British Black Sheep - Lauren Smith Page 0,32

the trenches, our hands clasping photos of our wives and sweethearts. I don’t know which is worse, the shells or the yellow gas that drifts into our holes.

I hate that I’m even writing to you of such things. I fear though if I do not write them down, they will be trapped inside me forever. I miss you and I miss Merryvale. The snow here is gray, from the ash of distant fires.

I hope that when you think of me, you will keep me with you in your heart so that I may be there beside you for Christmas. I long for Cook’s pudding, the caroling, the hot wassail drinks, and the sight of a tall spruce tree in the salon glinting with tinsel. I wish I could see the blanket of pure white on the grounds and the hounds bounding through it.

That is my Christmas wish. To come home to you.

Yours always,

Robert.”

Brie stared at the yellowed letter with the words scrawled in faded ink, more brown now than black.

“What happened to them?” She turned to see Alec was staring into the distance, his gaze unfocused.

“Robert never made it home. An officer who served with him wrote Adele a letter telling her how he’d gone over the top a few days after that letter was written. He died trying to save his fellow soldiers who were trapped in barbed wire. The Germans had left them alive to lure others to their rescue. He didn’t know it was a trap until it was too late.” Alec finally looked at her, his gaze completely focused. “His son was born a few months later. He never even knew Adele had been pregnant with their child.”

“The way he spoke of Christmas here at Merryvale, the natural magic of it, and his hopes and dreams was beautiful. I would like to include that in the book, if your mother agrees.” Brie wanted to clutch the heartbreaking letter to her chest but instead she carefully folded it back up and returned the letter inside the card.

“He was an artist,” Alec mused. “I imagine he drew this because there were no cards on the front line.” He brushed his thumb over the ink sketch of the holly leaves, the detail seemed even more powerful once Brie knew where it had come from.

“Why don’t we talk like that anymore?” she asked Alec as she carefully put the cards back into the box.

“Like what?”

“Like the world is beautiful, like nature and other people still matter. Everyone I know is obsessed with social media, with the latest app on their phones, or with reality TV. And then you think of people like Robert who were dying a world away from their home and the only thing that mattered to them was the people and places they loved. It breaks my heart.”

Brie couldn’t bring herself to say it, but that was what she dreamed of when she’d married Preston: a life full of a love that would defy the ages. She wanted to be loved like that, but it had only been an illusion. Maybe that was why she couldn’t trust herself to love, because the type of love she believed in didn’t exist anymore.

But it had. The proof was right here.

Alec gripped her shoulder as he simply held her against his side for a long moment.

“This is why I hate coming home,” he finally said. “The older I get the more painful I find it here. More loss and death.”

“But that’s life, isn’t it?” Brie found a small smile somewhere within her. “The highs of life mean nothing without the lows.”

Alec didn’t reply but he didn’t pull away either. There was a gentle comfort of being together in this moment, like last night while the snowstorm raged outside.

“Alec…we shouldn’t tell anyone what happened last night,” Brie finally said. “We can’t…” She struggled for words. “We can’t do that again and we can’t let anyone know what happened. I could get fired from my publisher.”

“I agree,” Alec said just as quietly. “No one can know about last night. We’ll keep things professional.” He dropped his arms from her shoulders and she instantly missed his warmth.

She opened her mouth to speak when she heard some shouts from the main hall.

“We better go see what that is.” Alec led the way. Outside the room, they found Simon, Bridget, and their son Brendan covered with snow in the doorway. They were shrugging out of their heavy coats, hats, and mittens. Their faces were deep