Free Softly Grow the Poppies by Audrey Howard

through which the bride would enter. Still, as Charlie declared, he and his brother, who was to be best man, could hardly walk to his own wedding, could they? The carriage was almost falling to pieces, poor old thing, and it had been kept for sentimental reasons really. Their mother, Lady Summers, had used it for years to take her into Liverpool, driven by the coachman who had long since gone to his maker, but Enoch, roped in for the task, did his best to make it presentable, and with a borrowed horse donated by Dan Herbert, the farmer from Oak Hill, and with Enoch ‘done up’ in his best suit at the reins, they felt they would not shame Alice. They’d even tied some white satin ribbon to the carriage.
    As he waited for his brother in the hallway of Summer Place Harry’s mind wandered back to the days since his father had died and Alice had arrived at Beechworth House, pregnant and distraught. He had telephoned his contact at the War Office the moment he heard the news.
    ‘Tom, is that you?’ he had asked the moment he was put through to the high-ranking officer with whom he had shared a room at Harrow. ‘It’s Harry – Sir Harry Summers now, and though I hate to throw my weight about, or rather my title, it certainly helps with difficult folk who are impressed by it. Yes, my father, today . . . Thanks, Tom, that’s kind of you. I have a favour to ask and pray that you will be able . . . Yes, yes, that’s it exactly. Can you get Charlie a forty-eight hour pass to attend the funeral? I’ll be honest with you, Tom. There is also a young woman . . . yes, I know Charlie always was a man for the ladies but this is genuine. They are exceedingly fond of one another, so much so . . . er . . . she is pregnant and has been thrown out by her very respectable family so you can see the difficulties. No, she is not with me but with a very dear friend of mine whom I hope to . . . well, that’s another story.’
    Tom had pulled many strings and at this time of year with the two armies bogged down in their trenches, German and British facing one another in an absolute stalemate after the Battle of Ypres it was felt that Captain Charlie Summers should be allowed the compassionate leave he so richly deserved. He had been noticed. He had fought like a tiger at Ypres and his command of his men, and the respect they held him in, went a long way to granting him leave. He had arrived home with the mud of the trenches still staining his uniform and though it had only been four months since he had gone to war he was already a changed man. He did his best, teasing Mrs Philips as he had as a boy and cheerful young man but he was not the same. He had seen such horrors, men mutilated, horses with their entrails hanging out as they fought to keep their feet, the death of his own Lady who had been blown to a mist of blood and bone as she was hit by a shell, she and Burton the groom who was fetching her to Charlie.
    He had walked silently into Alice’s open arms. Harry had offered him his own stallion Corey for the ride to Beechworth, but he had refused as though the killing of Lady was something he would never get over and Harry wondered whether Charlie would ever ride a horse again. Instead they had driven through the winter lanes in the trap. It was a bitterly cold day, sunny with ice thick and sparkling on every hedge and blade of grass, but Charlie had not noticed as though his eyes were so full of other unbearable sights that they had no room for beauty.
    He had put his head on Alice’s shoulder and stood trembling in her warm embrace and it was not until she reached for his hand and placed it on her swollen belly and he felt the movement of his child that he became himself for a while. He smiled and held her close, kissing her with such tender love those who were in the kitchen felt they were watching something private, something sacred to these two.
    Now he was to become her husband and the sight of her coming up the aisle