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Of course, they had ended up in billets back at the chateau. The place that had held so much joy for him and Gaunt was now to be the place Ellwood mourned Gaunt.
He gripped Hayes’ arm tightly, certainly to the point of pain, as they crossed the threshold into the room with the four-poster bed.
Hayes said nothing as he gently shut the door behind them. Ellwood was grateful that Hayes seemed to know what he needed without Ellwood asking him. He supposed that was an aptitude that came with practically living on top of each other in muddy trenches for months on end.
He’d been inconsolable the night he lost Gaunt. He had downed half a bottle of whiskey and lay curled up with wide, glassy red eyes staring unseeingly at the wall until Hayes came to sit on his cot.
Ellwood hadn’t meant to tell him, but the barely intelligible words Ellwood repeated between the sobs and the shivers that wracked his body had painted the picture enough that Hayes understood.
“I had him for weeks in this bed,” Ellwood said mournfully. He touched his lips, as if he could conjure up the ghost of Gaunt’s kiss on demand.
A hand landed on his shoulder. “If you need to talk about him, I can just listen.”
It was a kind offer, and Ellwood was feeling too weak to refuse, the rush of memories swirling around the room, taunting him with what he’d had and been foolish enough to lose. He hadn’t told Henry he loved him until their lives were in utter peril, and even then, he’d expressed it in a cowardly way. He hadn’t said the words at all. And Henry had died never having expressed that he felt the same. Perhaps he hadn’t. There was no way to ever know what he might have said, if they’d both made it back to the dugout.
“I loved him since we were thirteen,” he said pathetically as he sank down onto his side of the bed. As if Gaunt were coming back to claim the other side. “He wasn’t big and strong back then,” Ellwood explained. “He was just a boy with blond hair and blue eyes who was kind to me when the other boys teased me.”
He looked up at Hayes, who was watching him quietly, his expression neutral. Ellwood had to believe that was better than the looks of disgust the other men would have, listening to him speak of Gaunt like this. “He wasn’t just a boy I loved. He was the truest friend I ever had. And I have a lot of friends,” Ellwood joked, smirking at Hayes.
Hayes laughed. “That you do. So to say Henry was the best of them…I am sorry you lost him. I knew he meant a lot to you, but I didn’t know the extent. I can only offer you that you meant quite a bit to him as well.”
Ellwood watched Hayes, wondering what he could have meant. What had Henry said about Ellwood when Ellwood wasn’t there?
“You didn’t expect he spoke about you? Before you showed up in our dugout?”
“Seems foolish of me, when you put it that way.” Ellwood stared down at the floor. “I just couldn’t imagine that he cared for me quite like I cared for him.”
“Well, he might have,” considered Hayes. “You never spoke about it while you were…” Hayes gestured toward the bed.
Ellwood shook his head. “It was too risky.”
Hayes raised an eyebrow. “Riskier than what you were doing instead?”
“Riskier for our friendship.”
“Ah.”
They were quiet for a moment. Hayes took out a cigarette, offering one to Ellwood, who took it gratefully. Hayes lit his own and then Ellwood’s.
“You know,” Hayes said, blowing smoke from his mouth, “I think you may have been surprised by Henry’s reaction, if you had told him.”
Ellwood blinked. “What do you…you think he loved me?”
Hayes watched Ellwood, choosing his words carefully. “I think he cared for you more deeply than anyone else. When he received a letter from you, he would become positively giddy. It was the most emotion I ever saw from him. Maitland and Huxton and I were all so amused by how captivated he was as he read your words.”
Maitland. At the thought of his first lover, buried in No Man’s Land at Ypres, Ellwood put his face in his hands. He’d lost them both. The two men who knew his heart best, who had felt his affection for them and wanted more, even at great personal risk.
“Oh… I forgot you knew John as well,” Hayes said. “I shouldn’t have mentioned him. I’m sorry.”
“I was with him also,” Ellwood said quietly.
“You…”
“Years. At school...He was my first. Because Gaunt didn’t want me.”
“And yet, look where you ended up with him,” Hayes said, gesturing at the bed. “I’m not saying for certain that you misjudged his intentions, but it’s worth considering that he may have felt what you did.”
Ellwood wanted to spit nails. For all the talk, none of it mattered. Henry was gone, and he’d never know what might have happened if he’d only shown what was in his heart. He wondered if heaven existed. Can you hear me, Henry? Do you hear my soul crying out for you?
Ellwood wouldn’t look at Hayes. “Maybe, if I die in the next show…I’ll get to ask him.”
Hayes grimaced. “I’m sorry to spoil your wishes, but I rather hope you won’t.” He put out his cigarette. “Henry wouldn’t want that, either.”
“It doesn’t matter what he would want anymore. If he has a problem with my choices, then he can come and stop me.”
Hayes gave him a concerned look. “Ellwood, will you at least come down to dinner?”
“I’ll consider it.”
Hayes sighed heavily, but let the matter rest. They both knew Ellwood wouldn’t move from this spot all night.
After setting down his pack and his bedroll, Hayes left the room and Ellwood was trapped alone between haunting memories and miserable thoughts.
Maybe he was already dead. He couldn’t imagine hell to feel much worse.