WARNING: This chapter contains some description of child abuse. Read at your own risk!
CHAPTER SONG: "Poison & Wine" by The Civil Wars
March 20th, 2020
Richmond, Virginia
"Mom, if I don't go now while I have the chance, I'll never get to see what's out there in the world." Emmanuelle Hunterson threw the last of her selected clothes in the suitcase, forcing the zipper to clasp the two divided ends together.
Dust particles floated in the air of her bedroom as she adjusted the suitcase on her bed, reminding the young woman how little she had truly gone anywhere meaningful and how sheltered she had been all her life.
Her education, her job, the friends she had drifted away from and most of all, the family dramatics…
She had her mother on speaker-phone as she packed her things. Tomorrow morning, she'd be up bright and early for the airport and on her way to England. And away from her cramped apartment and its smothering confines…
"Baby, I know Davy's wanted to meet you. Why don't you come to California and stay with us for awhile?" Her mother again reminded her of her latest's boyfriend's existence, whom she still had yet to see in person.
And over the last few months, it was clear to Emmy that her mother considered Davy and his family as her own now.
Emmy understood why her mother was so attached, having been hurt so many times in the past…
And she was a grown woman now, she needed to stand by herself and be independent.
"Mom, I'm not even going to be in the country tomorrow. And you already made your decision by moving as far away from Virginia as possible, away from all your family." Emmy's frustration increased at her mother not even acknowledging that she was taking such a huge step. "But, I'm happy that you've found a new one."
"Emmanuelle, please, just listen…" Her mom began, but Emmy interrupted.
"No, Mom!" She asserted, feeling the weight of the years release her at last. "I'm not letting you drag me down anymore! I'm done with you forcing your boyfriends' company on me and the fact that you're never satisfied when you have something good in your life! I just…I can't do it anymore."
A long pause on the speaker-phone, Emmy almost thought her mother had disconnected. But, she was proven wrong.
"You should be grateful for everything I've done for you. I may not have been a perfect mother, but at least I never hurt you like your father did." The flighty, half-tipsy tone of her mother completely disappeared as she spoke those sharp words. "Have a good time on your trip, Emmanuelle."
The young woman sat down on her bed by the suitcase as the dial tone emanated from her phone. She blinked back tears, reaching for her phone and ending the call.
Her hands began to shake as she laid out flat on her bed covers, her legs hanging off the edge. She stared at her phone, exiting the call page and back onto the home screen before pressing the button on its side and setting it into "LOCKED" mode.
Her mother's words buzzed like a ringing tone in her eardrums, not having even thought about that man in years…
She didn't even know if he was still alive. And she didn't care to find out…
As far as Emmy was concerned, all she could rely on was herself to make things right in her life. The few friends she had in college and her well-to-do job as a librarian at the Richmond Public Library were in and out of her life as they either moved away to different cities or became occupied with family matters.
Emmanuelle took a deep breath as she became lost in her thoughts. The screen on her phone had gone black, revealing her disheveled reflection. Her hair was still wet and tangled from her shower prior to the conversation with her mother.
With the spring weather beginning to set in, her pajamas for the night consisted of a pair of grey sweat pants and a Guns n' Roses t-shirt passed down from her mother's youthful days as a rebellious college dropout.
A dull rumble of thunder pealed through the night-time sky outside her small bedroom window as Emmy sat up, remembering that she had neglected to make an addition to her travel ensemble.
Her novel collection to take on the plane…
She made a mental note to only grab what she could fit in her carry-on bag, and she knew which ones exactly to take: the historical romances, love stories that took place in the distant past.
The titles included in her selection included the various novels that appealed to the buried romantic that was harbored deep within her psyche, the side of herself she was ever hesitant to present fully to anyone.
Private Peaceful
Romeo & Juliet
Atonement
Pride & Prejudice
Parade's End
Little Women
Amongst those books, Emmy placed them in her carry-on. She made certain her laptop bag was secure with the battery and plug-in cord with various DVDs of genres matching those of her novel selection.
Both her main suitcase and carry-on bag were placed at the foot of her bed, along with her variety of clothes to wear in the morning. There was nothing harmful about being a little over-prepared.
She was officially ready to sleep for the night, her bitter argument with her mother pushed to the back of her mind. Nothing was going to ruin the trip for her.
Emmy had never been out of the United States before and she was eager to see what wonders of history awaited her, to see before her very eyes what had only before been represented on a computer screen or book pages.
She wanted to learn and educate her mind about the past, partly because it was a distraction from the present. Going to England would be a benefit for her, to meet different people, but mainly to absorb the knowledge of some of the world's most important times past.
She was certainly not going to present herself as an American tourist aiming to catch the eye of any English men, she told herself repeatedly as the days leading to her departure approached closer. No matter how helpful or charming they seemed to be, she would not grow attached and plant roots.
.
.
"Emmy?" A comforting voice floated through Emmanuelle's ears as she struggled to sift through the fog of sleep, fighting to break away from her dream of a haunted future past. "Emmy, wake up, my love."
William…
Emmy's sense of touch returned to her body as she felt herself lying horizontal on a flat surface, the noticeable absence of Schofield's arms around her causing her body to shiver as though she were trapped in the freezing Arctic.
The last when she was awake, she was with her Lance Corporal, in a green field of grass against a tree, the shelter of his presence allowing her a peaceful slumber.
Schofield knelt at her bedside as her head tossed and turned on the pillow, his non-bandaged hand placing upon her cheek to hopefully calm her.
Her erratic breathing ceased into a slower rhythm as she began to overcome whatever was tormenting her, Schofield's injured hand holding one of hers, having been freshly bandaged with clean wrappings around his palm.
Emmanuelle's eyes shot open as she sat up; gasping in a rapid manner as though she had escaped a nightmare of visual horror.
Schofield new all too well the painful adrenaline of reviving one's self from a nightmare.
"Emmanuelle, it's alright. You're safe." He placed both hands upon her trembling shoulders to steady her. He noticed that she hadn't even looked at him yet, as though he wasn't even there at her side.
"Mom, mama!" Emmy gasped, her own arms enfolding around herself, her eyes glassy and unfocused, not noticing the environment around her.
"Shh…Emmy. Look at me." Schofield placed both hands upon her cheeks, turning her face about to see him. "What's wrong? Did you have a nightmare?"
Her tears flowing from the woman's reddened eyes forced her to readjust her sight and behold the soldier trying to provide her comfort. The heat radiating from her flushed cheeks pained Schofield to be reminded of her still existing fever.
Her gasps of breath began to cease much to their relief and Emmy was immediately anchored back onto some level of lucid sanity.
"Will." A sob formed his name through her choked voice. Though her tears were leaking through his fingers as he tenderly held her face, they were both reunited with each other after all the hellish chaos endured and they had to enjoy any moment of happiness that was earned.
"I'm here for you, just as I promised." He soothed in her ear as her arms went around his neck. Schofield embraced Emmy with equal refusal to release her, adjusting himself to sit on the edge of her bed.
Her head rested on his shoulder, the course fabric of his newly dried uniform feeling softer than any pillow she had rested upon before.
Emmanuelle's tears had left their lines down her face, but she had enough dignity to raise her head up and face him, her protector and newly proclaimed love…
Even though she hadn't seen her physical reflection in the 24 hours since arriving in this war-torn pocket of violent history, she knew she definitely didn't look the same since before meeting Schofield. She was covered in bruises, various spots of blood and her near translucent skin still beaded with sweat.
She felt semi-haggard and physically filthy, not even worthy of a gentle touch or kind word… She had human blood on her hands after all…
She sighed out in exasperation, hanging her head and avoiding Schofield's eyes.
"I can see in your eyes, something's troubling you, Emmanuelle." He tipped her chin up with his fingers so improve visual upon her face. "Don't be afraid to confide in me."
His words brought back what she had said to him back at the basement in that French town of fire and brimstone. The name of it escaped her, but she would never forget that moment where they had both crossed the bridge of their relationship.
She had stripped away Schofield's armor and exposed in him the man with the fate of many lives upon his shoulders and she sought to save him from his turmoil. They would serve to save each other.
Emmy smiled in a half-hearted manner, grateful that he was willing to not just be her knight, protecting her physically from any threats in her presence, but be the slayer of her inner demons.
They both leaned on her upright pillow, the surrounding noises around them of male voices shouting orders and the distant groans of injured soldiers, ambulances rumbling around the medical tents, one of which they were now residing in temporarily from when Schofield had first arrived with the message to Col. Mackenzie.
"I…I was dreaming of…" She paused, gulping down the dryness in her throat and trying to form the words.
She paused, fidgeting as her fingers played with Schofield's much larger ones. He patiently waited for her to continue and she reveled in his strong reverent silence.
His bandaged hand carefully wrapped around her wrist while the other cradled her hand. Schofield brought it to his lips and brushed her knuckles with a tender kiss of encouragement.
She beamed at the tender gesture. Lance Corp. William Schofield had the absolute temperance of a saint if she ever knew one…
What would he think once she told him about what she was like in her own time, in 2020? Would he be revolted and push her away? Would he withdraw any claim on her heart and proceed to abandon her to her own defenses in a foreign land and era?
She wouldn't know until she opened up to him…
"Before I ended up in that farmhouse where you found me, I was in London. I was on a tour of the city; because I wanted to see what was out there in the world." She looked down at her lap as Schofield enfolded his arm around her shoulders, holding to his side.
"And where did your family live out in America?" He softly inquired, genuinely wanting to know more about this woman who possessed his heart. He still held her hand, encompassing her delicate fingers within his grip.
"Richmond, Virginia. The night before I left for London, I had a fight with my mom." Her eyes began to well up again as she remembered her dismissal of her mother's pleas. "I come from a broken family."
Emmy looked up at Schofield, wanting to see his reaction to the phrase she had just used. She saw curiosity and sympathy in his eyes as he pulled her closer, maneuvering her to be sat between his legs since there was space on the makeshift bed for a single person.
She was leaning against his chest as she had while they were resting on that tree in the field. Most likely, he had carried her back to the tent after they both dozed off.
"I'm not certain what you mean, Emmy." Schofield confessed his confusion with her description of her familial dilemma.
"In my time, in the 21st century, divorce happens very frequently. Married couples fall out and sometimes for the worst reasons." She closed her eyes, leaning her head on his breast-bone, feeling the rectangle tin in his front tunic pocket.
"And your mother and father were no longer together?" Schofield questioned her again with that endless patience of his; it both calmed and saddened her at the same time.
"My mom claimed that my dad was a drinker even before I was born. He may have even drunk more since I entered their lives. After I was born, my mom went to work at her job and my dad stayed home with me, promising he'd get help for his alcoholism." The memories of her infanthood, at least according to her mother and the case file, came back to her.
The strengthening safety of Schofield's arms around her gave Emmy the courage to keep going with her tale of woe.
"When I was two years old, I was being toilet trained. One day, my mom was at work and my aunt was supposed to help my dad keep an eye on me." She kept on with the story, bracing herself to give him the details of the inciting incident. "For whatever reason, she couldn't make it to help watch me, and it left my dad turning to beer again that day."
Schofield exhaled deeply as though he had been holding from breathing, hanging onto every word of her story. She felt him tense up as he sat behind her, one of his arms around her collarbone to keep her within reach.
"Go on, if you want to, Emmy." He whispered only for her to hear. She needed to know he wasn't going anywhere away from her, no matter what she said next.
She nodded, her hands grasping onto his arm that was encircling her as his protective instinct ached within the back of his mind.
Schofield reminded himself that this was in her past, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it.
"He had a lot to drink that day and he'd given me a glass of grape juice with my breakfast. Later that morning…I'd made a mess in my pants and didn't make it to the bathroom in time." The embarrassment of revealing such private information to him made her want to cringe away from Schofield, to tell him that she was foul and impure, and that he deserved to love a woman better than herself, but she bit back her words.
"You don't have to say anything more about it if you don't want to, Emmanuelle." Schofield knew it was impossible, but he wanted to even keep her shielded from her own memories, the ones that brought her pain and misery.
"No, I haven't ever told anyone about this and I just want you to know the kind of life I had before I ended up here." She asserted herself to him, not wanting to seem pathetic, to show him the type of woman he was pledging himself to.
She blinked away the tears in her eyes as she took a deep breath, feeling Schofield's nose skim the top of her head, his chin coming to rest atop of it. Her hair most likely still smelled like that river they had been swept up in, but she could be self-conscious later. She had to tell him…
"As I was saying, I'd had an accident that morning, and when he saw the stain on my pajamas…" She took another breath as it came back to her, assaulting the forefront of her mind like a film she couldn't turn away from. "He dragged me into the bathroom by the arm… he stood me in front of the toilet and held my hand down…
Schofield's jaw clenched as he raised his head up, inhaling a deep breath as his arm around her tightened with only the slightest pressure. Only then did Emmy begin to truly understand the depth of her Lance Corporal's feelings for her. Even when he pictured her in his mind as a toddler, he still viewed her as the woman he loved and couldn't bear to see her in danger of any kind.
"He took the lid, which was heavy and made of marble, and smashed it down upon my hand." Emmy looked down at her hands, clenching them into fists. "He broke two of my fingers on it."
She held up her hand to show Schofield as he loosened his arm around her so she could turn to face him.
"I was taken to the hospital and the nurses rightly suspected it was due to child abuse. The police arrested my dad and my mom filed for divorce and a restraining order for him to stay away from us. She kept custody of me and he was legally barred from ever contacting me until I turned 18." She engaged in Schofield's reaction to her words as he stared at her hand.
He gently took it into his own, as though it were a piece of fragile glass, his fingertips tracing over the length of all her fingers. He noticed two faint scars along the ring finger and her pinky finger, starting from the knuckle bone and ending at the fingernails.
Schofield lifted her hand up, his lips placed an individual kiss on each scarred finger. Both his hands cradled her damaged one, his thumb lightly stroking her tiny knuckles. He looked up at her and Emmy saw none of the repugnance she had half expected to see on his face when she finished her story. His eyes held nothing but pure admiration and pride for her willing to tell him about such a difficult ordeal.
"How could anyone want to hurt you then or now, Emmanuelle?" He spoke for the first time since her story concluded in a soft whisper, as though it were a question that had no true answer.
"This… this doesn't make you think any less of me, does it, Will?" Her other hand that wasn't being held by his reached up and touched his slightly hollowed cheek. In spite of the rest they'd had under the tree, he still looked tired.
"Of course not." He responded without hesitation. "It leaves me thankful that you were kept from further harm and he couldn't go near you again."
"But, my mother!" She sobbed out, her head pounding with the increase of her tears. "I said awful things to her before I left…. And what if I can never apologize to her? I was such a selfish bitch! I'm never going to see her again, am I?"
Schofield felt helpless, listening to her crying as he wrapped her fully into his arms, pulling her closer than ever. Her scarred hand reached up and again felt the tobacco tin in his uniform front pocket, keeping in the back of her mind to ask him about what was inside and why it was kept within such easy reach.
"I swear to you, Emmanuelle Julia Hunterson." Schofield said her full name aloud, his eyes never leaving hers as they broke away from their embrace. "We'll find a way to get you home. You will see your mother again and make amends with her."
He was making another vow to her, something that was unbreakable in the English code of honor he bore as a soldier and Emmy laughed with joy and relief that he was willing to endure this beyond strange predicament with her.
"And don't refer to yourself with such a vulgar word, love. Being angry at someone doesn't make you a bad person. The kindness and courage you've shown since being here is what made me want to offer you my heart." Sincerity dripped from his words with the fiercest conviction.
Her tears were wiped away by his careful hands as she bent down and kissed his lips with a passion she never knew existed within her. She knew there were other people, other men, around but she failed to care.
They loved each other and she wasn't going to be ashamed of it.
Lance Corporal William Christopher Schofield was her hero and placed any fictional literary figures she had once adored at the bottom tier.
Romeo Montague, Fitzwilliam Darcy, Edward Rochester…
Her Lance Corporal had them all beat; a man of flesh and blood who went above the limit for not only her but for over a thousand strangers with families of their own.
They pulled away from their kissing, gasping for breath as though they had been underwater.
Schofield smiled up at her she stood on her knees, gazing at her as though she held the sun and moon in each hand.
"Beautiful isn't a near adequate enough word to describe you, my love." He murmured, his lips brushing hers with a chaste feather-touch of a kiss.
"You already recited a poem about my eyes. Where did you learn it?" She asked, delighted in the chance to move the subject away from her past.
"In school as a boy. I believe it's by Geoffrey Chaucer." Schofield told her, his nose skimming with the tip of hers. "Are you desiring any Shakespeare? I may be rusty with that one."
"Well, he wrote a lot of famous verses about women, their faces, everything about their qualities." She couldn't help but brag and hint about her knowledge as a librarian. "Like I said, you already gave me poetry about my eyes. What other features of mine are inspiring you?"
Her voice lowered into a husky whisper as Schofield narrowed his eyes, considering negotiating with her but not using his words.
His thumb traced along her bottom lip, and he thought of fulfilling her request. He opened his mouth to respond when his train of thought was interrupted by the sound of her stomach rumbling.
What an idiot he was! Here he was sitting around when neither of them had sustainable meals in many hours.
"Emmanuelle, I'm so sorry. I should've gotten food for you after I brought you back here." Schofield apologized immensely.
"Yes…I have been really hungry. I…I just didn't wanna worry you since you were so tired." She adjusted the pillow behind her as he removed himself from her bed and straightened up his uniform. "I promise not to tell Lt. Blake that you didn't obey his order and made sure I ate. Just please get enough for yourself too."
She smiled at him, feeling more comfortable than ever now that she was able to joke with him.
A sparkle in his eye shined brightly as he beamed back at her, and that she was looking out for his welfare too.
"As you wish." Schofield promised, stepping back to her bedside and bending down to kiss her lips once more. Before departing from her side, he whispered something not scribed by any author, but something original that was inspired by just seeing her so filled with happiness. "Mon amour pour vous durera pendant cette guerre et pour toujours après.'*
*"My love for you will endure through this war and forevermore after." The language is French since Schofield is implied to speak it in the film.