THE TRAIN PULLED TO A STOP with a hissing of brakes. Compartment doors banged open with a series of clatters, and uniformed men and women flowed off onto the platform. The station was thronged with people, all kinds, all shapes, all sizes. Old people, young, children wild with excitement, jumping up and down, women with eager faces, carrying bouquets of flowers, a sea of uniforms mingled with the mixture of civilians.
Fraser, towering over most, stepped out into the crowd. Where was Niki? Had she got his telegram? Or had it possibly been routed wrong? His gaze swept over the milling people, searching for the face he wanted most in the world to see. His eyes rested momentarily on a small, slight girl in a flowered hat who was frantically waving, but then went right past her. He was looking for the trim figure in the familiar blue WRENS uniform. He was looking for the face in the small photo he’d carried in his wallet all these months. Its wide, expressive eyes, sparkling with mischief one moment, pensive or troubled the next, eyes that had been brilliant with tears when he and Niki had said goodbye a few months ago. He thought of her small, pretty nose, the generous mouth he loved to kiss. Where in blazes was she?
He frowned fiercely. Was there some other reason she hadn’t come to meet him? Had she met someone else? Changed her mind? His heart gave a lurch.
“Fraser! Fraser!” he heard his name called. “Over here!”
He turned in the direction of the voice he recognized. Suddenly everything stopped; all the noise around him receded. It was Niki’s voice. He saw her then, through the mass of people pushing against him. He started toward her, feeling as if he were wading in quicksand. He kept her in focus. No wonder he hadn’t spotted her at first. She was wearing a ridiculous little hat, and a ruffled collar framed her face. But she looked great—beautiful, in fact.
At last he reached her. She was standing absolutely still, but when he opened his arms, she flung herself into them. His arms went around her, lifting her off her feet. She was so light that he was almost afraid he might crush her.
Tears were running down her cheeks. He’d have to do something with that silly veil in order to wipe them away and kiss her. He set her down and she looked up at him. With both gloved hands she folded back the veil. At last Fraser kissed her, knocking the foolish little hat sideways, a kiss that settled for both of them all doubts that their love was real, that it had endured the long separation, and that they belonged to each other “from this day forward.”
Mayfield, Virginia September 1945
The sound of church bells ringing broke through the somnolent quiet of the September day. Almost spontaneously people began arriving at the Mayfield church. Others drifted in until the small sanctuary was filled and people were standing along the sides from the back to the altar rail. Hearts were full and eyes glistened as friends greeted one another, exchanging smiles, murmurs, and hugs, expressing their deep gratitude that finally the war that had lasted nearly four years, hovering over their daily lives, was over.
There was hardly a person or a family who had not been touched in some way by the war. As they gathered in thanksgiving for victory, they were not unmindful of those who were not here. The ones who would never come here again to worship, pray, and sing hymns, would never see their children grow up, marry, or bring a baby here to be christened.
They knew nothing would ever be quite the same. Not for anyone, neither the ones who were here nor the ones whose return they awaited nor the ones lost to them forever. However, although the moment was not undimmed by tears, everyone was aware that it was a moment that would always stay in their memories. God had brought them through a time of testing, and they were humbly grateful.
Reverend Morrison, whose two sons were still overseas, entered the church. The murmurs of the congregation faded away to a respectful hush as he proceeded up the middle aisle, went through the chancel gate, mounted the pulpit.
“Dear friends,” he began, and his voice broke. Nearly overcome with emotion, he paused to compose himself before going on. “Rejoice, again I say, rejoice.” His voice trembled but gradually grew stronger. “This is the day we have longed for, prayed for. This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad. Glory be to God.” He bowed his head and brought out a large handkerchief from under his surplice and wiped his eyes, blew his nose. Then he signaled to Mrs. Creighton, who was already seated at the organ, and said, “Let us sing the hymn inspired from Isaiah 52:7.” Without a moment’s hesitation she played the opening chords to “Our God Reigns.”
“How lovely on the mountains are the feet of him who brings good news, good news …,” voices sang out. “Announcing peace, proclaiming news of happiness, our God reigns, our God reigns.”
Never had the song been sung as loud or as enthusiastically as it was that afternoon. Never had it been sung with such fervor or meaning. Each person’s heart lifted as the triumphant words were repeated over and over.
Usually the service in this church was dignified, the ancient rituals conducted in quiet order. Today, however, the people seemed to forget the decorum that since childhood they had been taught to observe within these sacred walls. Yet never had a service seemed as appropriate. No one who attended that day would ever forget it. They would remember it as a fitting tribute to the God they worshiped, who had brought them through a terrible time and once more blessed America with peace.
At last the wonderful news came that the war was ended in the Pacific as well as in Europe. The Japanese had surrendered. Peace had come. Brooke would be freed, Gareth thought with a wary heart. Please, God, he prayed.
Through Aunt Cara at the Red Cross and the connection of Senator Frank Maynard, Gareth was able to get information about Japanese prisoners of war, the nonmilitary internees. He was at Avalon when the cable came and was rerouted to him.
American national Brooke Leslie was alive, being repatriated to the United States aboard a ship leaving Japan, via Hawaii, and would dock in San Diego. Gareth rejoiced, gave thanks, and immediately made preparations to go to California to meet Brooke’s ship. They would be married and he would bring her home to Avalon.