9 Clear View From The Edge

My apologies. It has been entirely too long, I've been having an eventful life (good stuff, don't worry). This chapter was actually the first thing I wrote when I decided to do this project, and I have revised it a million times as the project grew. This is NOT the last chapter, this is comparatively serious, and I still want to tie up a couple ends and get a couple laughs. Next installment in a couple weeks, hopefully.

...

The crowd stood on the train platform chatting surprisingly quietly for their size, ignoring the horizontal mist, typical November weather for London. Eliza stood with them clutching a telegramme, the first communication she had from her husband in five months: "Arriving troop train victoria 1540 henry." He was alive, and he was coming home. She had heard of so many who weren't: Mille Bartram's husband and Roberta Goldsmith's husband from the warehouse where she volunteered, Jamie Pennyworth and Reg Horner from Tottenham Court Road... It seemed like Fanny always brought bad news with the gossip and the weekly deliveries from the country.

"There it is!" a woman cried, and all heads on the platform turned as one to look down the track at the approaching train. The crowd was behind a rope five yards from the track, as the railway police saw a need to keep anxious family from storming the still-moving trains. Before the train reached the platform, soldiers popped their heads out the windows, waving madly. Eliza, on the far end of the platform, looked intently at the front cars where the officers rode, though she knew her husband was not the sort to wave out a window. The brakes squealed, and even before the train had stopped, men were leaping from the carriages, their families already in their sights. "Michael!" "Albert, here!" "Calm DOWN Mum, he SEES you!" "Dad Dad Dad Dad!" Eliza was surrounded by chaotic reunions and bided her time.

The waiting area started to thin almost immediately, and then she could see him, just out of the carriage, walking the emptying space between the the train and the rope. He stared at her intently, but wearily. He looked a stone lighter. Yet he walked very briskly and with purpose to her, not taking his eyes off her. He stepped in front of her, dropped his duffle, put his hands on her shoulders, and asked, "Is your hat pinned on?"

"No, why?" She later chided herself for having to ask. Henry snatched the wide hat off her head, pulled her to him, and kissed her very hard. He had never kissed her frequently, let alone in public. She was shocked, but she enjoyed it too much to want to stop. When their lips parted, she looked in the eyes that looked back at her unblinking. "Rough tour?"

"Rough does not begin to describe it," he said, allowing his eyes to close as his forehead touched hers. He looked "like he's got a sack of trouble on his shoulders," as her mum used to say.

"I've got a cab waiting out front." She put her hand on his arm and he pulled her close as they walked to the exit.

The ride home was quiet, except for a polite "Welcome home, sir, and thank you," from the elderly cabbie who had had this job before and understood. Pearce had hot coffee, plum preserves, and sponge cake waiting as instructed, and then quietly closed the door to the parlour.

Henry pulled off the wool jacket and breathed deeply the scent of the potted flowers lining every windowsill . Eliza caught the jacket, noticing the epaulets. "Major! You left a lieutenant and came home a captain last time!"

"Yes, the promotions only come after I have had to do something particularly annoying."

"I don't want to know where, but... the front?"

"Yes, it was bound to happen sooner or later. A war like this, there is no such thing as a job that never sees combat."

"I suppose I understand that. You do need to go where the spies are, and the front is where they..."

He wheeled round at her. "Spies! What do you mean spies? Where did you hear that?"

"Nowhere, I just thought that given your expertise..."

"And with whom have you discussed my supposed work with spies?" he spat.

"No one, of course! We've talked about that! I don't see that it's so dangerous to talk at home..."

"Dangerous!" he thundered. "Damn it, woman, it's a matter of life and death!"

She said nothing, but looked at him carefully. Usually she would blow up right back at him. The quiet unnerved Henry, and he collected himself as best he could. "Eliza, I apologize. I know you are too bright to betray me even by accident. And I suppose I at least have a few fellows I can speak frankly with, and you haven't even had me round."

"You were gone so long this time. Over a month longer than they first said. I know it can't be helped, but it's so hard to not know what to say to people, not know how..." She had kept the tears at bay, but her voice began to crack.

Henry sat down beside her as she tried to be as businesslike as possible with the handkerchief. "You may have noticed I was rather demonstrative at the station," he said.

A laugh helped mask the sob. "I'm used to you being impulsive. And it wasn't at all unpleasant."

He smiled briefly. "I don't think I'm giving anything away by saying that the front is everything you could imagine and more. I've watched too many men die... I'm probably in for more of that... Well, one day we were favoured with a simultaneous shelling and gassing, courtesy of the Kaiser. I very heroically cowered in a corner, sucking on a mouldy gas mask."

"Better than the air at that point."

"Marginally. And I might have thought only marginally better than death, except..." His voice dropped to almost a whisper. "Liza, I was desperate to see you. It's trite to talk of being at the point of death and thinking of things left unsaid. But that was it. I have loved you dutifully, I enjoy your company, and yes, I need you, but I have never said how much I truly, deeply love you, dearest Eliza. Please forgive me for not having the courage to tell you this before now."

His grip on her hand might have hurt her had she not been gripping almost as strongly. She smiled lightly but her eyes held him. "We're a pair, you and I. I've loved you for years but I didn't want to burden you with that. It... didn't seem your style... and I had so much to be thankful for I determined to be content with that. Well, maybe not content, but at least happy. I should be the one begging forgiveness".

Henry relaxed his grip, his whole body, but still held her, and returned the smile. "Perhaps we should start by forgiving ourselves. You looked at me for a moment like you wanted to ring up the staff at Bedlam. I can't blame you."

"No! Well... yes, as a matter of fact. I went to a lecture last week about recognising the signs of shell shock."

Henry nodded ruefully. "Shell shock. Perhaps I do have that. It would stand to reason, I suppose."

"Oh, no, I hope not, everything you have been saying has made such lovely, wonderful sense to me!"

They held each other close and kissed again, finally, freely. When they parted, they looked for a long time into each other's teary eyes. They couldn't help thinking of the dead and the survivors they knew. Here they were, happier than they had ever been, but the happiness was tempered in the midst of so much sadness and pain.