future for you with him.”
“I know.” The burden of this knowledge weighed heavily on her heart.
“It would be no good, I suppose, my telling you to try and forget him.”
“No. I’m surprised at you, Guy. He’s your friend.”
“Of course he is. But Smithy, except for Sophie, no one in the world means as much to me as you do. Mark knows how I feel, because I told him. He’s being unfair to both of you. I know there’s something terrible in his past that stops him from marrying you, but he should set you free so you can find yourself a man who can do the right thing.”
“Please.” She touched his cheek. “Don’t let’s argue. I love Mark, and there can never be anyone else for me.”
“You’re being foolish.”
“Things are such a mess. Still, I mustn’t burden you with my problems.” She clamped down on her own distress because he looked so worried.
“I suppose Elizabeth will have to call me Auntie.” She forced a smile. “I mean, ‘Cousin Amy’ is hideous. Makes me sound about a hundred years old.”
His grin returned, lightening her heart. Mark and I have got each other for now. Until the war ends, it has to be enough .
“Write to me, Guy, won’t you?”
“Sophie will.”
“I know, but I want to hear from you sometimes. You’ve been here and seen what it’s like. Sophie would never understand. I don’t suppose anyone at home would, really.”
He clasped her hand in his. “I will write, I promise.”
“Tell the Carstairs about Billy, won’t you? Say I was with him when he died, and his last thoughts were of Fiona and his mother.”
“I’ll tell them, don’t worry.”
“Thanks. Did you hear about Jules being killed at the Nek with Dick?”
“Yes, I saw the Casualty Lists. I’ll see his parents, too. At least I’ll be able to tell them it was quick, no time for anything else in that mad heroic dash.”
“Take care of yourself, and have a safe trip home.” She kissed his forehead. How many months would pass before they met again?
****
By the twentieth of December 1915, Gallipoli had been evacuated without the loss of even one soldier. For months, thousands of Anzacs had lived under fire in an area of less than three hundred and eighty acres. Now the peninsula lay deserted, except for those who would never leave its shores to return home.
****
France. April 1916.
Amy and Millie strolled in the sunshine, passing through fields of swaying buttercups and daisies.
They had arrived in Marseilles less than a week ago. The green hedgerows and fields of corn on the small French farms enthralled Amy. The train had taken them past quaint little villages and beautiful churches that hadn’t changed for centuries, but as they neared their destination, things were not so tranquil.
Near the Somme River, some villages lay in ruins, and barbed wire entanglements scarred the countryside. A few places remained untouched, while only the distant artillery barrages interrupting a bird’s song reminded her she was close to the front.
The German line ran from the Swiss border to the North Sea, while the British held from Ypres, in the north, to the River Somme near Amiens.
“These pretty fields make me feel homesick, Mill.”
Millie didn’t answer, just stared straight ahead, her hands clasped behind her back.
Amy squatted down on the soft green grass and picked some yellow daisies and linked them together. Industrious bees buzzed around searching for nectar. She closed her eyes and was transported back to Australia. She could almost smell the perfume of the gum trees, feel the soft balls of golden wattle drifting down over her shoulders as she brushed against low-growing branches.
What would Guy and Sophie be doing now? Would she ever see baby Elizabeth? And if so, how old would she be? A wave of homesickness washed over her, but she pushed it aside and stood up.
“I suppose we’d better turn back, otherwise dear Ella will be searching for us.” Amy slid the daisy
“I know.” The burden of this knowledge weighed heavily on her heart.
“It would be no good, I suppose, my telling you to try and forget him.”
“No. I’m surprised at you, Guy. He’s your friend.”
“Of course he is. But Smithy, except for Sophie, no one in the world means as much to me as you do. Mark knows how I feel, because I told him. He’s being unfair to both of you. I know there’s something terrible in his past that stops him from marrying you, but he should set you free so you can find yourself a man who can do the right thing.”
“Please.” She touched his cheek. “Don’t let’s argue. I love Mark, and there can never be anyone else for me.”
“You’re being foolish.”
“Things are such a mess. Still, I mustn’t burden you with my problems.” She clamped down on her own distress because he looked so worried.
“I suppose Elizabeth will have to call me Auntie.” She forced a smile. “I mean, ‘Cousin Amy’ is hideous. Makes me sound about a hundred years old.”
His grin returned, lightening her heart. Mark and I have got each other for now. Until the war ends, it has to be enough .
“Write to me, Guy, won’t you?”
“Sophie will.”
“I know, but I want to hear from you sometimes. You’ve been here and seen what it’s like. Sophie would never understand. I don’t suppose anyone at home would, really.”
He clasped her hand in his. “I will write, I promise.”
“Tell the Carstairs about Billy, won’t you? Say I was with him when he died, and his last thoughts were of Fiona and his mother.”
“I’ll tell them, don’t worry.”
“Thanks. Did you hear about Jules being killed at the Nek with Dick?”
“Yes, I saw the Casualty Lists. I’ll see his parents, too. At least I’ll be able to tell them it was quick, no time for anything else in that mad heroic dash.”
“Take care of yourself, and have a safe trip home.” She kissed his forehead. How many months would pass before they met again?
****
By the twentieth of December 1915, Gallipoli had been evacuated without the loss of even one soldier. For months, thousands of Anzacs had lived under fire in an area of less than three hundred and eighty acres. Now the peninsula lay deserted, except for those who would never leave its shores to return home.
****
France. April 1916.
Amy and Millie strolled in the sunshine, passing through fields of swaying buttercups and daisies.
They had arrived in Marseilles less than a week ago. The green hedgerows and fields of corn on the small French farms enthralled Amy. The train had taken them past quaint little villages and beautiful churches that hadn’t changed for centuries, but as they neared their destination, things were not so tranquil.
Near the Somme River, some villages lay in ruins, and barbed wire entanglements scarred the countryside. A few places remained untouched, while only the distant artillery barrages interrupting a bird’s song reminded her she was close to the front.
The German line ran from the Swiss border to the North Sea, while the British held from Ypres, in the north, to the River Somme near Amiens.
“These pretty fields make me feel homesick, Mill.”
Millie didn’t answer, just stared straight ahead, her hands clasped behind her back.
Amy squatted down on the soft green grass and picked some yellow daisies and linked them together. Industrious bees buzzed around searching for nectar. She closed her eyes and was transported back to Australia. She could almost smell the perfume of the gum trees, feel the soft balls of golden wattle drifting down over her shoulders as she brushed against low-growing branches.
What would Guy and Sophie be doing now? Would she ever see baby Elizabeth? And if so, how old would she be? A wave of homesickness washed over her, but she pushed it aside and stood up.
“I suppose we’d better turn back, otherwise dear Ella will be searching for us.” Amy slid the daisy
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