CHAPTER SONG: "Let Me Call You Sweetheart" (1911) by The Peerless Quartet & Henry Burr

*Song composed by Leo Friedman and lyrics by Beth Slater Whitson, copyrighted April 1910.

April 7th, 1917

Dear Mrs. Blake,

This letter is being written with the blessing of your eldest, Joseph. It's with the deepest of sympathies that I feel to inform you of the departure of your son Thomas. There is no explanation my mind can conjure up that describes how much I miss his presence, so full of optimism and dreams of the future.

I will spare you the details of what happened; only that it was in the heat of combat, quick and painless to where he felt nothing at all when he left this world. I was placed in the position of being by his side when he died, to assure him that he wouldn't be alone. He was brave and selfless to the very end, eager to do the right thing and determined to keep his empathy as a human being.

Even though my knowing of him was brief in the span of our deployment together, we got on immediately from the moment he first made me laugh. He was always looking to cheer up the boys in our darkest and hopeless of moments. And from how he spoke of you, I could see that he loved you and Joseph. I guarantee that you were the last person on his mind before he went to a much better place than this purgatory that remains of the French countryside.

He is watching over us now and he would want you to remember him at his best. Please don't hesitate in responding to this letter should you desire to reach out and ask what I can do to aid your family in this beyond difficult time. I am at your humble service.

My most sincere condolences,

Lance Corporal William Schofield

8th Battalion of the Devonshire Regiment

Schofield read over the ink inscribed words in front of him on the fresh paper. Smears of his fingertips were coated along the edges, but he wanted to make sure this letter would be acceptable in sending to Blake's mother.

His stomach mercifully had ceased growling after having acquired whatever food he could grab from the mess tent for himself and Emmanuelle, making certain she had a fuller meal.

His tin bowl of porridge with a biscuit and cup of coffee mixed with a drop of rum, suggested by Lt. Blake, sat at his feet, each morsel eaten fully as they lay on the grass at his feet. The chair he was sitting in positioned by Emmy's bedside as she finished her meal, Schofield glancing every now and then to see she ate every bite.

No food could go to waste in wartime and he had deduced some time ago that she had gone longer than he without eating.

She had finished her porridge and slice of ham, leaving Schofield relieved that she was gaining nutrients in her body. He regrettably hadn't been able to find any chocolate delicacies for her to treat herself with as she had teasingly requested.

His eyes ended up focused for one long second on a trail of tea dripping down her chin and then to her bruised throat as she drank the rest of the liquid in her cup. She wiped it away with the napkin he had provided her with before his mind could go to a more ungentlemanly path of thought.

"That was delicious, Will." She placed her dishes at the foot of the makeshift bed. "I feel much more energized now."

Pulling the blanket off of her legs, she swung them over the edge of the bed so her feet could touch the ground, a slight cough escaping from her mouth. Schofield looked in her direction, tearing his eyes away from the letter he was focused on again momentarily.

"I'm glad you're feeling better, Emmanuelle." He took ahold of her hand and kissed it. Schofield tasted the sweetened remnants of tea staining her fingers. "But, I really don't want to take any risks with your health. I'll make arrangements to escort you to a hospital after sunset. We want to ensure you have a clean bill of recovery."

His larger hands held hers in their gentle grip. She braced herself for her legs to stand her up, feeling the blood pumping down in her veins.

"At least let me stand up, I've barely walked on my feet all day." Emmy pulled her hands away from his grip, keeping in mind the wound on her leg. She felt Schofield's eyes never leave her face as she stood to her full height from the bed.

"My love, we need to mind your leg. Until it heals, you need to be careful." His hands reached forward, preparing to catch her should she fall.

Emmy placed as little pressure as possible on her bandaged leg, balancing her body in front of Schofield, knowing she probably looked like an amateur ballerina, practicing standing with only one limb of her body.

"Will, you can't keep me from getting hurt every second of the day." She held her head high as she kept balancing herself to stand correctly. By instinct, she placed an equal amount of weight on her wounded leg and she leaned backward to her bed. She winced at the pain in her calf where it was spreading to her thigh.

Schofield placed an arm around her shoulders before she could fall onto the bed, guiding her to sit down again. "How badly does it hurt? Should I fetch a surgeon for you?"

"Will, I'm fine! I'm not a delicate flower..." She huffed, shrugging his arm off of her. The guilt immediately washed over in her conscience. Her emotions were all over the place and she could hear Schofield's intake of breath at her irritated attitude.

He had been through Hell and back in the last day and a half, much more than she had endured, and here she was snapping at him over his worry for her.

Schofield's head was bowed, his gaze aimed at the ground beneath their feet, avoiding her eyes. He said so much with just his body language and facial gestures, his jaw clenching with repressed feeling. Any apology she attempted would be futile compared to the sorrow she was experiencing for him.

He had helped and protected her when he had no reason to. She couldn't afford to push him away after everything they had endured together.

"Will?" Her hand reached under his chin so he would meet her eyes. "I'm sorry... You deserve better than me raising my temper. I know you're only looking out for my well-being."

Her fingers stroked through his brown hair, Schofield closing his eyes at her soothing touch. A sigh of bliss exhaled from him, his hand pulling her closer to him.

"Come here, love." He whispered, his arm scooping up her legs and his other one gently tugging her down to be perched in his lap. "You've no reason to apologize. But, you must at least allow me to arrange for you to be at a hospital. It's not safe here for you."

"There's a war happening." Her arms were around his neck, their foreheads touching. Schofield's brow was slick with sweat, his arms clutching her close. "There's no safe place for anyone."

The severity of her words was such that Schofield could think of no verbal response to them. He had to remind himself over again that she was not a naïve girl born of this era. She knew of things which he could not possibly fathom.

Her words from the basement in Ecoust, when they had been entangled together in blissful ignorance in the aftermath of declaring feelings for one another, echoed in his memory...

There's something I need to tell you... when the war will be over...

"Emmanuelle?" He said her name to gain her attention. His un-bandaged hand wove through her untamable brunette hair as he brushed it over one of her shoulders. "Back when we were in Ecoust...in that basement..." He began slowly, hoping to ease her into answering what he was about to ask. A shiver racked down his own spine at recalling the events in that godforsaken town. "You had mentioned knowing about when this war will be over."

He paused to gage her reaction. Just like when they had been discussing her personal past, he knew he had to keep patience with her, or risk frightening her away like a startled rabbit. He wanted to know more of what she was thinking. In the many hours of knowing her, just hearing her speak was like listening to a musical instrument he had never heard before, intriguing him and leaving him with desiring all the knowledge she had to offer. Her mind was a treasure trove of beautiful mystery...

Emmy looked away from him and stared at the ground, the trail of ants crawling along the dirt to the small mound of their home keeping her focus instead.

"Emmanuelle?" Schofield murmured her name again as she continued staring away from him in contemplative silence. "What is it? You've gone pale again."

Worry saturated his voice as he carefully lifted Emmy up in his arms and placed her back on the bed. Her legs knocked over her dish of leftover food crumbs and empty teacup onto the dirt by the anthill. The insects scattered out of line and toward the plate like a chaotic army with no direction...

The woolen blanket covered her up to her bosom as she leaned back against the pillow. She still had yet to look Schofield in the eye as she remained speechless. The concerned Lance Corporal held a tin of cold water from the rickety table at the bedside.

"At least drink some water, sweetheart." He calmly ordered her, the term of endearment slipping off his tongue without effort. He had never used such a saccharine word in reference to anyone before, but he would've said anything to break her out of this state of mind.

What on God's earth was going through her head?

He raised his hand up and felt her forehead, sleek with perspiration and mild fever, thankfully not as strong compared to when he had to carry her up that damning hill from the rapids, him struggling to walk and her battling to breathe air into her lungs.

Her shaking fingers took hold of the water tin, her hands trembling as she brought it to her freshly licked lips and drank every drop, much to Schofield's relief. She laid the tin cup in her lap, hanging her head before finally turning to look her lion-hearted soldier.

"Will, I can't tell you anything like that about the future." The crack in her voice was evident despite the recent hydration in her throat. "I shouldn't have said anything. Any dates or events that happen after today..."

She trailed off, shaking her head as she placed both hands upon her scalp, fingers curling to grab onto greasy strands of her hair.

Schofield placed his bandaged hand on her shoulder, the other one upon her cheek, attempting to comfort her or at least keep her from accidentally harming herself in this emotional turmoil tormenting her. What he would have given to understand this woman whom he loved beyond his own comprehension...

"Say something, please." Schofield was nearly begging her to speak. He wasn't a man of many words, but he couldn't bear to see her suffer in selective muteness. "I'm here. Nothing you say will sway my heart away from you."

She emitted an unearthly hybrid of a sound, between a laugh and a sob.

"I'm sorry, Will!" She turned to look at him again, a lone tear from each eye streaming down her face. "I'm afraid if I say anything about the future with this war... it could compromise what's already supposed to happen. I can't say anything without risking your safety. You've done enough worrying about mine. If anything happened to you...and knowing it would be because of me. If you hadn't found me...maybe Tom would still be alive...if I hadn't interfered."

Schofield absorbed her words, contemplating how to respond to her confession, but he took hold of her face with both hands, careful not to touch the yet-to-be-healed skin of her neck. The reminding bruises of that farm and that German pilot...

"Emmanuelle... there was nothing either of us could do with what happened to Tom. Even if you weren't there, the chances of both of us not making it here would still be slim. But I'm glad he was able to know you before he died. You bewitched the both of us for the better." His thumbs wiped away her tears as they leaned toward one another, pulled to each other by a magnetic force neither of them was willing to question.

"Surely I wasn't that much of a catch for you, Will." She whispered, pulling away from him as he released her face. "I was probably the first woman you'd seen in months, just eager to see a pretty face. While I've never felt this way for a man the way I do for you... part of me worries...what if I feel differently...if I ever make it back to my own time? And...what if you don't feel the same way for me after the war is over. I...I know we haven't had much time to deliberate us being together... And people don't fall in love after only hours of meeting each other. But...when you and Blake first spoke to me after I woke up at the farm... I knew that you weren't going to hurt me and that I could trust you. I felt like I'd known you for years...for all my life. "

She trailed off in her speech, feeling Schofield's pensive gaze on her. Emmy thought about all the literary couples in the books she'd studied and read to their final pages. She knew how to separate fictional stories from real life. She was never one to form fast and strong attachments to any man, no matter how generous or friendly they seemed. She had been completely content with her independence.

But what if her being here was no accident?

The picture of her as a bride in 1918, unrecognizable and seeming as though she belonged in that photo, the wedding dress adorning her body perfectly down to the last stitch of fabric. And the engagement ring that fit her finger as if it were fashioned exclusively for her petite hand...

Was she meant to be in this era of the 1910s rather than 2020? Could she truly acclimate to being here in the long term? If she even lived to see tomorrow...

"Emmanuelle." Schofield was on his knees at her bedside, at his tall form allowing him to be at eye level with her as she reclined on the bed. "This godforsaken war has made me do things I've regretted." He looked down at the ground, casting his eyes away, feeling unworthy of being in her presence. "Not just here...but in Thiepval, last year..."

He choked on his words, not able to make any sounds come out of his mouth.

Thomas Blake was just an addition to his mental list written in the blood of the men he had witnessed dying... All the wasted, young lives...

Emmy put the pieces together, deciphering what he confessing to her in such few words.

He had been in the Battle of the Somme, the casualties on record far too great to place in an exact number. At least in the millions, according to the history books. Pictures or sound-bites she may have sampled at any museum would seem like a cheap imitation compared to the real horrors Schofield was certain to have seen before his eyes. He had blood on his hands, like she did now... And she would have to live with it.

She wouldn't ask him to recall such events for shallow curiosity.

He was being shaken by a traumatic memory and here she was worrying like a schoolgirl over this man's feelings for her. Out of all the women in the world, how could he love her? She still believed every word he said to her, however. They echoed within her mind every time she doubted if she was deserving of his affection.

She lifted up his hand in her small grip and kissed his fingers, like how he had done earlier for her. His large blue eyes looked up at her gesture of adoration.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, Will." She repeated the same sentiment from when she had opened up to him about her own past.

Schofield hung his head and exhaled a heavy sigh, as though a weight were lifted from his shoulders. He soaked in the gentleness of her touch.

"Emmanuelle, you being here is just as important as me and Blake being sent to deliver that message to Col. MacKenzie. Sixteen hundred lives would be lost if you hadn't pulled me out of that river. I was ready to give up, but made me see sense. You were sent here to save us, to be my guardian angel. God must have seen something in you... and brought us together."

She nodded her head, the tears returning to her eyes. She wiped them away quickly before he could notice. He most likely did, Schofield was perceptive in that manner.

Exhausted of this baffling subject matter, saw a glint of gold shine on the shoulder of his uniform that caught in the afternoon sunlight through one of the holes ripped in the tent.

The word "SURREY" on his shoulder and she felt like a prize idiot for not noticing before after being carried around by this man multiple times in the last day and a half. Most of the soldiers' uniforms bore the name of the town of their enlistment or residence... That must have been where his family was...

A strange sound floated in her ears on the breeze. A crackle of static and a slow melody of trumpets...

Somebody was playing a gramophone in another tent nearby. She couldn't hold whoever it belonged to at fault for enjoying music in a time like this.

The singing of the lyrics was difficult for her to hear because of the recording quality, but she was distracted by the sound of Schofield humming along with the tune. He knew the song... and she wanted to learn more about from him.

"What's this song, Will?" She asked him, her tone of voice almost childlike in her interest.

"Let Me Call You Sweetheart", it was played at my sister's wedding when she married." A melancholic note invaded his voice as he mentioned a detail of his life before the war to her.

Their hands were still locked together, and she suddenly felt the need to follow the rhythm of the song, to have him hold her as they danced... But that would only be hindered with her injured leg.

If she couldn't be on her feet without aid, they could at least improvise.

"Would you be able to help me understand the lyrics? I don't understand what they're singing about." She was partly playing coy and genuinely struggling to listen to the words.

Her arms were then around his neck, leaning as close to him as possible while still sitting in bed. Her fingers played with the hair at the back of his head, careful not to touch where his cranial injury was. Schofield's arms reached around her, his hands hooking together along her upper back.

Their foreheads touched, and their eyes closed, reveling in one another's embrace, as though one couldn't live without the other.

Schofield whispered to her, each word versed with all the emotion in his soul...

*"Longing for you all the while, more and more

Longing for the sunny smile I adore

You alone my heart can cheer... "

He was pouring his heart out to her, presenting his truly vulnerable side and a romantic persona that most men in her own time would be afraid to show, at the expense of their own masculinity... In those precious moments, they were allowed to forget where they were, they could shelter each other with the happiness flowing through them.

Never in her twenty-eight years of life had Emmy felt so safe and protected...

Schofield himself knew he could be his true self around this woman...but at the same time, he knew he had little to offer her. She was from a different world and he didn't blame her for wanting to return home. Because he loved Emmanuelle, he had to stay true to his word and he couldn't be selfish with her...

"Let me call you sweetheart, I'm in love with you

Let me hear you whisper that you love me too"

He leaned closer to breathe those last lyrics of the song into her ear, serenading her. His lips brushed her blushing cheek with a chaste kiss.

Emmanuelle could feel her eyelids getting heavy, her eyelashes fluttering against Schofield's cheekbone as they leaned back away from each other. When the concluding notes of the song faded away, Emmy graced his lips with a kiss of her own, pulling away while mouthing those immortal words.

"I love you, William."

A yawn escaped her before she winced, clutching at her side where her ribcage was. No doubt she was bruised up especially from that waterfall, and very fortunate not to have broken any bones.

"Lay back, my love. Don't strain yourself. I had you sitting up too long. Forgive me." Schofield placed his hands upon her shoulders, gingerly positioning her against the pillow so she was somewhat comfortable.

"I'm okay. It's just probably more bruising on me." She attempted to brush off his apology, but found it difficult to ignore the worry in his eyes.

"Try to sleep some more. I'll wake you once I have more information about getting an ambulance for transport to the hospital." He took her hand into his and pressed his lips to her knuckles.

She yawned again and he couldn't help but smile at her battle to stay awake. "What I'd give right now for a change of clothes and a hot bath."

Emmy more mumbled the words to herself than to Schofield as she turned her head and closed her eyes. He set her hand back at her side and situated the blanket to cover her up to the shoulders.

She appeared to have fallen into a quiet slumber as he went to his chair and grabbed up the letter he had penned for the Blake matriarch. His heart felt heavy with grief as he looked over the words again, deciding if he should have a second opinion on it before giving it out to be delivered for the mail carrier.

The lovely sight of Emmy sleeping only an arm's reach away from him convinced Schofield that he should catch up on some much needed rest as well.

Sitting upon the chair, its wooden legs squeaking beneath his weight which thankfully didn't disturb the woman resting by him; he pulled out his blue tobacco tin from his tunic pocket and removed the lid. Safekeeping for the letter while he weighed on his decision how to proceed further...

His other keepsakes, pictures and knickknacks from home remained intact and he sent a silent thanks to the maker of this sturdy container, allowing it to survive without a single dent in the metal or a drop of water from the river to soak his precious photographs.

As he placed the letter in the tin, a strong breeze sent one of the photos from the bottom of the stack floating in the air. In a haste not to lose it, Schofield stood to his feet and snatched the picture in his hand before it could be blown out of the tent.

Sighing to himself, he sat back down in the chair and pulled out each photo, just to reassure himself that they were in pristine condition.

The lone photo of his older sister, Molly (nee' Schofield) Satterthwaite, regal in her best Sunday dressing and her kind eyes staring at the camera with subtle authority.

Then, the picture of her daughters, his two little nieces... Cecelia or "Cici" as he lovingly nicknamed her and Giselle or "Elle", she had called herself after having trouble saying her name whilst in the process of growing out her front teeth. Their innocent faces smiling at the photographer with the promise of their whole lives ahead of them.

As Schofield went through the photo stack, he noticed one extra concealed from his sight. The one that almost escaped from the tin, but one he had not placed in there before nor had he known its existence...

Emmanuelle Hunterson was the subject of the ambiguous picture, and the vivid color palette almost hurt his eyes, he was unaccustomed to such clarity in such an image, however beautiful it was...

A picture of her, in the brightest color was in his tobacco tin. Somehow he knew it wasn't his mind playing tricks on him from a lack of sleep. This was real, and if he was to believe his own words to Emmy from before, divine intervention had a hand in this beguiling miracle.

He turned the photo over and the words he read made him thank the heavens for giving him an anchor to prevent him from drifting out into the vast ocean of this war.

November 11th, 1918

I'll come back to you, Will

Forever yours, Emmy

XXX