Birchfields
EVERYONE SEEMED SURPRISED when Alair and Luc announced they wanted to be married, although Garnet had a secret smile, as though she had been the only one in on the secret. Hadn’t she seen it from the first, their immediate attraction to each other that day Luc arrived at Birchfields? It was so obvious; how could no one else have noticed? Garnet offered Birchfields for the reception. It was closer to the village church where the wedding was going to be than Blanding Court was, and therefore much more convenient in these times when transportation was so difficult. She did not mention the fact that for her, traveling to Blanding Court to attend would involve a great deal of trouble. Lalage agreed and gratefully accepted, since Neil was in London, deeply involved in his work at the War Office, and Blanding Court was crowded with all its evacuees. Alair and Luc wanted a small country wedding, just family and a few friends. While Lady Blanding and her sister Lenora Ridge way busied themselves with preparations, Luc started the process of getting leave for a honeymoon, which turned out to be only four days. Pilots of Luc’s experience and skill were too valuable to be off duty for long.
Only Niki seemed left out of the planning. She was amazed and chagrined at her own reaction to the romance. She had not been at Birchfields the week Luc and Alair had met, so the whirlwind romance had caught her completely by surprise. The fact that Luc—her darling, special Luc—was head over heels in love with Alair Blanding had come as a shock. Why it should have, she knew, was outrageous on her part. Alair was beautiful, gentle, refined, and Luc, a romantic, would have of course fallen for her ethereal looks, her soft voice and gentle manner. Aunt Garnet reported to Niki that she had never seen two people more in love.
Why didn’t she feel happy about the announcement? Didn’t all the world love a lover? Wasn’t it a sign of hope that such a lovely thing could happen in a world now torn with hate and tragedy? What was wrong with her?
She had long ago given up on the preposterous idea that she could marry Luc. When she was a little girl, she had dreamed that when they grew up they would marry and live forever at Montclair, raising horses and riding through the autumn woods together. Certainly, now she had put that fantasy away with other childish dreams. Hadn’t she?
Niki was ashamed at her reaction. How stupid and immature to be jealous of something she had no right to anyway. Still, her heart ached, because she knew that Luc’s new love would supersede anything they had together. That’s the way it was. That’s what was written in the marriage ceremony: “Henceforth you shall leave father, mother, and cleave only unto the other….” In a way, she was losing Luc, and that’s what hurt. Of course, she was not losing him entirely but in the special way she had always had him.
Niki told herself she had to get over these troublesome feelings. Since the wedding was going to be a simple one, not the lavish social affair that Alair’s father—being a lord, a member of Parliament, and now a major in the military—might have demanded if not for the war, Niki was not included in the wedding party. Alair was only having her cousin Cilia as her single attendant. The fact that Luc was marrying someone from an aristocratic family removed him further from Niki. The Blanding family went back for centuries. They knew the names of all their ancestors, while Niki didn’t know who she was or where she came from. For the first time in a long while, the ache of not knowing surfaced. The old hurt, the loneliness of not really belonging, swept over Niki.
The fact that she couldn’t share these feelings with anyone made it even worse. Keeping it to herself haunted her troubled heart. She sincerely wished Luc happiness. Alair did not need her wishes, she thought with a twinge. She had Luc; what other happiness did she need?
Niki got a two-day pass and arrived in the village by an early train the morning of the wedding. There was no time to go up to Birchfields and change out of her WRENS uniform, so she walked through the morning mist to the small, stone church and slipped into one of the back pews. This church was hundreds of years old, and even the fragrance of the flowers now banking the altar steps could not completely shut out the odor of damp old stones, the ancient scent of the wax candles that had been burned here for centuries.
It was the first war wedding to be held here, perhaps because the small village was largely inhabited by older people living in the few large homes. Until the recent building of the airfield, there had been few young people to even attend Sunday services. Soon Niki became aware of a subdued ripple of voices reverberating through the cold church. She turned in time to see the arrival of a small contingent of young girls. They were in school uniforms, so she guessed they were from the nearby academy and had slipped into the chapel. Giggling a little, their eyes bright with excitement, their heads full of romantic fantasy, they settled like a flock of nervous starlings into another of the back pews, opposite the one Niki was occupying. She smiled, imagining they were all wishing they were a few years older so they could be part of all the excitement that the young men in uniform had brought to the streets of their usually quiet town. Had they skipped class to come, Niki wondered, or had some school holiday left them free to attend?
The stir of activity in the vestibule alerted Niki that the bridal party had probably arrived. The bride’s mother, Lady Blanding, dressed in royal blue, a silver fox fur draped across her slim shoulders, and accompanied by her sister, Mrs. Victor Ridgeway, arrived first. They were escorted down the aisle by two handsome young officers. New friends of Luc’s from his outfit, Niki assumed, again feeling the little prick of alienation. She used to know all of Luc’s friends. He brought them home in droves from Briarwood Prep and college. Except for the one leave they had spent together in London, they had not seen much of each other. Of course, it was wartime and they both had duties; it couldn’t be helped. But now Niki wished she’d made more of an effort to coordinate her time off with his. She was always welcome at Birchfields, she knew, but simply had not come as often as she could have.
A lady in a strange-looking hat took her place at the organ, and the first chords rumbled through the church. A waft of familiar perfume wrinkled Niki’s nose, and she turned her head slightly, just in time to see Aunt Garnet, handsome in russet velvet, wearing a mink stole and turbaned hat, enter on the arm of one of the uniformed ushers. She moved with great dignity, as if for the occasion she had willed away the halting walk her arthritis sometimes caused.
Soon Luc and his best man, a fellow officer, came from the side door and took their place. A few minutes later there was an anticipatory hush, and then the congregation stood as the first notes of “The Wedding March” sounded. Alair, in a mist of veiling and swirls of white silk, carrying a small nosegay of violets, escorted by Lord Blanding in dress uniform, came forward down the aisle. The beautiful ancient ceremony began.
As Niki listened to the couple repeat the age-old vows, looking at each other with such love, she experienced a mixture of envy and hopelessness. Tears she did not want to shed rushed into her eyes. Furiously she blinked them back. She wanted to be happy for Luc and Alair, she really did. But there was a void in her own life, a longing in her heart to know the kind of devotion they expressed.
Somehow she got through the ceremony and through the reception at Birchfields that followed, and with the rest of the family and friends sent Alair and Luc off on their honeymoon. She was grateful she had to report back to WRENS headquarters the next day. For the first time, the dull routine of duty seemed an escape.
Larkspur Cottage, with its thatched roof and diamond-paned windows, was picture perfect. A riot of orange, yellow, russet nasturtiums clambered over a stone wall. Closer to the blue door, a hydrangea bush heavy with blossoms nodded in a gentle breeze.
As he pulled the Austin-mini up front, Luc remarked to Alair, “It’s straight out of a storybook.”
“It looks like one of those nostalgic nineteenth-century paintings. The ones critics complained romanticized English country life.”
“It looks OK to me,” Luc laughed, and he jumped out of the car and got their luggage out of the boot. He held open the gate for Alair to go through ahead of him. “Want me to carry you over the threshold?”
He set down their suitcases and lifted her up easily, and they went inside. Aunt Garnet had arranged to have the place aired, cleaned, and it smelled faintly of lemon wax polish. A fire was laid in the fireplace of the cozy sitting room. Luc put Alair down and she turned slowly, looking around. “How lucky we are!” she said, smiling at him.
To begin their married life together in such a place was ideal. Four days of peace, privacy, learning to love each other in an entirely new way. It was as though they were the only two people in the world.
They spent their days like misers, savoring each golden moment yet feeling as though they were grasping time, holding on to it as the days rushed past. They took long walks, talking about all sorts of things—their childhood, their growing-up years, the books they’d read, the music they liked, the people they admired, things they hadn’t had time to tell each other about themselves in their brief courtship. They made meals together with much laughter and teasing, finding out about each other’s tastes in food, and learning their differences as well as how much they had in common. In the evening, as outside the glen mist surrounded the woodland cottage, shutting them off from the world, they listened to records and danced to favorite tunes, sat in front of the fireplace. They went to sleep in each other’s arms and woke up each morning counting themselves blessed to have another day to spend together. They talked about many things, but they did not talk much about the future. The next weekend they could possibly have together was as far into the future as they wanted to discuss or, for that matter, could plan.
On the last day before Luc had to report back to the airfield and Alair to Blanding Court to continue her work with the kindergarten children, they finally spoke of some of the things they had avoided. They spoke of the uncertainty they were facing. It was then that Alair wept, voicing her dread of their separation.
“But we’re no different from thousands of other couples,” Luc said.
She nodded. “Yes, I know you’re right.”
“I still feel we’re among the lucky ones who are going to get through all this and then have our whole life ahead of us,” Luc told her, even as he wiped the tears running down her cheeks.
Luc had already flown seventeen of the twenty-five requisite missions that American pilots had to fly before being sent back to the States for R and R. He hadn’t told Alair yet, but when he’d flown the twenty-fifth, he intended to ask that his time off be spent in England.
At last it was time to pack up and leave. On the doorstep Alair said softly, “Maybe we can come back someday—if we’re lucky.”
Luc smiled at her fondly, proud of her bravery even though he saw the uncertainty in her eyes. He reached out and touched her cool, rose-tinted cheek, aware of how the sun sent glints of gold through her hair. “I love you,” he said. Then he locked the door, pocketed the key, and they went out to the car and drove away. Neither had the courage to look back.