It’s late, too late to write really, but I need to tell you the rest before I go to sleep. You know how I like to finish things.
I was squatting there in the cottage, frozen in fear. All sorts of terrifying possibilities were flashing through my mind: everything from Germans who hadn’t heard all year that the war was over . . . to a creature from one of our fairy tales: a witch or the troll under the bridge. But as my eyes adjusted to the light I could see that there was a figure against the far wall cowering from me.
And in that moment, my humiliation outstripped my fear. I tried to compose myself.
“Who’s there?” I called out.
A long pause. I was beginning to think there’d be no answer when a voice snaked out of the darkness. “Kaiser Wilhelm.” A male, English voice, amused but a little blurry, like he had marbles in his mouth.
There was a long silence, a shifting. I could hear him scratching at his hair, his cheeks, furiously.
I stood. My hands were steady now. I grabbed the matches from where I’d left them and lit the candle in one try.
I moved to cast the light toward him, and the flames leapt dimly over his shape. As his face emerged from the shadows, I sucked in my breath. He was missing an ear, and his left cheek looked drippy, like candle wax.
Beth, I’ve seen other men horribly wounded by the war, and I know how you’re supposed to act: don’t flinch but also don’t pretend, make eye contact, shake hands. I know all that, but I’ve never seen a person look so far from being a person.
“Lenore Allstock,” I said, thrusting out my hand, but flinching all the same when he stretched up from the floor and let his fingers touch mine.
“Pleasure,” he said, his voice deep and polite, but with a hint of laughter in it, as he unraveled himself to his full height, either not noticing my flinch or pretending not to. He was enormously tall, at least two feet taller than Teddy. A giant.
Looking past him, I could see a bedroll in a corner where he must have been lying until I came in, and a rucksack.
“You’ve been sleeping here?” I asked.
“For a couple of weeks.”
“I’ve never seen you . . .”
“I only spend the nights, and evenings. Also, I clear out when I hear you coming. There’s plenty of time. You walk like a bear.”
I felt my whole body stiffen. I was suddenly ready to defend that little dingy room to the death. “You’re trespassing.”
“Well . . . ,” he said with hesitation. “Clearly it’s a well-loved and indispensable piece of the estate.”
He studied me. His face was so ruined I couldn’t tell if he was being menacing or teasing or both.
“Look, Miss Allstock, is it? I like staying here.” He pointed to the roof; I followed his gaze up to where I saw now, even in the dim light, he’d done some patching. “I’ve worked hard to improve it. Maybe we could work something out? Unless you plan on more of these nocturnal visits, we’d never even have to cross paths.” He leaned against the wall and put his hands in his pockets. “I spend the whole day out hounding. I don’t usually come back until the evenings. I could make a point of that.”
“Hounding?”
He sighed and rubbed at his ruined face. “Fossil hunting. That’s how I found this place. I was out hounding and it seemed . . . perfect.”
I watched him. “I’m not sure . . .”
“In the stream here, all sorts of fossils. Old bird bones, fish skeletons, things like that, frozen in time.”
I held up my hand, impatient. “I’m not worried about the bird bones. I just don’t know why I should let you stay.”
He gestured casually to his face. “Is it enough to say I need to be away from the city for a while? And that you should take pity on a poor war hero?” His voice cracked on the last words, and it made me realize he was younger than I’d thought he was. His size had misled me.
I studied him skeptically.
“Look.” He became suddenly serious, his voice dropping an octave. “In London, people stare. In the woods . . .” He nodded out toward the darkness. “The raccoons don’t care if I’m missing my face. Know what I mean? I need a break. Isn’t that why you come here? You need a break?”
I felt my face flush, and shook my head to contradict him.
“We all need a break,” he said, more to himself than to me.
I stood there uncertainly for a few moments longer. On one hand, I wanted to keep everything as I’d thought it had been: all mine. On the other, how could I refuse him?
“So you’ll let me stay?” he said, turning a confident smile on me or at least half a one. “We’ll share?”
I laid my candlesticks on the table and nodded. “For now I guess that’s all right,” I said. “But it’s my place, in the end. Don’t forget that.”
He nodded and then winced.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes,” he said impatiently. “Of course. Just one more thing . . . can you please not mention to anyone that I’m here? I don’t want people showing up with baskets of buns. I just want to be alone.”
I nodded. I was about to leave and was moving toward the door, but I back-stepped when I saw him clasping his hands together suddenly and sharply in pain. A shudder passed through him and then he straightened again and struck a careless pose with his hand at the window.
“Can I get you anything?” I asked. “Do you have any money? There’s a chemist in town. I could get you some . . .”
“Oh, I go back home for supplies. My family has a good doctor, plenty of money.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
He looked me up and down and smiled ruefully. “Thank you. I just need peace.”
And that was it. I haven’t seen him since.
I’ve decided to stay true to my word and not tell a soul about him, even though he could be a thief or a murderer or both.
I already know he’s a liar, because if he’s from a wealthy London family why are his clothes all frayed and old? And if he’s a wounded veteran, why is he hiding in a cottage in Forest Row instead of being treated in the city like the war hero he is?
My hand hurts because I wrote that all in a rush. It’s nearing midnight, and I can hear someone sniffling and crying quietly all the way down the hall but I don’t know who it is. I love my family, but sometimes I think they’re all so pathetic, awful as it is to admit. My eyelids are drooping.
Good night, Beth.
No books to send with this post.
Your friend, Lenore
APRIL 11, 1919
Beth,