Home Fires (5 page)

The washroom contained a washstand and sink and a small aluminum bathtub. Once or twice a week, more in the summer, they hauled heated water to the bathtub and took turns bathing. Erik hadn’t noticed until today how cold the room was. The metal of the tub felt like ice under his fingers.

Astrid brought a chair from the kitchen. They sat Anne on it and began pulling off her rubber boots. Water had gotten inside and soaked her feet, and now her wool socks were almost frozen. Erik knelt in front of her and peeled off one rigid sock, alarmed by how cold and stiff her foot was. He rubbed it between his hands, and she gasped.

“Oh, God, that hurts!”

Erik immediately stopped rubbing, but Astrid urged him on. “Just hold her foot between your hands. Your body warmth should be enough.”

He did as his mother directed. When she didn’t cry out, he relaxed a bit. He couldn’t bear to hurt her.

“I’m so sorry for all this fuss,” Anne said.

“It’s not your fault.” He blamed himself.
I should have gone with her, or at least given her a lantern.
Damn, he’d been meaning to buy a good flashlight for months. If she’d been able to see where she was going, she wouldn’t have walked out onto the dugout.

She could have died. The thought left him colder than any icy water or north wind ever could.

Astrid hauled hot water into the tub, finishing just as Ingrid came back with dry clothes and blankets.

“Erik, leave the rest to us. Make sure to keep the fire going. And make some tea. We’re all going to need some warming.”

Erik tried to stand, but without his cane, which he’d left forgotten at the dugout along with Anne’s frozen jacket, he had nothing with which to hoist himself up. Humiliation engulfed him.

“Ma, I’m going to need some help.”

Astrid and Ingrid pulled him to his feet. His leg ached unbearably, and Ingrid had to help him into the kitchen to a chair in front of the woodstove. Up to this point he’d been running on adrenalin, but now the cold seeped into his bones, and he began to shake. Ingrid wrapped a blanket around his shoulders.

“You can’t go on like this. When are you going to have that surgery?” she said quietly.

“I don’t know, but you’re right. I can’t go on like this.”

It wasn’t the prospect of going under the knife that frightened him. His real fear was that if they operated on his leg they might discover more damage than they’d imagined. He was afraid of losing his leg. If that happened, he didn’t think he’d want to live.

Ingrid disappeared into the washroom to help Astrid, reappearing a couple of times to retrieve more hot water. Erik threw more logs into the woodstove. Slowly, his body warmed and finally he pushed himself to his feet and, leaning heavily against the furniture, made his way around the kitchen. He found a loaf of bread, butter, and cheese in a cupboard, and sliced bread for sandwiches. He brought out Astrid’s biggest teapot and spooned in several heaping tablespoons of loose tea leaves, then added one more tablespoon before pouring in hot water. Tonight was a night for good strong tea.

A few moments later, Astrid led Anne into the kitchen. Erik was relieved to see her walking under her own power again. Astrid placed a chair beside his, directly in front of the stove.

“There, dear. We’ll get some hot tea into you, and you’ll soon feel like your old self again.”

She poured tea for all of them and liberally laced the cups with sugar before passing them around. They quietly ate their supper of bread and cheese, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally Astrid got to her feet.

“Ingrid, we can’t put it off any longer. We have to finish milking those cows.”

Ingrid sighed in resignation and rose to her feet. Erik could see the exhaustion in her eyes. He hated that his sister had to work so hard because he couldn’t.

Bundling themselves in warm jackets, the two women faced the cold once more. When they left the house, Anne rose and began gathering dishes and putting away food.

“You don’t have to do that,” Erik said.

She put the bread back in the cupboard, refusing to meet his gaze. “I can do my share.”

“Why don’t you go upstairs and get some rest, make an early night of it?”

She whirled to glare at him, her eyes blazing. “No! I’m not a child! I don’t have to be mollycoddled and babysat. I spent six years in a war zone, hiding in bomb shelters, never having enough to eat. I worked in a hospital treating blitz victims with wounds so horrendous grown men would gag to look at them. I faced those horrors every day. Sometimes things were so bad I thought I couldn’t go on. But I did. Because I had to. And I’ll face things here, too. So don’t tell me to give up, because I won’t!”

Erik pushed himself out of his chair to face her, awed by her spirit and courage. She lifted her chin as if defying him to contradict her, her hands clenched at her sides. Her dark hair curled in wild abandon as it dried, framing her pale oval face like a halo. Her beauty and ferocity were magnificent.

“I think you’re the strongest woman I know.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, her hands unclenching. He caught the quiver of her chin as she fought to hold back tears.

“I made such a mess of things,” she whispered. “I’m sorry for all the fuss I caused everyone.”

Erik took a step toward her. “It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have let you go alone in the dark.”

“You didn’t know I would stupidly walk out onto thin ice.” She shook her head. “I wanted to help. I wanted to be useful. I can’t stand feeling so bloody useless.”

“You’re not useless. You’re an amazing woman. Anders is a fool for letting you go.”

She stared at him, her eyes filling with tears. “Thank you.”

He opened his arms and she stepped into them, wrapping her arms around his waist, clinging to him. He held her tightly, inhaling the sweet, clean scent of her, never wanting to let her go.

“Don’t cry. Everything’s all right now.”

“I know I’m being stupid. Tears don’t solve anything,” she said against his chest. “But I was so cold, and so scared. I thought I was going to die.”

He tightened his hold and kissed her hair. “Don’t think about it any more. You’re safe now.”

He heard her sigh, felt her relax against him. “Yes. I’m safe.”

She lifted her head to look into his face, her dark eyes shiny with tears, her lips slightly parted, and Erik stared at her mouth, wanting desperately to kiss her, to capture her sweetness. He slowly lowered his mouth to hers. To his surprise, she didn’t run off or turn away in revulsion. He was so close her breath mingled with his, her breathing shallow and erratic. His heart slammed against his chest, his body thrumming with need. For the first time in over three years, he felt alive.

The outside door opened and slammed shut. Anne jumped back and took several steps away. She turned her head to hide her expression from him. A moment later Astrid and Ingrid entered the kitchen, each carrying two buckets of milk.

Anne poured hot water from the reservoir in the stove into the dishpan, avoiding any eye contact with him.

“Is everything all right?” Astrid asked, eyeing him closely.

“Everything’s fine,” Erik replied flatly. “Anne wants to do some washing up.”

“I can wash the separator once you’re done,” Anne said, referring to the machine used to separate the milk from the cream. It had many stainless steel parts that were tedious and difficult to clean but had to be kept spotless.

“Don’t worry about it, Anne,” Ingrid said as she poured a bucket of milk into the stainless steel bowl on the top of the separator. “You’ve had a difficult day. I can do it later.”

“No. I said I’ll do it.”

The determination in her voice had both women staring at her. Erik watched as Anne took a deep breath and briefly closed her eyes.

“Please, I need to do something. I need to keep busy. I don’t want to think any more about…about what happened.”

Ingrid nodded, then began turning the handle on the separator. Astrid gave Anne’s shoulders a brief squeeze.

“I’ll empty the bathtub,” she said.

“I’ll help you, Ma.”

Erik followed his mother into the washroom, glad for the diversion. He affixed a hose to the bathtub drain and began emptying the water into a five-gallon pail. Astrid used a small dipper to scoop out water from the bathtub into another bucket.

“She’s a very beautiful woman, isn’t she?” she said quietly. “She’s a good person, too.”

“What’s your point, Ma?” He detached the hose.

“Just an observation. I like her, and I hate to see her go.”

“There’s no reason for her to stay. Anders is already married to someone else.” Erik hated the anger and jealousy he heard in his voice.

“Do you want her to stay?”

His heart thumped against his ribs. “It doesn’t matter what I want. She’s going back to England.”

“Perhaps if you gave her a reason to stay—”

“Ma, don’t.” She’d bolted from his arms as soon as the others walked through the door. The shock of her close call had lowered her defenses. That was the only reason she’d allowed him to hold her and nearly kiss her.

He thought of Daphne, the beautiful English girl he’d fallen in love with. He’d seriously considered asking her to marry him. After he was wounded, Daphne had rushed to the hospital to see him. He’d never forget the revulsion on her face the first time she saw his scars. Why subject himself to that kind of rejection again?

Anne wanted his brother, not him.

And that would never change.

Chapter Seven

Anne crawled into her bed, grateful for the warmth of the goose-down quilt covering it. On the other side of the small room, Ingrid turned down the coal oil lamp and slipped into her own bed.

“Good night, Anne.”

Good night. And Ingrid?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for getting me out of the dugout. You saved my life.”

“You’re welcome. But it wasn’t just me. We all worked together.”

“Yes, I know, and I’m grateful. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Ingrid turned onto her side, and in a few minutes her breathing changed and Anne knew she was asleep. She wished sleep would claim her as easily. Instead she listened to the wind howling outside, her mind whirling.

She’d almost kissed him. The thought still astounded her. She’d been engaged to Erik’s brother only short days ago. How could she suddenly have feelings for someone else?

She thought about Erik, wondered about his thoughts, worried about him. Was his leg troubling him, was he warm enough, did he think about her?

He showed the world a gruff exterior, but she’d seen the kindness inside his heart and knew he was a good man. He treated his mother and sister with care and respect, and had shown Anne herself nothing but compassion.

Tonight he’d also shown her the passion in his soul. She’d been swept away by the fire in his eyes, and—God help her—if they’d been alone she had no doubt she would have ended up in his bed. Being with Erik aroused her in a way she’d never felt before. She could still feel his arms around her, still see his desire for her burning in his blue eyes. She knew without a doubt that what she felt for Erik was far deeper than anything she’d felt for Anders.

Anne rolled over and snuggled a little deeper under her covers. Did that mean she was in love with Erik? Her mind whirled in confusion. Anders’s rejection had shaken her confidence more than it had bruised her heart. She knew now she could live without him. But when she thought about moving back to England and never seeing Erik again, a painful weight settled on her heart and threatened to smother her.

She’d wanted so much to kiss him, yet she’d run from his arms when she heard the door open. She couldn’t bear Astrid and Ingrid thinking that she was making a play for Erik just so she could stay in Canada. And she couldn’t bear for them to think Erik was second best in her eyes.

What did she do now? Did she say nothing and meekly go back to England to spend the rest of her days wondering what might have been? Or did she tell Erik how she felt and risk being rebuffed? She didn’t know if she could take more rejection.

Anne shifted onto her back and stared at the ceiling. It was going to be a long, sleepless night.

****

Erik finished feeding the cows and headed back to the house, using an old crutch to help him get around, since his cane was still down by the dugout along with Anne’s sodden jacket, both probably covered with snow by now. To his surprise, Anne had been up before him to help with the milking. After her ordeal the previous day, he’d thought she would sleep late this morning. But once again she surprised him. He couldn’t help feeling a swell of admiration for her.

After putting more wood on the fire, he set the kettle on the stove to boil, along with a pot of water for poached eggs, then brought out the heavy cast iron pan to fry bacon. Since he could no longer help with the milking, preparing breakfast had become his job. He wasn’t much good at it, but at least it was something he could still do.

Ingrid had been right last night; he couldn’t go on like this. His leg hurt more each day, and the list of tasks he could perform was getting shorter. Come spring, would he be able to spend hours on the back of a seeder hitched to a team of horses, putting in the spring wheat? The work was bone-jarring and strenuous for an able-bodied man, but for him… Surgery was increasingly becoming his only option.

Moments later, his mother and sister stepped into the house with the milk, shaking snow from their hair as they took off their coats.

“Where’s Anne?” he asked, alarmed not to find her with them.

“She insisted on walking down to the dugout to get your cane and her jacket,” Astrid said.

“You let her go down there alone?” He headed for the door and grabbed his coat, his heart racing. If something happened to her—

Ingrid put a hand on his arm. “Stop. Anne will be fine. It’s broad daylight and she can see perfectly well where she’s going. She’s a smart, competent woman.”

Erik hesitated. Every fiber of his being wanted to search for her. But that would only embarrass her. “If she’s not here in ten minutes, I’m going to look for her.”