I went to him, Alice, and now I don’t know how I shall ever be parted from him again.
We met in the hospital gardens—a more beautiful place you couldn’t wish to see. He was dozing on a bench when I arrived, a blanket over his knees and the afternoon sun on his face. So peaceful, and yet he is so tormented by his dreams. The smile that lit his face when he saw me—oh, Alice. We didn’t speak a word. He simply held my hand as I sat beside him and it felt like the most natural thing in the world to feel the beat of his pulse beneath my fingertips.
He is so terribly thin. So physically broken and haunted by what he has seen and done. The doctors tell him he will make a full recovery, which is wonderful news, and yet my heart breaks to hear it because when he recovers he will return to France, and I will be without him again and I don’t know how I can bear it.
I’ve been here a week now and hope to be able to stay in Scotland until he is fully recovered, if Mama (and the postmistress) can spare me. I’m staying with my aunt and uncle in Leith. Their driver takes me to the hospital where my cousin, Angela, is a nurse. She has been a tremendous help in making arrangements for Tom and I to see each other. We meet at the bench beneath an oak tree and talk while the birds serenade us from the branches above.
He improves a little each day, but he tires easily and must go for treatment regularly so my visits are brief.
You will, no doubt, wish to know if there has been any exchange of love between us. I am anxious to know whether he ever received the Christmas letter I belatedly sent to him, but I cannot bear to ask. He has enough troubling him without my adding to his emotional struggles. It seems to me that I have known Tom all my life, and yet I haven’t known him at all until these long hard years of war. You thought me madly infatuated when I first declared my love for him (I know you did, although you never said as much), but something has changed and I know now with a certainty I have rarely felt about anything, that I love him with the deepest affection possible.
I love Tom Harding!
I cannot tell him so I share my secret with the waves. They carry my love away on the turn of the tide, and wash it back to shore the next day along with the driftwood and pretty shells that I collect during my long walks, each perfect shell a reminder to me to be patient, to remember that nature will work its magic and produce something beautiful in the end.
All I want is for him to recover. To get better. To become the old Tom once again. We were frivolous and childlike when we met in London last year. Now there is a quiet understanding between us. A closeness we hadn’t known before. That gives me the greatest comfort of all.
As part of his treatment, he is encouraged to write things down: memories, anxieties, etc. He has taken to writing me a little note to take home with me after each visit. Really, I do not know how my heart won’t burst.
Stay safe, darling girl. Keep those red lips smiling and singing your jolly jazz songs. I can think of nobody better to put on a show to cheer the troops. You always were an impossible show-off!
With much love,
Evie
XX
P.S. Go easy on the bugle player. I fully expect to hear that his lips have strayed from his instrument and have found a new tune to play upon your scarlet smilers!
From Thomas to Evie
1st October, 1916
Edinburgh, Scotland
Dear Evie,
I enjoyed our tea and game of cards yesterday, even though you’re quite the cheat. I’d forgotten how good you are! Will would have had none of it. As much of a jokester as he could be, he was such a sore loser, especially to his little sister.
Your friendship means so much to me, Miss Elliott. I hope you know that. I look forward to your visit tomorrow.
Yours,
Tom
From Thomas to Evie
5th October, 1916
Edinburgh, Scotland
Dearest Evie,
I don’t know what to say except I apologise. My episodes don’t usually happen during the day, but to hear booming thunder . . . I hope you aren’t hurt. My instincts took over and I had to keep you safe. The shaking in my hands subsided about an hour after you left. The doctor says I need to hear these sounds more often, to dull my sensibilities to them. He’s considering moving me to another wing of the hospital, closer to the noise of town.
If you’d like to skip your visits for a while, I understand completely.
Yours,
Tom
From Thomas to Mr. Charles Abshire
10th October, 1916
Edinburgh, Scotland
Dear Charles,
I have enclosed all the paperwork you required with necessary signatures. I think it best Hopper continues to run the paper for now, as we discussed. Jack Davies will have to play nice with him a while longer. I’ll remind him to mind his p’s and q’s. On another note, I can’t believe our Miss Wren is generating so much fan mail. We may consider opening a permanent column to highlight female voices after the war. Something challenging and interesting, not: “How to Bake a Proper Christmas Goose” or “The Best Knitting Needles.” Evie would be bored silly by such a column.
I hope you’re well, Charles. Home feels like a distant memory, but I hope it will soon become a reality.
Sincerely,
Thomas
From Evie to her mother
15th October, 1916
Leith, Scotland
Dear Mama,
A few lines to let you know that Scotland is astonishingly beautiful in the autumn and that all is well.
Tom continues to improve at a rate of knots—much to the surprise of the doctors here who find him something of a medical marvel. They say he will be well enough to return to France soon. I suppose I should be happy for his recovery, but I am desperately saddened to think of him going back. I find myself looking for excuses for him to stay while he is ever eager to return, and get back to his men. I know I must admire his loyalty, but still.
I will send word when dates are settled and to let you know of my expected arrival home. Uncle Boris and Aunt Isobel send their regards. They have been incredibly generous letting me stay and giving me the use of their motorcar and driver to take me here and there. You would like it here very much, with the exception of the stiff breezes which play havoc with hats and hairstyles and make it almost impossible to walk upright at times. We must come back on a holiday when we are at peace again.
Will always loved it here, didn’t he? I think of him often as I know you do, too. I saw a young man on crutches yesterday playing with his little girl on the beach and I thought what a wonderful father Will would have been. I miss him dreadfully. I wish we spoke about him more often. Perhaps we can try when I return? Look through old photographs and laugh at his childhood escapades? We must do whatever we can to keep his memory alive. We owe him that much, at least.
Your ever-loving daughter,
Evelyn
From Thomas to Evie
1st November, 1916
Edinburgh, Scotland
Dear Evie,