The Heart's War (15 page)

"Yes," I said, "You did me a favor, getting me about the Olympic. It's a favor I don't know I'll ever be able to repay, because you're helping me see my fiancé one last time before he goes to fight in this war you're constantly talking about."

I jabbed my finger against his chest. Lawrence backed up so that he butted against the rail, leaning back and gripping it with both hands as he bore the full brunt of my assault.

"And don't think that I can't see your coyness. I'm not a dimwit; I know what you want in return. You speak continually of getting my pity. Well, what about Jeff? Suppose you got the payment you wanted, and Jeff discovered it. Would you have that young man going over to fight in France with that knowledge hanging over him?"

My heartbeat quickened so that I could feel it in every extremity, and my skin flushed with blood. I jammed my finger harder into Lawrence's chest, and he nearly lost his cap to the ocean as he jerked back once more.

"Eleanor, he doesn't have to know a thing. He's not aboard the Olympic. How would he ever find out?"

"Because I would tell him."

I tried injecting as much venom into my voice as I could. My body trembled, and I hope Lawrence took it as anger. But really, it was a cold fear and uncertainty. Oh, I wasn't about to let Lawrence press himself on me. But he was a captain, with no small amount of power.

What if he chose to take his frustrations out on my poor Jeff? What if he told Jeff about his favor, and then lied to him about my method of repayment?

And through all that I felt the guilt as a heavy ball and chain, latched to the bottom of my heart and going down through the pit of my stomach. How could I ever repay Lawrence for what he'd done, despite his ulterior motives for doing so?

With that, I let my finger drop. The knuckle ached where I bent it back. I didn't let my eyes leave his, though. Not until he tried to say something, but couldn't, and instead let his gaze fall from mine.

With that, I turned and left with my back stiff and straight. I hoped that none of the other girls were in our shared room. I just wanted to be alone.

Chapter 14

We reached Liverpool the following day. I had been so excited that I neglected my washing. Mrs. Montag chided me several times, but even that couldn't lower my spirit. The look on her face when I told her that I would be leaving my post when we docked also helped in that respect.

None of the other girls were leaving, and they seemed satisfied with taking out their frustrations by telling me to not add a third man to my itinerary.

"Why, it'd be a love quadrangle!" the Irish girl said. She still hadn't gotten all her color back from her shock at the attempted torpedoing, and the threads of red hair that came loose from her bun looked like little lines of fire across her forehead.

I smiled and returned to my folding. They could have their little jokes and jabs. But they'd be the ones departing on the Olympic when it went back for another load of soldiers.

And I would be in England. Liverpool wouldn't have been my first choice for a visit (I would have much preferred London) but it was still a place I never thought I'd get the chance to visit.

Finishing with my duties, I rushed straight back to my room. My bed I left in order, with my plain work clothes folded on top of the pillow. I changed into a much more comfortable dress (only a little short at the hem, with fancy stitching across the bodice) and pulled on the flats that had taken me from Kitchener to Halifax.

I checked my suitcases and found everything intact (with an eye for the money in its plain manila bank envelope).

Grabbing up everything, I rushed to the deck.

The morning fog hadn't yet lifted. The stuff shifted and roiled just over the surface of the water, and hung as a haze in front of my eyes.

But when we got closer, it dissipated. I dropped my bags to the deck and leaned against the rail, my eyes widening to take everything in.

The city of Liverpool sprawled out before me. Tall brick smokestacks belched black clouds skyward from every corner. By the harbor were many warehouses and factories. Beyond that, I thought I caught a glimpse of the city that lay beyond the industry. Gold statues glinted from the top of some of the buildings, and some even appeared to have columns.

For a moment, I caught a view straight down one street as it lined up before me. A trolley made its way straight down the middle, and I could practically hear its bells ringing.

Flocks of gulls flew through the air in dirty white clouds, calling and screaming at each other. Ships blew their horns and a general cacophony of industry filled the air.

Tugboats came out from the harbor and bumped against the hull. And a warship as well, coming into what I figured was a protective posture. It was tall and aggressive, with massive batteries of cannons fore and aft.

This close to civilization, the smells of the city mingled with the salty air. There was that faint scent of old wet wood, and the more pungent aroma of fish and bird leavings.

Sailors came out on the decks of both ships to wave at each other.

The tugboats angled the Olympic for a berth along the pier. Big green army trucks already waited in long lines to convey the soldiers to their barracks.

And there, at the berth ahead of ours, was the Mauretania. My breath caught when I saw her. Her stern faced us, and she was painted in a dazzling scheme much like the Olympic. Sailors moved around on her, some leaning against the rails or waving to their comrades aboard the Olympic.

Men rushed about on the deck and on the pier below, securing the ship with massive chains. I waited impatiently at a spot on deck where a gangway would come up. A sailor already waited by the area, ready to secure everything and make sure everyone exited in a formal manner.

More and more soldiers spilled out on the deck, and I caught their conversations in snippets.

It seemed they'd be headed to an encampment just outside the city limits, waiting their turn to be shipped across the Channel.

Many of them spoke about the attack. They talked about how the sub had launched a score of torpedoes at us. One or two mentioned how they'd heard dull thumps against the hull. Clearly, shoddy German engineering making dud bombs.

I smiled at their embellishments. But the event hadn't needed any more fantasy to be harrowing. Had there really been a score of torpedoes aimed at us, we'd be resting on the bottom of the Atlantic at that moment, instead of waiting to set foot in England.

Slowly, the men below brought the gangway up.

It bumped against the hull, and the sailor standing by the railing secured it. A moment later he had the gate open. Men jostled for position, all wanting to be the first down onto English soil.

It was all still a great adventure to most of them, I could see.

"Hey there!
You lot! Stand aside; women first, you brutes!" the sailor called out, betraying his English heritage with his thick accent.

Then he pulled his cap off, waved down the gangway, and looked at me expectantly.

I thought I must look red as a ripe tomato. People never made so much fuss over me before. The sailor's grin grew when he saw my embarrassment.

"Come, love,
it's okay!"

I picked up my cases, took a breath, and stepped onto that ramp. My legs shook so much beneath me as I made my way down that the Earth must have been trembling.

When I set foot on the pier, I realized that my legs were the source of the shaking. The long journey across the sea had gotten my body used to a gentle rocking motion, despite the calmness of the Atlantic.

I stumbled and a man standing at the foot of the gangway caught me.

"Thanks!" I said, my cheeks so hot I thought they might singe my hair.

I tried not to look back as I made my way down the pier towards the city. I knew I looked drunk, with my swaying back and forth.

Many of the soldiers here wore different uniforms, the coloring darker than those worn by the Canadians. A few of the men even worse what I first mistook for skirts, which I then realized were kilts.

Many of them bore long rifles slung across their backs.

I stopped one man who looked particularly important, judging by the number of stripes on his arm and the bits of shiny metal hanging from his breast.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Hello... sir... Would you know where I might enquire about the whereabouts of a particular Canadian soldier?"

His eyebrows rose up his forehead, and he rubbed at his chin for a moment. I thought that he might brush me off with something about how he had something important to do, but he relented, his shoulders losing their stiffness.

"Try that building yonder, missy. They'll know where your man is," he said, pointing over my shoulder.

Before I could thank him, he walked away.

Tugging my hat down so that the wind couldn't take it, I again hefted my bags and walked towards the place he'd indicated. It looked of recent construction, being three storeys tall with brickwork so new it still seemed hot from the kiln.

The Red Ensign fluttered about in the wind over the main entrance. A touch of homesickness gripped my insides when I saw it. I tried not to think about the thousands
of miles of land and sea separating me from Kitchener, pushing it from my mind as I pushed the door open.

Again, I found myself standing in front of a desk looking down at a flustered, overworked soldier. He opened a filing cabinet by his chair and rifled through the papers within.

This office seemed even busier than the one in Halifax. Men actually ran back and forth clutching folders and clipboards. The buzzing ring of the phones was like the constant drone of a cloud of flies right next to your ears.

The place smelled of stale sweat and old coffee. A cup of the black stuff sat cooling on the officer's desk as he banged shut one drawer and opened the next. I flinched at the sharp noise.

"What did you say his name was? George Birch?" the man said.

"Beech!"
I said, leaning forward, "Jeffrey Beech. With a 'J.'"

He made a face like I'd forced a spoonful of something sour into his mouth and opened the first drawer he'd looked in.

"Yes, I have a Jeff Beech right here..." he started to say more, then squinted up at me.

"What is your relation to him again,
miss...?"

"Winters.
Eleanor Winters. I'm Jeff's fiancé. I came up on the Olympic. I just need to see him once more before you send him off to the war."

"That's some dedication. I hope he knows what kind of woman he's got waiting for him... Ah! It appears his file hasn't been updated since he disembarked from the Mauretania and reported for muster."

"Where are the Canadians being kept?" I asked, putting my hands down onto his desk, "Maybe I can go and see if he's there?"

The officer nodded, flipping through his papers. A breath of cool air blew down the back of my neck from the ceiling fan spinning in lazy circles up above.

"I'm sorry, but they're not letting any civilians near the barracks. There's been talk of German spies in the city, and we can't risk exposing the disposition or numbers of our men."

"But..." I said.

Cold fingers wrapped around my stomach and tugged it down towards my feet. Was I caught in some bureaucratic loop here? They had a record of Jeff, but due to their own oversight it wasn't updated. And I couldn't even go try to find him. For all I knew, he was in the next floor.

"Won't you please just let me know? I'm not a spy. I just want to see my fiancé before he goes," I said.

He held up his hands, clearly not wanting an emotional woman on his hands. I let my eyes water a little. Sometimes, it paid to be a little more visibly emotional. It was amazing what a man might do for you if he thought the tears were imminent.

"I'm sure you're not. Look, I would tell you straight away, but I can't. Orders, you see?"

I made a show of opening one of my suitcases, finding a handkerchief, and dabbing at my eyes. I'd crossed an ocean for Jeff. I'd nearly been in a shipwreck for him. I wasn't going to let the army version of a secretary keep me from him, not when I was so close I could practically smell his shaving soap fresh on his cheeks.

"I suppose I'll just have to see if I can get back about the Olympic before she goes back to Canada..." I said, looking as dejected as I could at a spot I'd picked on the wall over his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Miss Winters, this is the best... Wait, don't go. Please. I can do something, I know it. I will enquire about his whereabouts, and send you a telegram with the information to your hotel," he said.

"You will? Oh, thank you!" I said, sniffing for effect and giving him a smile. "But, sir, I don't know yet where I'm staying..."

He nodded, his lips pursing. Then he grabbed up a little square of paper and his pen and scribbled on it. After a few second's hesitation, he slid this across the desk to me. I grabbed it up and looked at what he'd scrawled on it.

"That's me, Second
Leftenant Cross. Send a telegram to me at this building with your return information, and I'll see to it you find out where your man, Jeff, is."