Millie rode her bike along a narrow country lane, the wind whipping through her hair. Karl rode just behind her, letting her lead because a car had come into view. When the car drove past, he caught up to her.
“It’s beautiful country. And after being on a ship that never stops moving, with a crew full of men, it’s very nice to be on solid land again with you.”
The way he looked at her when he said that . . . She didn’t think a man had ever looked at her the way Karl did, as if she were the only thing that mattered in the whole world. His entire visit had felt so perfect, like a dream she didn’t want to wake up from. “Come on, we’re almost there.”
They raced to the next hill, reaching it at about the same time, but she wasn’t sure if that was because he had held back or because she’d had more opportunities to ride a bicycle lately. Karl undid the knots he’d made at the beginning of their journey to strap the picnic basket and blanket to Shirley’s bike, and then they climbed to the top of the hill, leaving the bicycles at the bottom.
“You’re right,” he said, his voice a little rushed from the exertion. “The view is spectacular.”
“I’ve lived in a lot of places, each of them beautiful in their own way.” Her father had taught her that, to search for and find the good in any location, whether it was deep forests or gorgeous sunsets or jagged mountains.
They spread out the blanket together. “One of these days, you ought to visit Austria,” Karl said. “If it ever stops being ruled by a bunch of Nazi fanatics. The mountains and the lakes are breathtaking. Maybe not too different from Switzerland, and you’ve seen that, but the mountains where I grew up . . .”
He grew quiet, and she stepped closer to put her hand on his arm. “You miss it?”
He nodded. “Sometimes I worry I’ll never see it again. We aren’t winning this war. We haven’t lost it yet, but . . . well, there’s a long road ahead. I want to have faith that victory will come, but sometimes, it’s hard to believe in.”
Millie squeezed his arm, and he turned his head to smile at her. Attraction pulled at her the way the wind pulled at his neatly combed hair. It blended with the memory of all his letters and brought absolute contentment. Yes, the war still raged, and despite everyone’s efforts, it wouldn’t end in victory anytime soon. But she’d seen a crack in German invincibility when those U-boat messages had come across her desk. Hope waited in the wings, and in the meantime, she had Karl for the entire day. “The bedtime story your parents told, did it take place in the mountains near your home?”
He nodded.
“Will you tell it to me now?”
The skin between his eyebrows pulled, looking almost stern, but his voice remained gentle. “It has to be told at bedtime.”
“Bedtime can be at any hour of the day. When I come off a night watch, bedtime is at about ten o’clock in the morning. And I don’t imagine your ship watches allow for a normal night’s sleep. One watch on duty, two off, isn’t that how it works? And each watch is four hours?” He’d told her about it in one of his letters.
“That’s right.”
“So let’s pretend it’s bedtime now. I’m sure you’ve gone to sleep at noon sometime on at least one of your voyages.” She sat on the blanket, wondering if he’d agree to it, wondering how much sway she held over him.
He sat beside her. “If you really want me to tell it, you’ll have to lie down. That was one of the rules. Looking back, I suppose it was so we stayed still and were more likely to fall asleep, but I don’t think I can tell it if you’re sitting.”
Millie complied. Lying on the blanket was more comfortable than sitting on it anyway.
“You have to close your eyes too.” A teasing tone wove through his voice.
“All right. But I expect a good story now.”
“You might not like it as much as I do.” Now he sounded nervous. “You don’t have all the memories attached.”
“Try me.” The sunshine warmed her face, and a breeze caressed her skin.
She heard him take a deep breath. “Once upon a time, in a land of high mountains and lush valleys, an Austrian princess went on an adventure.”
She listened to each word he spoke, paying attention not only to the story but also to the meaning his tone gave each part of the tale. He lowered his voice for some of the characters. Raised it for others. His accent wasn’t as distinct as it had been in October. He’d been practicing. Yet, it was still there, and she was growing to love the way he pronounced each different sound.
When he finished, she opened her eyes and reached for his hand. He lay beside her on the blanket, and together they watched the clouds.
“Did your mother or your father tell the story?” she asked.
“Both, but Mama made the bit at the end with the dragon a little less scary.”
“I enjoyed it very much, Mr. Eckerstorfer. Thank you for sharing it with me.” She turned to watch his face instead of the clouds. “I’ve always been fond of stories. Could never bear to part with any of my books, even when we were moving all around the world for Dad’s work. Do you know Mrs. Twill didn’t have a single piece of literature in her house when Shirley and I moved in with her? Gardening books and knitting patterns and an atlas, but no fiction. Makes me wonder if she has no imagination at all or one so large that it doesn’t need any help.”
“Either way, she was kind enough to lend us a basket and a blanket.”
Mention of the basket led to exploring and then enjoying its contents. After the picnic, they watched the clouds again, talking about everything except the war—favorite music and movies, experiences in school, memorable toys and vacations when they were younger.
When the afternoon was nearly gone, Karl escorted her back to Mrs. Twill’s home so she could get ready for the dance. Mrs. Twill gave Karl a rather thorough interrogation before she released him to go change for the dance as well. He’d seen Millie home the night before, but Millie had gone inside without waking the landlady, something she and Shirley were both skilled at after weeks and weeks of shifts that either started or ended late at night.
Karl pedaled off on Shirley’s bicycle, and Millie felt his absence immediately.
“So, that’s the writer of all those letters?” Mrs. Twill watched Karl’s form disappear behind the neighboring house.
“He is.”
“And the one behind the flowers?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm. He doesn’t strike me as a typical sailor.” Mrs. Twill had expressed surprise more than once that someone from a family like Millie’s had taken up a correspondence with a common sailor. Millie didn’t think it was fair to discount a man because of his occupation, especially not when that occupation was managing to keep Britain from starvation and surrender. Still, her father had taught her at an early age that different people saw the world in different ways. The class structure in Britain was a bit more rigid than it was in the United States, and fair or not, merchant sailors were on one of the bottom levels.
“Does that mean you approve?” Millie asked.
Mrs. Twill turned from the window. “I suppose it means I don’t disapprove, so long as he returns you home at a decent hour tonight.”
Millie took her time washing up and arranging her hair for the dance. The dress she wore wasn’t new, but it fit her well, and the baby-blue hue hadn’t faded. She paired it with pearls and frowned at her options for shoes. New shoes were getting harder and harder to find, and hers were a bit scuffed. She added a little polish and hoped they would be presentable enough.
Karl arrived exactly on time to take her to supper and the dance. He wore the same suit he’d worn the day before. The pants were still a bit too long and the shoulders a bit too wide, but those eyes and that smile . . . both at once were powerful enough to make her forget about breathing.
They rode their bicycles to a pub in a nearby village. Even after the entire day together, they hadn’t run out of things to talk about. After the meal, they rode to the train station to drop off Shirley’s bicycle. She was due back that night, and she’d want it for the journey from the train station to the billet.
“What do you want to do after the war?” Millie asked as they walked along the darkening streets. Karl pushed her bicycle for her.
“Plan the first? Find my sister Ingrid. Plan the second? Finish school and go back to Falcon Point. Figure out how to make the estate work. Or maybe learn how to design ships. Ones that are a little tougher when torpedoes and rotten weather come. Ones that are a little more comfortable too. The Hillingdon isn’t awful, and I appreciate the other crewmembers more and more with every voyage, but it wouldn’t take much space to make her a little less claustrophobic. And if I don’t design cargo ships, maybe I’ll try passenger ships.”
“You and your plans.” She admired his drive and aspirations and the plans that went with each of his goals. The war seemed to push all those plans aside—for her and for him—but they had to hope that someday the war would be over and pursuing long-neglected dreams would again be an option. “Tell me, Mr. Eckerstorfer, what are your plans for the rest of the evening? Other than the dance?”
“You want to hear those?”
“I do.”
He glanced at her, then at the path they walked along. Gradually, his steps came to a halt, and he turned to face her. “Plan the first? After the dance, I kiss you good night. Plan the second? I back off because the last thing I want to do is scare you away.” When she didn’t show any alarm, he continued, his voice softer and his gaze on her mouth. “Or maybe plan the third: I kiss you right now.”
Did she want Karl to kiss her? Heavens, yes. She would have accepted a kiss on the hill with the picnic blanket. But she wanted it only if it meant something to him, because it would mean a great deal to her. “Have you kissed a lot of women?”
He shook his head but kept his gaze fixed on her. His eyes sparkled. “No, but I assure you that my mouth is capable of learning new things.” He spoke each word distinctly, and his THs sounded more like THs than like Zs.
“I noticed you’ve been practicing your pronunciation.”
“I told you I would. And when it comes to you, Millie, I always plan on keeping my word.”
That was the first time he had called her Millie instead of Miss Stevens, and she liked the way he said her name. And she liked him, a great deal. She might even call it the beginning of love. “I think we should try plan the fourth.”
“But I didn’t give you a plan the fourth.”
“No, it’s my plan. And I want you to lean the bicycle on that fence and then close your eyes and hold perfectly still.”
He complied. In her current shoes, he was only a little taller than her. She studied every inch of his face. His eyes were his most striking feature, but even with them closed, she felt a strong attraction to the shape of his jaw and the symmetry of his lips. Most of her and Karl’s interactions had been through letters—a connection of the mind—but she was ready for something more, something physical to complement the intellectual and emotional.
Karl waited, still with his eyes shut. She could walk away, or she could take his hand and lead him to the dance. Or she could take the risk he’d suggested. A risk that implied commitment and promise and more letters and struggles to see each other whenever he wasn’t at sea. A risk she was willing to take when it came to Karl Eckerstorfer.
She stepped closer and balanced a hand on his shoulder. She hesitated, then stood on her toes and pressed her lips to his. His mouth was warm and pliant and was soon kissing her in return. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her next to him, and the first tentative kiss grew into a second that she felt all the way to the ends of her toes.
* * *
Music from the six-man band filled the assembly hall. Karl held Millie in his arms as the music slowed. If crossing the Atlantic while being hunted by wolf packs was hell, then this was heaven, and he didn’t want to forget any of it. Not the way Millie’s mouth had felt against his, not the way she’d smiled when he’d used his handkerchief to tidy her lipstick smudges, not the way the music seemed to amplify the pleasure of being with a beautiful and brilliant woman.
She was the better dancer for fast and slow songs, but all skill levels were present at the village hall, so Karl fit in well enough. They danced only with each other, only really looked at each other, though Karl glanced around enough to make sure they didn’t bump into anyone else. And enough to notice that the crowd in Woburn contained a sizeable share of men in civilian clothing. On the train, Karl had been just about the only man his age not in uniform, but here he blended in.
They stayed until the last song, and then Karl hummed the music as he escorted Millie back to her billet. He pushed her bike for her again as they walked so she’d have it in the morning when she went to work.
“When do you think the Hillingdon will head out again?” she asked.
“Depends on the dry docks. They’re busy, but the damage won’t take long to fix, once they have time for her. When’s your next day off?”
“Not until next Friday.”
“I think we’ll be gone before that.” When Karl had told Captain Blake his plans to take the train to Fenny Stratford, the skipper had asked that Karl be back Sunday morning. That meant Karl needed to take the Saturday afternoon train. “When does your shift end tomorrow?”
“Four in the afternoon.”
Karl sighed. “I’ll have to catch a train back before that. Unless I want to risk missing the Hillingdon.”
“I imagine it’s important to stay with a crew you can trust.” She put a hand on his arm. “But I’d very much like a telegram again the next time you arrive in Britain.”
He slowed and turned to her, letting the bicycle rest against a nearby fence while one of his hands brushed along the exquisite skin of her cheeks. “I can guarantee a telegram the next time I’m here. And a visit, even if I have to find a new ship when it’s over.” He leaned in and met her lips again. They were every bit as wondrous as they had been the first time they’d kissed, before the dance.
When they arrived at Mrs. Twill’s, he put the bicycle in its spot, next to Shirley’s. He supposed that meant she had made it back, as planned. Then he kissed Millie again, but this last kiss was bittersweet. Millie was letting him kiss her, and she was the most amazing woman he’d ever known. But the sea awaited. Even as he held Millie in his arms and trembled a little as her fingers brushed along his neck, in the back of his mind, he knew that he couldn’t control whether or not he would ever have a chance to hold her again. His future with Millie was dependent on the whims of the sea.
* * *
The SS Hillingdon sat in the Mersey River, finished with repairs and loaded with cargo. The convoy would leave Liverpool in the morning, but Karl and the rest of the crew hadn’t been told their destination. They never were until they were out to sea. Loose lips could sink ships, as the saying went, and sailors had a tendency to be very thirsty before sailing back into the wolf packs.
Karl needed advice. He wished Papa or Mama were still alive. He’d even stoop to asking Ingrid for romantic counsel, if she would reappear. He’d stoop to a lot of things if it would let him find Ingrid again. She’d be sixteen by now. But she was still missing. Guilt nibbled at him every day, but so did a new emotion, and that new emotion had risen to a burning intensity during his trip to Fenny Stratford.
With no family to turn to, the ship’s master seemed the next best option. He was as close to a father figure as Karl was likely to find. “Captain Blake, do you have a few minutes?”
The skipper finished examining a pile of paperwork and brushed his hands along his trousers. “Sure. What’s on your mind, Mr. Ecker?”
“I was wondering . . .” Now that Karl had Captain Blake’s attention, he wasn’t sure how to proceed. “Well, how fast can a man fall in love?”
The captain laughed, a deep rumble that was inherently cheerful, even with the tremendous pressure a man like him faced. “Oh, about five seconds ought to be long enough.”
Karl shook his head. He’d asked a serious question, and he wanted a serious answer. “No, not falling in lust. Falling in love. The kind of love that leads to forever. I’m not talking about someone to visit when I’m in port so I can blow off steam. I’m talking about courtship and raising kids together and till death do us part.”
“Ah, that be a different matter altogether. Might need two minutes for that or two decades.”
Two minutes. Two decades. Maybe two days had been long enough, especially when he’d had a foundation of a dozen letters and two past meetings when Millie had proven herself a friend during his times of need.
Karl went to the crew’s cabin and took out the nearly-completed letter for Millie. He hadn’t been sure how to sign it, but after the skipper’s advice, he threw caution to the wind and wrote Love, Karl.