Timepiece by Merinda Brayfield

Author:Merinda Brayfield [Brayfield, Merinda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Carnation Books
Published: 2020-12-21T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Four

Late that night, Archibald sat at his desk, looking at his pocket watch. The sortie should be starting about now. He closed the watch and rested his head in his hands, giving futile prayers that no lives would be lost, not today.

Martin stepped up behind him and squeezed his shoulder. “It’s not your fault. I’ll keep saying it until you believe me.”

Archibald reached back and squeezed his hand. “You should rest.”

“I’ll go when you do,” said Martin. “You’re not alone.”

Archibald nodded. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Martin stood there a moment longer, then stepped away, going to his footlocker and sorting through it.

Archibald scrubbed his face in his hands and reached for a piece of paper. If he couldn’t sleep, then there was always work.

Martin stepped back over and placed a small wrapped object in front of Archibald. “I know it’s not quite Christmas morning, but here.”

“I didn’t get you anything,” murmured Archibald, picking it up and weighing it in his hands. “Thank you,” he said as he carefully pulled off the wrapping to find, of all things, an orange. It seemed bright in the dim lamplight.

“I know it’s not much but they had some the other day on the French lines, and I thought you might like it.”

“It’s wonderful,” said Archibald. “And I insist you share it.” He carefully peeled the orange and split it in half. Martin took his part and leaned back in his chair.

Archibald took a wedge and popped it in his mouth, closing his eyes and savoring the sweetness bursting across his tongue. It reminded him of better days, of summer and warmth. A time when he was far less exhausted by the world, even if he was lonelier.

He opened his eyes again and found Martin watching him, chewing a section slowly.

Archibald smiled at him, but that smile slipped as he remembered why they were awake at this hour.

Martin glanced at the door. “They won’t deliver any reports until morning. You should sleep.”

“I suppose you’re right,” said Archibald, getting to his feet and eating another section of orange. The taste turned more bitter with his thoughts. What right did he have to enjoy a gift like this when men were likely dying out in the cold?

Martin stepped behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m here,” he repeated quietly.

Oh, so much promise and threat in those words, so many lines that shouldn’t be crossed. “I know,” said Archibald, stepping away from his touch, “and I’m grateful.”

Martin turned away to dim the light. Archibald quickly got ready and slipped into bed, listening as Martin made certain the door was locked and finished his own preparations.

Archibald rolled onto his side. He could still taste the orange on his tongue, sweet as temptation. Martin slipped in next to him, putting an arm around Archibald, sharing his warmth.

Archibald listened as Martin’s breathing slowed. Outside the bunker, the world was hushed, even the artillery gone silent. He should try to sleep, but his mind was too restless.

Quiet as he could, Archibald slipped out of bed, tucking the covers around Martin.

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