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It’s warm. Nell squints against the sun for so long it gives her a headache. She tosses the soggy blade of grass to the ground and wets her lips. They're cracked, and talking would be painful if there was anyone to talk to, for her throat feels as if she's inhaled dust.
She’d tried humming some miles back, but Jackie hummed, and it made her tear up. Crying was a good way to feel thirsty, and she’d grown too tired of swollen eyes and a raw nose over the past months to tempt it.
When she stops to give Vin a rest, her body feels like it’s still swaying on his back.
Boredom had always stirred mischief up in her. Boredom and grief together gave her an awful itching feeling, and nothing was scratching it. She’d run her horse for too long and hard, and she’d considered getting lost on purpose. So when Isembard Tulley’s stupid lackey points a gun at her head and insinuates she’s giving them her wedding ring, she’s a bit put out, but the blood pumping through her veins feels good.
-
A warm meal and a soft bed.
The opportunity to rest her aching joints.
A bath, ointment on scrapes, combing the tangles out of her hair.
Nell focused on the physical, on the present moment. If she thought too much about her sisters her heart would sting sharper than the fresh cut on her cheek. But she couldn't help her mind wandering. George had grown quite eloquent and spirited. Roxy was quiet and gentle, but steady at her work, as she'd always been. Questions flooded her mind. What was her father like without her mum?
Her improper headstone tells her a lot. She shivers. She still can’t read, but she can recognize and sign her name. It’s clear her dad’s still hurting from the words she carelessly threw at him when she was eighteen.
Nell sighed. Eighteen. She thought she was so old then.
Pulling the marker up makes her feel a bit more settled. She puts one foot in front of the other, grinds the cross into her shoulder to keep her present. Anger weaves its way up her throat when her sisters tell her about the Blancheford son, Thomas, and his stupid pilfering of people who actually work for their money. Anger is something she feels a lot of, recently.
But there’s reprieve when Georgie holds her hand and she grins.
-
Nell is allowed to sleep inside, and though she’d never admit it, she’s relieved. A few years ago she’d give anything to sneak outside at every opportunity. Blenheim had changed that.
Sleeping alone is something she’d done too much of on her journey back. You learn to sleep lighter when there’s nobody around, you sleep half-aware. Nell adjusts her pillow, checking for the firearm that had become a habit.
It was unloaded. Nell wasn't the violent sort, not really. But a baser part of her revelled in the knowledge that she didn’t even need the gun anymore. Something changed when Jackie died. Her instincts sharpened, time slowed during a fight. She never fought thinking she could die. It simply wasn’t an option anymore. And she hated injustice with every pump of blood that coursed through her veins. She’d grown up surrounded by men that all thought they were entitled to her time, her respect, her body. She couldn’t stomach seeing Roxy, who was kinder and softer than her by a mile, treated the same way.
-
It's been a week since Billy introduced himself and Nell’s mood has sunk lower than it had in a while. There’s simply nothing exciting to do. Endlessly, she does chores, but they don’t occupy her mind enough to rid her of the memories.
On Tuesday, She unloads new inventory into their storage shed, and she slips into a reverie.
Jack is- was- the right kind of gentle toward her. He let her roam unbothered, didn’t push her to give him more than she was comfortable with. His company was easy. He was funny, and smoothed her rough edges by simply being there.
In August they meet. He’s new in town, twenty years old, and just as restless as her. His restlessness doesn’t have the sharpness or bumbling cruelty that hers does, but they bond over wanting to leave. He gets a kind word from her after three months of teasing. Jack doesn’t get mad at her ribbing, and matches her attitude with jokes and sunshine. She finds herself missing him when he’s gone, and that scares her. Nell hates being afraid, so one day she pushes him up against the storage shed door and kisses him. It feels nothing but prickly and wet, but their conversation flows so well she puts up with it.
In February they get married, and he lets her take her time.
She’d tried. Two times, she’d let him do what he needed with her body. She forced herself to relax when her body tensed. It’d pass, this feeling, she just needed to get used to it. With every slap of skin on skin, a wave of nausea coursed through her stomach. It felt wrong, it was painful. It was nothing like when she touched herself. She was scared.
After their first unenthusiastic attempt, Jack had asked what was wrong. She looked into his eyes and her heart broke. She searched them for anger or resentment, but only found concern.
“We can wait longer if that’s what you need, we don’t have to go all the way. Please, Nelly, just talk to me?”
“I can’t. I want to, but I just- I can’t.”
“Want to talk or want to fuck?”
Nelly forced a grin at that. She understood her Jackie was trying to comfort her, he knew she liked jokes.
“I want to talk, Nell, I want this,” he gestured between them, "to be good for both of us.”
But they never talked about it. Jack was her dearest friend, she loved him as if he were a part of her. How do you tell someone so dear that touching him felt wrong and scary? That it leaves you wanting to cry?
The second time she decides she must be brave. The third time, Jackie refuses to touch her.
“I’m not gonna hurt ya, Nelly.”
“You’re not hurtin’ me!”
Her acting isn’t as good as she thought it was. She can’t hide from him, and he can’t hide his frustration. His love wasn’t unrequited, it was differently requited. She looked at him with fondness and affection, but no desire. She is holding his heart, but she’s never been good at being gentle. Her hands dig in.
She can’t give him what he deserves, and eventually he shrinks from her touch. He deserves someone who’d desire him fervently.
In April, Nell dreams of her friend Isabelle. She dreams of making love to her that feels warm and safe and good, and she must talk in her sleep because she wakes and Jack refuses conversation. He goes weeks without giving her more attention than strictly necessary to keep their little household going.
Halfway through May, looking at her must stop hurting him. They’ve finished chores and are sitting on the north hill, like they used to. He’s talking about gardening, generous with his laughter, and Nell’s missed that sparkle in his eyes. Their conversation turns to travel, service, and honorable work.
“Join me, Nelly. See the world? Well, Germany, I suppose. You’ll be safe, nurses are never in the crossfire. And I’ll get to see you a little more often.”
They’re sharing an apple, and the juice is running down her chin. She leans back on her elbows, squints up at him. His voice isn’t shaking. They say the English will win, no sweat. Nell isn’t sure about that, but she doesn’t want to stay here. At nineteen, helping people that were far away felt more enticing to her than staying in Tottenham. Going with Jackie meant freedom. It meant wearing what she wanted and no questions of pregnancy and babies.
“Well, there’s lots for me to consider, ain’t there?” She pretends to think, but they both know she just uses her gut to decide, “Alright then, we’re joining the army.”
She wants to kiss him on the cheek, but she knows that’d hurt. She pats his hand instead.
-
Nell and Jack saw the world, they saw Germany. They also saw men die and lose limbs. Nell’s stomach is stronger now. One day she peers down at a cot and Jack looks back.
She felt her face go from her practiced smile to a pale sort of horror. Mary, a quiet, kind nurse, notices.
“Ja-” she clears her throat, “That’s Jack.”
Her hands grab at her apron desperately, trying to find something to do. That’s when she sees it. He hadn’t yet been covered with a sheet like the other failed amputees. Bile rises in her throat and she turns away.
"Nelly-” The shorter one was crying. She rubbed her back.
“There's nothin' we can do that won't just cause more sufferin'.”
Nelly shook her head, over and over.
"Just be with him, Nelly, you're all he wants to see right now."
Nelly doesn't want to look. But she takes a deep, steadying breath and steels her face.
She bends down, wrings a cloth out, dabs at his forehead, combs his sweaty hair back, looks into his eyes.
"Hey, Jackie." He just stares. She grins, no mirth behind it. He manages to find the strength to return one.
"Nelly."
And there's not much to say, because both of them know what's coming next, and saying it out loud is unnecessary and painful. His breath hitches as he tucks a curl behind her ear.
"Go back home."
"What?"
"At least England? I know you won't be told what to do, but please. I want you to be safe."
“I-” Her voice breaks, so she nods instead. She kisses him on the forehead, runs a thumb over his cracked lips, as if trying to make a decision.
He shakes his head and clasps her free hand in his. They look into each other’s eyes. There are so many things to say, but Nell thinks they’re all selfish in some way. So, she says nothing.
She stays until long after his grip has weakened and his spirit’s left.
Nelly- Nell- buries her husband before she can apologize to him, before he can know a real woman’s love. She knows she did her wifely duties to her best ability, but she had failed. She buries a dear, dear friend.