Through the Darkness Read online

  We attended a pancake breakfast, followed by a parade that seemed to last for ages. The day was hot and humid, which made the crush of people all the more oppressive.

  But the fireworks that night, goodness me! I believe every year that is the part I look forward to the most; there's nothing better (where the holiday is concerned) than lying on a blanket on the ground and feeling the vibration of the explosion in your chest.

  It's been dreadfully hot lately. Yesterday was the worst, so we (myself along with Daphne, Simon, and their two small children) spent several hours swimming in one of the public pools and lounging in the cool water to find relief.

  Despite half the city (an exaggeration) also being there, we managed to have an enjoyable day and only ended up a little sunburnt in return.

  I'm sad to say I might not be able to write to you while on my retreat. Daphne has advised me not to pack my typewriter and lug it around.

  Well, I believe I ought to end, for now, my dear. Know that you shall be in my thoughts over the coming weeks—as you always are. I grow increasingly tired of this distance between us and long for the day we are together again.

  All my love,

  Elyria

  Wednesday, July 16, 1919

  Darling Elyria,

  It's well past midnight, and I'm sitting here at my desk, staring at crumpled sheets of paper—all seven of them failed attempts at expressing what I want to write you. Perhaps it's for the better. What I am feeling and want to say is something more suited to when we are face to face.

  You wound me to say you've never been courted. Upon discovering I felt this way, I asked myself what courting truly meant, and I've made the following list of what it might entail.

  1. A person with whom I would be interested in (obvious I know).

  2. Their reciprocated interest in me (without it I would be nothing less than a stalker and most likely end up in jail).

  3. Flowers or chocolates, possibly both depending on preference.

  4. Long walks (unless the lady is averse to walking, in which case, romantic strolls through a small park might suffice).

  5. Tender moments where those involved would share their fears and dreams.

  6. Holding hands

  7. Stolen kisses

  8. Declarations of affection

  Now, looking at this list, it is plain to see that you, my darling, have indeed been courted—though it's now apparent my methods were subtle even to me. Shall I illustrate my point? 1 and 2 are obviously you and me, so let's move on to number three.

  3. Flowers. I don't know if you know this, but the flowers—or rather the smell of apple blossoms—was there the first day we met. I lay fevered, and you opened the window, bathing me in their fragrance and cooling my heated torment (that sounds rather poetic, doesn't it?)

  4. Long walks. This didn't happen till later, and in our case, it was an extremely short walk in my hospital room, but it led splendidly to number seven and so it deserves to be mentioned.

  5. Tender moments. For me there were several, but the one I'll choose is perhaps the one that had the most impact. The day I arrived. Do you remember it? I was in agony and venting my pain and rage when you came from out of nowhere dodging my defenses and missiles, and took me by the hand. You, my dearest Pegleg, calmed me with a simple touch.

  6. Holding hands—refer to number 5.

  7. Stolen kisses. I hope this one is self-explanatory and you remember the moment in question? If not, be assured, I intend to rectify that as soon as possible.

  8. Declarations of affections. For this, I think you merely need to look upon my letters to know my feelings for you. But if not, I'm sure I can set the matter straight soon after I attend to number seven.

  Have I shocked you? Made you blush? Will you think me wicked if I admit that I hope I did? If nothing else, my list should prove that your dream you'd given up on may be closer at hand than you first thought.

  I shall end here. Anything else is better left said in person, which I hope will be soon.

  Most lovingly yours,

  Everett

  Eighteen

  Elyria stepped from the poorly sprung truck with help from the driver, rubbed her bruised and sore backside, then waited for him to unload her only bag.

  She didn't want to send the wrong message by packing too much, but neither did she want to assume the worst and pack too little. This bag, Daphne had assured her, allowed her to remain right in the middle of the two.

  A soft thud and gentle vibration underfoot announced its arrival at her right. Murmuring her thanks, the driver grunted and sped off, kicking up a choking cloud of dirt and pebbles that pelted her.

  She turned her face away and coughed. Once the dust settled, she bent at the knee and reached down until she found the handle.

  Straightening with her bag in hand, Elyria gripped her walking stick firmly in her left and began the nerve-wracking trek to what she hoped would be the correct home. Because in the event it wasn't, she didn't know what she'd do, other than wander aimlessly around town until she found him. Or died. Whichever came first.

  Elyria scoffed at her foolish thoughts and took a calming breath to help her focus. The last thing she needed was to fall flat on her face from not paying attention to where she walked.

  The small bits of gravel crunched with each step she took, seeming to grow louder the closer she got until the noise melded with the mad rush of blood in her ears and blocked out the birds chirping overhead.

  Her heart raced with excitement. Or possibly fear? She frowned and forced a swallow down her suddenly parched throat. Dear heavens, it was both, and now she faced the real danger it would make her throw up.

  She'd never been so nervous in her life—other than the day he kissed her, she silently added. And it had turned out rather well if she said so herself.

  But such thoughts did nothing to alleviate her sweaty palms, which in turn made it difficult to hold onto her bag with any degree of confidence. And to top it all off, her legs wobbled like cooked noodles. Yes, she was most definitely in a state of full-fledged panic.

  In the time it took to traverse the dirt drive, what had seemed like a pleasant summer day just moments ago, had now become sweltering heat. Sweating like a saint in a whorehouse was not how she wanted Everett to see her for the first—

  Her walking stick thunked gently against what she assumed to be the bottom step, proclaiming her arrival and bringing her up short.

  Oh dear. Was she really doing this? What right did she have, showing up unannounced with only a glimmer of hope he would be thrilled to see her there?

  He could be sitting on the porch, staring at her this very minute, wondering who she might be and why she was intruding on his life.

  She muttered a curse, one of the Captain's favorites, and sighed. This was something she should have asked of herself long before journeying over two days to get here.

  It proved only one thing. Well, two things, now that she thought of it. One, she remained without a doubt, a poor planner and strategist; and two, there was a very real chance her unannounced arrival showed beyond a doubt what Daphne had long suspected—she'd lost her mind.

  "May I help you?" A man—most definitely not her Everett—asked to the left of her.

  Elyria turned, fearing she had been dropped off at the wrong address after all. "Does Everett Montrose live here?"

  "Yes…" the man said, his tone suspicious.

  "Oh good," she sighed in relief, at least she'd sorted out that issue. "I've come to surprise him."

  A moment of heavy silence passed that made her extremely nervous for some unknown reason, which turned out to be warranted, when he murmured, "He isn't here; left two days ago to get married." The man took three slow three steps closer across the gravel road, and continued, "Didn't say when he'd be back, I'm afraid…but if you'd like I can let him know you stopped by."

  She swallowed and fought back the sudden overwhelming urge to weep. It couldn't be! Surely she'd mishea
rd him. "Married…?"

  "That's what he said, thank heavens. Maybe now I'll be able to get some proper sleep."

  Married. Was it normal for a single word to have so much power and cause such immediate devastation?

  Her stomach dropped to her toes, her hands went numb, and her knees threatened to buckle. How had she misinterpreted everything in his letters so terribly, terribly wrong?

  To make her misery and utter heartbreak worse, the man kept talking.

  "…Woke me up in the middle of the night the day before he left, talkin' bout how much he loved her, couldn't wait to see her and tell her. I might not have taken matters into my own hands if such nightly intrusions weren't happenin' on such a regular basis."

  She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth against the sob collecting in her throat, desperate to leave and yet not knowing how.

  In such a small town there were no taxis readily at hand, she'd only just managed to procure her ride from the station because the kind man told her he was already headed out this way.

  What would she do now?

  "It was the only choice I had, really," he continued, oblivious, "buyin' him the ticket…you all right, miss?"

  Elyria nodded and then shook her head, losing the battle against her emotions. If she didn't get away soon, she would break down and further humiliate herself.

  Trying her best to keep her voice even, she asked, "I don't suppose you could point me in the direction of the train station?"

  The man let out a strange gurgle noise, the kind people often make when beginning to talk and then stop themselves. He sighed and moved closer to her.

  His tone kind yet full of hesitation, he murmured, "It'd be bad manners to let you walk there alone, miss. If you don't mind gettin' a ride from a stranger, I can drive you there myself."

  "I'd hate to be an imposition…" she whispered, her voice thick with tears.

  "Think nothin' of it!" He said with forced cheerfulness. "I planned on goin' into town. A little later perhaps, but now will do just fine I suppose. I'll take your bag for you, miss, if that's all right?"

  She nodded and held it out just enough for him to grab it without having to meet an outstretched hand she couldn't see, "Thank you." She walked slightly behind him toward his waiting vehicle.

  "Here," he sounded slightly out of breath, the pace of his footsteps picking up to a slow jog, "Let me get the door for you, miss."

  Helping Elyria into the vehicle, he set her bag by her feet then ran to the driver's side.

  "Would you like me to let him know you stopped by?" The man's tone implied he meant to be helpful, but he wasn't sure he succeeded.

  That was the last thing she wanted. Elyria whimpered and gave a quick shake of her head, unable to speak.

  The remainder of the bouncy ride back to the train station, luckily only a short distance away, passed in awkward silence.

  Her mind tormented her with memories of their kiss, and snippets of his letters etched deep in her heart.

  What a fool she'd been to believe there could have ever been more between them than simple friendship.

  "I can't help but feel I've said somethin' to upset you, Miss-Miss—I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

  "Ormond…" her voice broke before she could stop it. Elyria clenched her hands into fists and willed her broken heart to get a hold of itself. There would be plenty of time to cry later.

  "Why does that name sound familiar?" He muttered under his breath, turning a sharp corner that had her sliding across the seat. Slowing the car to a stop, he declared, "Well, here we are, Miss Ormond."

  "Thank you for the ride," she said softly and forced her lips into the semblance of a smile before opening the door to get out.

  "Wait a minute!" The man grabbed her arm, his tone full of surprise, "Are you Miss Elyria Ormond of 224 Rhode Island Avenue, Washington, DC?"

  Elyria frowned and slowly nodded. How could he possibly know her address unless—she gasped and covered her mouth, "Marcus Benfield, the postman?"

  "You have to leave, Miss Ormond!" Marcus practically shouted. He jumped out of the car, racing to her side, then yanked the door open and pulled her from the vehicle. "How's he gonna marry you if you're here and he's there? You need to leave now and find him, or I'm never gonna have a peaceful night’s rest again!"

  Nineteen

  Everett glanced at the address typed neatly on the creased envelope in his grasp, then at the number carved into the lintel above the door. The numbers matched, which meant only one thing—he'd reached his destination.

  The line of row houses reminded him of book spines on a library shelf, each with individual eccentricities and yet all complimentary Victorian styles of architecture.

  Each home, in an act of solidarity despite their glaring differences, sported the same dark green front door. But number 224 was different because it belonged to her. Butterflies swarmed within his belly, and excitement electrified his limbs at the thought of his dear Pegleg—Elyria, he must remember to call her Elyria.

  He probably should have waited for her response before spending the past two days on a train. That would have been the sensible thing to do; he chided himself.

  But the waiting had become intolerable, and it didn't matter that her reply might arrive the same day he'd left.

  If he were honest, he couldn't remember any time in the past several months he'd acted sensibly—not where Pegleg was concerned. No doubt, Marcus would agree.

  So here he stood, staring up at her front door, counting the eight stone steps looming before him and groaning in dismay. He glanced down at his cane and wondered if it was long enough to allow him to knock on the door while he remained on ground level. Probably not.

  Suddenly, the front door opened.

  "Hello!"

  Everett snapped to attention and locked eyes with a smiling little brown-haired girl who couldn't have been more than the age of seven. He frowned. Where the deuce had she come from? Glancing around, he confirmed he hadn't moved from where he'd stood just seconds ago.

  Perhaps he had the wrong door?

  "Hello…" he turned his attention to the number on the lintel while trying to reconcile it with the little girl standing before him.

  "I was watching you through the window."

  He bit back a mortified smile. "You were?"

  "Yep," She chirped with a nod. "I was pretending to be a princess locked in a tower. Are you lost?"

  He was beginning to think so. "I might be."

  "Oh no!" she cried, her face filling with a look of pure heartbreak for a brief moment before brightening into a hopeful grin. "I bet my mama can help! She's ever so good at finding things."

  He smiled, "Does a woman by the name of Elyria Ormond reside here?"

  "Anne!" A familiar voice called from inside the home before the little girl could reply.

  Everett tried to see beyond to find the woman talking, but saw only darkness. Where did he know that voice from?

  A little closer, and yet still hidden from view, she asked, "What are you doing with the door open, darling?"

  Anne turned slightly and shouted over her shoulder, "There's a man, mama. He's looking for Auntie El."

  "What have I told you about answering the door yourself? You know you're to get either your daddy or me."

  Anne rolled her eyes and shrugged.

  A moment later, the woman stood behind Anne, a look of polite reserve on her face. "May I help…you…?" her eyes slowly widened with recognition, and she gasped, "Captain Montrose?"

  He frowned. There was most definitely a familiarity about the honey-colored hair woman that pricked at foggy memories of his past.

  "Anne, go inside and watch your little brother, please." She stepped around her daughter, never taking her eyes from Everett's.

  "Excuse me," he said with a rueful shake of his head, "I believe we've met before…but your name escapes me at the moment."

  "Daphne," She replied with a cheery smile, descending five
of the steps. "We met during your stay at Walter Reed."

  He grinned, relieved, and took a step closer. "Ah, yes, Daphne!" Hoping she'd be able to sort out the matter, he held out the creased envelope, "Am I in the right place? I'm looking for Pegleg."

  The smile suddenly slipped from her face, and her eyes widened in alarm. "Pegleg?"

  He straightened and frowned. "Yes…"

  Daphne swallowed convulsively and covered her mouth, then folded both arms across her chest.

  Muttering a curse that had him biting back a smile, Daphne took a deep breath and tapped a finger against her chin. Suddenly, her eyes narrowed with a shrewd light, and she met his gaze.

  A moment later, she sighed. "I do apologize, I'm glad to see you again," She licked her lips and squared her shoulders, "but might I enquire why you're here?"

  His mouth opened and closed several times without making a sound. Taking a step closer, he stated, "To…see Pegleg—er, Elyria."

  "Yes, I gathered that much," she said with a look of exasperation, "but I don't believe you understand what it is I'm asking. Why are you here?"

  Was he speaking in tongues? "Why?"

  She let out a long-suffering sigh, motioned for him to follow her, turned, and went back up the steps. "Come inside; we need to talk."

  He took a step forward then stopped. There was something she wasn't telling him, something in her tone that put him on guard. "Why?"

  She froze, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "I know you have more words in your vocabulary other than ‘why,' Captain. Please use them."

  This had not gone according to plan at all. Had he misunderstood, or perhaps read too much into Elyria's letters?

  His feet refused to budge, and his heart sank at a sudden realization. Forcing the words out and dreading what he would hear in reply, he asked, "Did she send you out here because she doesn't want to see me?"

  Turning to scowl at him, Daphne said in disapproval, "What on earth gave you that impression?"

  He lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug. "You won't give me a straight answer."

  "Perhaps you'll recall a moment, mere seconds ago, in fact, when I asked you to come inside so we may talk?"