Chapter Text
When Freddie and Winter boarded the train to Cape Breton, they brought a single suitcase between them. Everything else, the few possessions they’d begun to collect, had gone ahead the previous week with Jones accompanying.
“It will give me a chance to see some of the countryside before I’m forced to be a productive member of society again,” he’d said in response to Freddie’s protests.
The early morning air was crisp; fog lingered in the low places. A northwestern wind teased the coming of autumn, despite the late-August heat, and Freddie shivered with the thrill of it.
Laura was quiet on the walk to the station. Freddie caught her hand in his and for a moment they were children again, wandering into town in search of sweets. But she said nothing, only squeezed his hand tight.
When they finally reached the station platform, he swept Laura up for one last hug. Perhaps, if he held her closely enough, she would be able to feel the wild joy fluttering in his chest. She pulled away first, and Freddie saw twin streaks running down his sister’s face, glistening silver in the twilight.
“You’ll write?”
“Every week,” he assured her.
“I almost hate him, you know.” Laura’s laugh came out as a sob. Freddie reached forward to stroke her cheek, wiping away her tears with his thumb.
“You can’t have a dead man haunting your house. What would the neighbors think?”
She did laugh then. “What’s one more ghost? I’m starting a regular collection.”
The conductor whistled for last call. Winter waited for him on the step of the nearest passenger coach. Freddie stooped to kiss Laura’s forehead, snatched up his suitcase, then dashed to catch the train as it began to roll forward. He turned to wave goodbye and didn’t stop waving until his sister’s silhouette was swallowed by smoke and mist.
-
The two men jostled their way down the corridor. Several times, Winter had to turn his shoulders to let other passengers through. Freddie thought he looked as if he were trying to vanish into the wood paneling. They found an empty compartment at the end of the coach and Winter threw himself down onto one of the seats. Freddie slid their suitcase into the overhead bin just as the ticket collector was passing by. Once everything was deemed in order, Freddie sat down across from Winter. They stared at one another for a few seconds.
“Is this truly happening?” Freddie asked in a whisper.
A rare smile tugged at the corner of Winter’s mouth. “Yes. It is real.”
Warm light filtered in through the compartment window—sunrise at last. It seemed to Freddie that the very air shimmered in its glow. The golden light lifted years of exhaustion, fear, and hunger from Winter’s face, and Freddie caught sight of a man he barely knew. Could never know. Would he ever have looked at me, before? Freddie wondered, and then he laughed.
Winter was still smiling, but now a puzzled expression flashed across his face. Freddie thought he looked utterly adorable. “What is funny?”
Freddie could not have answered, not even to himself. All he knew was that he was alive, Winter was alive, and, even more impossible, they were going to be alright.
“Did you ever think we would be here? Not the train—together, I mean. Like this.” Freddie gestured uselessly, drunk on a cocktail of strange emotions, joy and grief intermingled, fear and giddy ecstasy. It was rather like a kind of madness. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying.”
But Winter was considering the question with his usual earnestness, the line between his brows deepening. “On the front there was only today. That was lucky, to have today. Sometimes all a man had was the time between this breath and the next.”
Freddie grew still, listening to him. Memories surfaced, the sound of men screaming, bloated bodies lying facedown in muck, a hand poking out between sandbags.
“You were alive, Iven, you were with Laura. For me, there was nothing else.”
Laura had told him, once, how Winter had been ready to die after he knew Freddie was safe with her. An uneasy feeling came over him. They had been so close to disaster, and all of it his own fault. This peace they’d found was a fragile thing. One wrong step and—
Winter interrupted his spiraling thoughts, crossing the compartment to sit beside him.
“We are alive, Iven.” Blue eyes met hazel, and Winter’s gaze held steady.
“Yes, we are alive,” Freddie agreed. “We got out.”
Their hands found one another, then, and Freddie, suddenly weary, leaned his head against Winter’s chest. They sat together in silence for some time, watching the rolling green foothills pass them by. Every so often, Freddie would catch a glimpse of the ocean in the distance, a band of blue on the horizon.
“Azurite.”
“Mmm?”
“The color of the ocean. Today it’s azurite.”
“Yes.” Winter’s chin rested atop his head, and he felt the older man nod. Winter’s thumb was idly stroking the back of Freddie’s hand. In that moment, Freddie felt as if the entire world was contained within that compartment.
-
At about midday, they unpacked the cold chicken sandwiches Freddie had prepared. They were a little squished in their paper wrappings, but delicious. After the meal, Freddie’s eyes grew heavy. The rhythmic clacking of the train, blending with the rise and fall of Winter’s chest, began to lull him into a pleasant state midway between waking and dreaming. Though half-lidded eyes he watched the dance of light and shadows on the wall opposite. Eventually, the train began to slow, and Freddie glanced out the window to see the fields and forests had been replaced by signs of industry, a sprawling cityscape of shingled rooftops and smokestacks. The conductor passed down the corridor, knocking on compartment doors and calling, Sydney! Last stop for Sydney!
Freddie and Winter gathered themselves and prepared to step off the train into a new life together.