CHAPTER SONG: "Never Enough" by Loren Allred
Schofield planted himself in his chair at Emmanuelle's bedside, anxiety gripping him with each passing hour as sunset crawled closer with the conclusion of the day. She was in and out of consciousness in the time leading to sun being buried in the horizon, but Lt. Blake had managed to acquire more food for her on the journey to the hospital, packed in a spare bag for her use.
After awakening from her encounter with Colonel MacKenzie earlier that day, she was able to bathe courtesy of Lt. Blake borrowing a laundry barrel that was the perfect size for her petite frame and a simple set of tan trousers and loose shirt that hanged around her body, but it was an improvement over that tattered blue dress that was beyond repair. Even the worn boots only barely fit her feet, but they'd have to do until she arrived at the hospital where she'd be provided more proper clothing.
After she had dressed in her temporary attire, she begged Schofield to throw the blue dress and her pink nightgown into the nearest fire pit.
He stared at the vibrant photograph of her in his hand, absorbing each detail of color surrounding the smiling woman. The origins of how it had come into his possession still confounded him, and he debated in his head whether to ask her about it.
Even though the concept of showing one's teeth in a photograph was considered an undesirable image to display for his era, Schofield found his own lips curl into a rare smile at the sight of her beaming at the camera. He hadn't truly smiled in such a long time he had almost forgotten what it felt like.
The only two people who had made him laugh and feel happy even for the briefest of moments had been Thomas Blake and Emmy Hunterson. What he would give to make that feeling permanent...
In the photograph of Emmanuelle, her brown hair was bunched up behind her head, emphasizing her fair features and the curves of her cheeks, painted with a faint pink flush and her green eyes shining with life. A few stray brunette strands hung on both sides of her face, perfectly framed as though it were intended to be a work of art hanged in a museum. He had never seen a woman with such liveliness in her eyes and he knew if that light within her soul diminished, Schofield would find himself to never be worthy of even looking in her direction.
"Schofield? Lance Corporal Schofield?" A familiar voice sounded from outside the tent.
Schofield placed the photograph of Emmy back into his tobacco tin, placing it onto his chair as he stood to attention
Emmanuelle stirred slowly awake in the makeshift bed, brushing away a buzzing fly from her face. Her hand pressed to her face as she battled against an oncoming headache. As though by nature, her senses picked up that her soldier was still by her side, ever vigilant as he went to respond to the voice calling for him.
"Major Hepburn, sir." Schofield went to exit the tent, briefly glancing back at Emmy to see that she was awakening.
"It's alright." He mouthed to her before turning and lifting up the flap of the tent to meet the major outside.
Emmy could only hear the muffled voices, no doubt discussing the topic of her, from only a few meters away. Stretching out her arms, she removed the thick woolen blanket from around her and placed her now shoed feet onto the grass.
Blinking away the blur of sleep from her eyes, she stood up, her legs wobbling from lack of use that day before steadying herself, the muscles within her working to support her slight weight. Despite her new clothing and shoes, Emmy knew she still looked bedraggled, her hair tangled and her face still bruised and blotted with circles under her eyes even though she had slept a majority of the day.
.
.
Prior to her bathing earlier that day, Schofield had given her a small mirror after she begged him for one, wanting to see what she looked like after the trek they had endured.
She had seen her reflection in the fingerprint smudged glass. Her face hadn't endured as much trauma compared to the state of her body. After being left in the privacy of the tent to bathe, Schofield guarding the entrance and making sure the flap was completely sealed so nobody could peek inside; she had been disgusted at the bruises decorating her abdomen and ribcage area, explaining why she had been so sore to the point where she could barely walk. Her legs had their fair share of bruises, both of the recent purple and yellow variety.
Whilst looking in the mirror, her neck continued to have the fingerprints left as a parting from the German pilot's strangulation attempt on her. Her eyes were slightly bloodshot and her cheeks sunken almost as though she were a manufactured doll of macabre origins rather than a person. Her lips were chapped and cracked, which she was sure Schofield hadn't found pleasure in kissing them.
Before Schofield left the tent to allow her bathing, they both looked at her reflection in the mirror. She had sighed and hung her head. She was an absolute picture of disarray, and she had conveyed as much without words when she looked up at him for his input.
How could he have ever thought she was attractive when she was so injured and exhausted and she had looked so the entire time they had been in each other's presence?
She had thrown the mirror to the ground with a dissatisfied huff, her self-esteem sinking. Schofield then turned her face away from the mirror to him, his gentle fingertips holding her chin.
"Emmanuelle, your injuries will heal and they don't tarnish you at all." Schofield assured her. "You are magnificent." The tip of his thumb touched the corner of her mouth, trailing along her bottom lip.
Those mere three words to her had never contained so much sincerity than when he spoke them in his soft voice, comforting her even though they had so much more important things to be concerned with, at the most just staying alive.
"Don't sell yourself short either, Will." She jested, a small smile gracing her lips as her own fingers reached up to caress his bruised cheekbone, now a faded yellow in its healing state. "I haven't deserved such kindness and dedication from you, but the fact that you've stayed true to your promise only made me love you, my Lance Corporal. You're a truly gracious and beautiful human being."
Schofield felt his eyes well with tears at her words. Nobody had ever described him in such a manner before. One of them escaped his eye, betraying his emotion to her, but she only silently wiped it away. She didn't belittle or mock him as he had experienced before when showing his true feelings to other people.
His arms gathered her to him, holding Emmy tightly against his uniformed chest. His taller height allowed for his chin to rest atop her head. The words he wanted to say to her threatened to break away from inside him.
His throat choked up with anxiety at what her reaction would be, but he knew he would most likely never get the chance to ask her again. Slightly pulling away from her, Schofield took her hands within his, the freshened bandage around his palm tightening.
"Emmy." He spoke her nickname, a pleasurable thrill shooting up his spine that he could be so casual and comfortable with her. "I have leave to go home in two weeks, and... I was hoping that..."
He trailed off, gulping back the dryness at the back of his mouth, as though he was having trouble speaking. She looked up at him, curiosity and slight concern shining in her tired eyes. No matter how long she had slept that day, she still looked worn and on the brink of collapsing, her injured leg working to support her slowly healing body.
Clearing his throat, Schofield enfolded an arm around her waist and led her to the chair he had been sitting at by her bedside, easing her to sit down. He knelt down on his knees, releasing a breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding.
She repressed a groan of pain, but the wincing of her face failed to conceal any suffering she was feeling. But Schofield again felt the guilt of not being able to save her from any injury, yet he knew it was impractical to think he could shield her from everything.
Yet, nothing would keep him from trying to accomplish it. Mere human will was a powerful thing and it helped him to survive the mission for her and Tom Blake.
"William?" Emmy's voice broke him away from his train of thought. Her tendril-like fingers brushed locks of dark hair off his perspiring forehead. Her hands then moved to hold his structured cheekbones, hoping to comfort her soldier. "What's wrong? What do you want to ask me?"
He delicately removed her hands from his face, grasping her fragile wrists, also patterned with bruises. As gently as possible he held both of her hands in his, placing them into her lap, her legs still clothed in the ratted blue dress, the coarse and wrinkled fabric no doubt scratching her fair skin.
"I was hoping that...once I'm free on my leave, and you're healed enough to travel... that you would come with me to Surrey." He carefully scoped the features of her face, gauging for what she was thinking in response to his words.
"What...what do you mean, Will? Come with you, where you grew up, where your family lives?" She asked. Her eyes widened at the prospect of actually getting away from this dreadful war, but a sick feeling at the pit of her stomach made her shiver. "I...I'd be meeting your family?"
"Only if you desire to do so. I want to be certain that you're safe and as far away from here as possible. It may also give us a chance to figure out a way to get you home to your own time." Schofield was surprised how smoothly he said that sentence, as though nothing could ever shock him anymore. "If...you're nervous about meeting them, I can see about making other arrangements for you to stay somewhere else to your liking."
"Will, are you sure your family would want to meet someone like me, a random stranger you found in France? You saw the state I was in at that farmhouse. It's only by some miracle you hadn't washed your hands of me by now." A tear trickled down her reddened cheek before being wiped away by Schofield with such tenderness it made her want to break down sobbing.
"Emmanuelle, you are the woman I love, and you reciprocate that feeling for me. God brought us together to save each other and if other people can't see that, then they're at a loss." Schofield brought both of her tiny hands to his lips, kissing each set of her knuckles. "Would you like to see pictures of my family? Perhaps that will make you more at ease with meeting them."
He couldn't believe what he was offering her. Schofield had never shown even his closest comrades what his family looked like, not even Blake. One of his hands continued to hold Emmy's while the other reached into his uniform tunic, trembling at the motion of pulling out his tobacco tin.
She nodded in a tentative manner, knowing that Schofield was doing what he could to make this situation easiest as possible for her  to cope with. As he had been doing so from the moment they met...
He set the metal container carefully in her lap. Emmy was able to decipher immediately that whatever was in this tin was especially precious to him. And she again was assured that what he felt for her was genuine, that he was willing to present her something personal to him and she was able to chip away another chunk of armor protecting him from emotional sensation.
She looked into his eyes, silently asking his permission to open the tin and look inside. He nodded, lifting up her hand again to his lips to kiss her fingers.
She couldn't help but smile at the virtuous gesture, being kissed by this man who was risking so much by merely having her within his vicinity.
Her shaking hands lifted up the lid from the metal tin and Emmy looked to see the contents inside, feeling Schofield's anticipating her response.
Emmy first saw the black and white picture of a woman, about early to mid-thirties, her dark hair tied back in a proper fashion according to the era. Her eyes were soft and reminded her Emmy immediately of how Schofield would look at her.
"She's my only and oldest sister, Molly." Schofield was patient in his explaining to her as she carefully held the picture at the edges, not wanting to smudge it with fingerprints. "If you met her, she would make you feel at home. She loves meeting new people, especially in our small village of Surrey."
"She seems beautiful, Will. But, what if she picks up that something isn't right with me?" Emmy set the picture onto one side of the tin to look at the other underneath it.
"Emmy, there is nothing wrong with you. And I'll be sure to write and explain to her about you and what you mean to me." Schofield inched closer to her on his knees, his un-bandaged hand reaching out to stroke her cheek. "Of course, I know I can't tell her everything, but I can at least prepare her for meeting you. And I promise I'll be there every step of the way any time you feel frightened or unsure. Until we figure out how to get you home, I want to help you in adjusting to being here in 1917. Even when we're away from all this hell here, I want to take care of you, if you will allow me."
Emmy remained silent, absorbing his words and processing what to say to him.
Schofield reached underneath the collar of his uniform and pulled out something in his hand. A golden brown medallion from what Emmy could tell. His hands reached behind his neck and unclasped the thin chain that hung beneath the thick layers of his undershirt tunic.
"And for your journey to the hospital tonight, I want you to have this." He held the small medallion in his hand, as though he were offering her a piece of himself.
"What is it?" She asked, although she'd had an idea what.
"It's the medallion of Saint Christopher, patron saint of those who are lost. Also, the namesake for my middle name given to me at baptism." His hand slightly trembled as he held the medallion in his palm. "I want you to have it and keep it safe for me. And it's meant to be for your protection while we're apart."
Emmy inhaled a shaky breath, her hands reaching out to take hold of the necklace, but she stopped herself. "William, if it's that invaluable to you, I can't take it. It seems like a family heirloom, and I don't qualify for that."
"Your safety is what is invaluable to me, Emmanuelle." His voice was firm with her. "So long as you're being watched over before we see each other again. This is all I have for an offering to show how much I've fallen in love with you. You need not wear it, but please keep it in your possession until I return for you."
Schofield was nearly begging her, wanting to ensure her protection while they had to be separated. His blue eyes threatened to spill with unshed tears and Emmy hated the sight of him so distraught. Who was she to hold his happiness in her grasp?
Taking a deep breath to steady her hands, she held the medallion out to him. "I would be honored to wear it, my Lance Corporal. Will you put it on me?"
He looked into her eyes at her words, a rare smile growing on his handsome face. Emmy so wished he was able to smile more often. "Thank you, Emmanuelle."
His whisper was faint, but full of unspoken adoration meant for her only. He stood and went behind her as she gathered up her long hair with her hands. Schofield gingerly wove the chain around her neck, careful not to clasp it too tight and irritate the bruises coloring the flesh on her throat. The clasp fit together and the medallion rested against her bosom.
"It's beautiful, William. I feel truly blessed that you think me worthy of wearing something that means so much to you." Emmy confessed before she could prevent the words from escaping her lips.
Schofield was back on his knees again in front of her, looking as though a huge amount of pressure was lifted off his already weary shoulders. His uninjured hand reached up toward the medallion before making its way to her face, his fingertips brushing along her jaw-line and down her chin.
"You are deserving of all the comforts and treasures life can offer you, my Emmy. Much more than what I'm capable of giving you. In your era or mine, you are worthy of everything you desire." His words were reverent with unbreakable belief of what he was saying to her.
The tears of immense gratitude spilled from Emmy's eyes before she could stop them. She saw the worried look on Schofield's face at the sight of her crying, but a laugh of relief emitted from her choked up throat.
"Okay." Her voice was a hoarse croak with the one word as she nodded.
"What, love?" Schofield's brow furrowed with confusion at her use of such a broad term.
"Yes, William. Yes, I'll go with you to Surrey." Elation electrocuted her body with euphoria at the notion of him taking her away from here, even though it'd still be unfamiliar to her, this place of Surrey.
Her radiant smile brought the most joy to Schofield, such a feeling he hadn't experienced in so long. Before he could process the feeling of his own hopeful smile to his face, Emmy had flung herself into his arms, nearly knocking him backwards to the grass as he caught her.
The tobacco tin had fallen from her lap and onto the grass, photographs and other trinkets spilling out.
Neither of them at the moment, however...
His lips were tangled with hers, kissing her with the most conviction of his being true to Emmanuelle. He held her carefully in his arms as he kept them both upright, mindful of her heavily bruised abdomen. His fingers wove through her tangled hair, careful of catching any knotted ends so as not to pull at her scalp. A growl emerged from Schofield, primal and remindful of his more natural needs as a man, holding the most beautiful girl ever to cross his path within his embrace.
Emmy's arms were around his neck as they pulled away from the kiss, taking a breath to catch themselves. Their foreheads touched as they shared a mutual smile with one another, one of agreement and assurance that everything would work out.
She leaned her head on his shoulder, inhaling his comforting scent of tobacco and the remnants of gunpowder caked into his uniform. Her eyes closed in sharing this moment of intimacy and crossing this milestone.
Schofield placed the gentlest of kisses to her neck, soothing one of the fading bruises reminding him that he hadn't always been able to keep her from being harmed in this war.
In modern times, she could interpret it as the equivalent of not only meeting his family, but moving into his life in a more permanent sense, moving in with him...
Then, she opened her eyes, still encaged in her soldier's arms and saw it lying on the grass amongst the photos.
An atom bomb, or in Schofield's case, a grenade...
A picture in pure Technicolor of her, in modern day clothing. Her picture from when she had been Employee of the Month at the library... Sitting amongst those of Schofield's family.
Was she hallucinating? Was she being tormented by God Himself with these images of her in pictures, past and present? Why was she being pulled between two worlds?
A movement caught the corner of her eye and she looked up to see someone standing there. And she gasped in alarm and also nearly manic happiness.
A vision of Corp. Thomas Blake stood within her line of sight, straight out of her dreams, ethereal and incandescent with his youthful aura. And he had died because of her...
While still being held by Schofield, Emmy could think of no words to say at the sight invading her waking hour. Tom stayed silent, gazing into her eyes with mourning affection and then glancing at the photo of her.
She wanted to run and embrace him, but she wasn't sure if she had the strength to stand. She knew this vision of him was not a threat to her, but a sign of things to come. He was guiding her down her own path to form her history.
And the pictures were markers of what was to come...
Before Emmy could speak anything coherent to say, to get him to stay a second more, she blinked away the tears and he vanished as though he were never there.
Blake's voice ghosted in her ear, another proverb of assurance.
"Even if a century of years keep you apart, no amount of time will vanquish the love Scho holds for you, sweetest Emmy."