail back. David squeezed his hand, and Elliot let go.

Abigail was wiping away tears as she sat back down. “I’m orphaned too,” she said. “I came here because my mother was sick. She died the very day the Germans arrived in Paris. The country was shut down. I couldn’t get home. My father died a couple months later.”

He had nothing to add. Unless something had happened in the last couple months, his parents were both alive and kicking. Elliot was feeling like the odd man out.

“Elliot,” Abigail said. “You have to share something. Tell us about your wife.”

Cleary was wiping his eyes but he looked up with interest. “Yeah. You never talk about her.”

Elliot shrugged. “I feel like … if I think of her, when we’re in the mud and the blood and the killing … it’s like I’ll get some on her. And if … if I think about her too much I’ll get to missing her even more. So I keep her locked away.” He tapped his temple. “In here. I only bring her out when it’s quiet. And safe. I mean, I can think about her here, in your home. I think about how … she’d like the wall paper in the upstairs bedroom. She’d think this kitchen was charming. But if Nazis came flying through that door and I had to kill them all … she’d be shoved back down in that place I put her. For safe keeping. So I wouldn’t get any … dirt on her .”

They were both looking at him queerly. Cleary looked like he didn’t know what to say, and Abigail was staring at him with fresh tears starting to build up.

“What’s she like?” Cleary asked gently, and Abigail wiped her eyes.

“She’s … always happy. She never gets tired. She’d do anything to help a friend. And she’s beautiful. Green eyes. Dark hair. Perfect.”

Cleary was smiling at him, red-eyed. Abigail was staring at the table top. Cleary looked to her. “What’s your husband like?”

“He’s a … well, he’s the funny guy, you know. Always a joke. A laugh that’s contagious; it can get a whole room cut up. He has the sweetest smile. It’s the only thing about him that stayed … boyish. He’s kind. He would go to the ends of the earth and back for me.”

Cleary picked up his champagne, holding it high. “To James and to Janet,” he said. “I hope you get them back really soon.”

They were about to clink glasses when Abigail added, “I hope you both get to go home safe and sound very soon, too. Thank you for everything you’re doing.”

Elliot drank the last of his champagne, not knowing what to say to that.

“I’ll get the dishes,” he said, getting to his feet.

“I can do it,” Cleary offered. Both Abigail and Elliot told him no in unison.

“Fine. I’ll go sit in the living room.” Cleary put his dishes in the sink, then held his hand out to Abigail. “Thank you so much for supper. It was delicious.”

She took his hand, and he kissed it, then hugged her. She laughed, throwing her head back, patting his back. “You’re welcome. It wasn’t that much trouble, David.”

Elliot took David by the shoulder, handing him his cane. He helped Cleary sink in to an armchair. Apparently it had been a while since Cleary had tried champagne.

“You all right?”

“Sorry, I’m fine. It just went right to my head.”

“I know. Just take it easy for a second, okay?”

Cleary nodded, his eyes closing.

Elliot returned to the kitchen, and Abigail was already filling the sink and cleaning the glasses. He picked up a dish towel, starting to dry. It was quiet. She was washing and rinsing, he dried each item, just like he had dozens of times with Janet back home. This is what husbands and wives did.

His mouth was dry, pasty. She wasn’t paying him any mind, but when she set a bowl down and he put his hand on it at the same time, she paused. His hand was on hers. Her skin was very warm from the water. She looked up at him while he looked down at her. Again, he didn’t know what the look on her face meant. But he was starting to like that look. It made him nervous. Almost giddy.

The piano coming to life in the next room made them jump away from each other, arms and hands no longer touching. He cleared his throat. She pointed where the glasses were kept.

“
Pardon me boy – is that the Chattanooga Choo Choo? Track 29 … boy can you give me a shine?
”

Elliot found himself laughing. “I didn’t know he played the piano,” he muttered.

Abigail smiled. “Did you know he could sing?”

“Not this badly.”

“
I can afford to take the Chattanooga Choo Choo! I’ve got my fare … and just a trifle to spare.
”

She was tapping her foot, even though the piano was hesitant and it sounded as though Cleary was trying to remember the words more than perform it. Then it all stopped.

“What’s the next line?” Cleary shouted, and Abigail burst out laughing.