Water Song (7 page)

Why did that girl want the locket so badly? Jack was in no hurry to get it for her. She wanted the picture of her parents? He was doubtful. Most likely it contained a picture of some boyfriend back in London, some good-for-nothing, aristocratic fop with soft, manicured hands who never did a day's work and who had an oh-so-proper British accent, and who would only break her heart in the end.

It would be better for her if that locket stayed at the bottom of the well.

He was rummaging through the drawers of all the dressers in the room, taking advantage of the fact that Emma had secured Colonel Schiller's permission to go for a walk.
I'm keeping an eye on that guy,
he thought protectively as he dug through her father's lavish assortment of silk ties and handkerchiefs.
He's a little too fond of her, if you ask me. He's trying to make her like him.

He pulled open another drawer and went through the socks. Her father had socks as soft as baby's hair. What a different life these people led.

His thoughts drifted back to the locket as he pulled open one drawer after the other. He'd seen it falling down like some misguided shooting star back when he was in the well, right after the gas attack. How could he miss it? It had hit him, setting off a violent attack of coughing. It was down there somewhere, and he had no doubt that he could find it.

He quickly glanced at the bedroom door to check that she wasn't coming in. If she caught him at this, she would assume he was stealing. It would be a natural-enough assumption, he supposed, considering he'd revealed his spotted history with the police. When he saw the look of alarm on her face, he'd instantly wished he could call back his words. But, the damage was done. He was not only ignorant in her eyes, but criminal as well. Considering that he hadn't done anything really wrong, it seemed very unfair, but then, when had anything ever been fair?

That she thought him dangerous irked him less than that she assumed he was stupid, as if being born without privilege or much access to education made a person feebleminded. He knew, though, that his wounded air of superiority wasn't entirely justified. He hadn't been entirely honest with her, either.

It wasn't her friendship he wanted.

He didn't care for some bland, sisterly kiss. But he would settle for it because friendship would be a 
good place to start. It would be a beginning, anyway.

He closed the last drawer, slamming it in frustration. "Don't these people read?" he muttered. Claudine had brought him a count of the soldiers garrisoned at the estate as well as how many days' worth of food rations they had stockpiled. To put it into coded form, he needed a book. It could be any book, but it had to be one whose title the Allies would recognize and would be able to find.

Thinking about how to get his hands on a book, he wandered over to the window, gazing absently down at the pond and the well. His eyes traveled across the miles and miles of rolling fields that were visible from there. The Germans had gained a real prize when they took over this estate. The vantage point it gave them was invaluable.

He could see the dark, zigzag lines of the trenches in the distance. Were the French still down there or had the gas attack routed them for good? Were the British and Canadians ever able to join them as they had been planning? It frustrated him not to know.

A movement by the well caught his eye.

It was Emma, lingering near the well, turning her lovely face to the sun as if luxuriating in its rays. She appeared perfectly relaxed and casual. Too casual. She was up to something--and it worried him.

He had to find a way to get to her. She might need his help.

There were guards at the door, but that was all right. He'd discovered another way out, discovered it 
quite by accident one day. When he'd first felt well enough to get out of bed, he'd gone into the bathroom to wash himself. A sudden spell of faintness had sent him careening into the closet, groping at anything to keep from falling to the floor, leading to his discovery of a secret passage.

But getting out that way wasn't easily done, and he hoped he'd make it down to her in time, should she need him. Hurrying to the bathroom, he pulled open the linen closet door and began removing the shelves.

Emma leaned against the well, turning her face up to the sun. From time to time she swung around, settling her elbows nonchalantly on the well's rim. The casualness of her movement disguised the acuity with which she was taking in her surroundings as she moved.

There was a soldier standing on the rock wall closest to the woods guarding the perimeter of the estate. Another guarded the back entrance to the estate over by the garden shed, and a third was stationed on the far side of the pond.

She checked into the well, happy to discover that the ladder had not been removed. Half the water below was illuminated by reflected sunlight. In the dark half, she saw something glisten.

Could it be her locket?

Turning back toward the estate she noticed someone in the bedroom window looking down. She 
could tell from his dark hair that it was Jack. In the next moment, he moved back inside the room and she no longer saw him.

It didn't matter if he knew she was getting the locket herself. It would be good, even. He'd see that she was capable of fending for herself, that she wasn't some
princess,
as he was so keen on implying, a defenseless, simpering girl who relied on his help. Why she cared what he thought was a mystery; though for some odd reason, she did seem to care.

Bending slowly, she unbuttoned her boots and peeled down her stockings. Lifting each foot out, she stretched lazily.

In the next minute, a soldier came to relieve the guard by the pond. She saw that the soldier by the back entrance was distracted by their movement. A quick check told her that the soldier on the wall was gazing dreamily out into the woods.

Moving quickly, she hoisted herself onto the well's stone rim. Swiftly swinging her legs over and onto the ladder, she tucked her head down below the edge of the well. It had taken less than a minute.

She listened. There was no shout of alarm or call to halt. Satisfied that they hadn't seen her, she began to descend.

As she came closer to the water, the golden item in the water became easier to see. She became nearly certain it was her locket.

"Oh!" She gasped as her foot touched water much sooner than it had during her previous visit to the well.

"All that rain," she murmured. It had collected in the well and raised the water level considerably. To retrieve the locket, she would have to dive completely under.

Looking up, she considered going back.

Her locket was so close, though. Its chain seemed to be stuck on a crack in the stone. If she could only grab it, it might change everything. She could bribe the guards to let her escape.

Without further thought, she drew in a large breath and plunged into the chill water, swimming downward as best she could despite the narrowness of her skirt and the billowing sleeves of her blouse. Reaching the locket, she tugged on it, but it wouldn't come loose. After a few minutes of working its chain from the stone with hurried fingers, she had to abandon the task and return to the surface, hungrily sucking in air as she came above the water.

Once more, inhaling deeply, she went back under to get the locket, swimming down to the spot where she thought she'd last been.

The locket wasn't there.

Had it come loose and sunk even lower into the well?

Peering down, she flailed her arms in place to keep from floating up. She saw no sign of the locket but she had to go deeper to be sure it wasn't there.

Clasping the stones, she moved down, her eyes darting to every corner as she worked her way lower and lower. Several air bubbles escaped her lips. Too soon she would have to resurface for air.

A moment later, the straining sensation in her lungs warned that time was up. She lifted her head in order to rise but she did not ascend more than several inches. Instead, her ankle throbbed with sudden pain.

It was stuck in a crack in the wall.

A second pull only caused the pain to intensify.

Bending, she tried to wiggle it free.
Come on,
she thought anxiously as more air bubbles floated from her lips.

She hadn't even realized that she'd been resting her foot in the broken opening. When she'd tried to rise she'd somehow lifted it into this narrower space. But how had she turned her ankle to manage it? She couldn't reproduce the same motion to extricate her wedged foot and ankle.

Her straining lungs were now aching for air. She fought down the panicky urge to call out for help, knowing it was terror clouding her judgment.

Her head swirled dizzily as undulating black blobs pulsated before her eyes. She'd fainted in church one summer and recognized the warning signs that she was losing consciousness now.

Her imagination sent her a grisly image of herself floating there, still tethered by her ankle to the wall, hair wafting above her head, her skin bloated and translucently white, purple lips agape.

She was only dimly aware of a large, dark form moving toward her, seeming to rise from the water below. It stopped just below her, and she felt a strong grip surround her ankle.

Jack laid Emma on the bed, relieved to see the rhythmic rise and fall of her breath. With her dark hair in a wet tangle around her head, he thought she had never looked more beautiful.

Unexpectedly, her eyes snapped open, filled with wild panic. "How did I get here?" she demanded.

"I looked out the window and saw you lying there on the grass next to the well, passed out," he said. "I called the soldiers and they carried you up here."

There was no sense telling her the truth. If he explained how he'd gotten down there into the well, he'd have to tell her too much.

Her hand went to her mouth and she trembled as tears filled her eyes. He put his hand on her shoulder comfortingly. "It's okay, sug. You're okay now."

She sat up, shrugging her shoulder out from 
under his hand. "There's something in that well. It saved me from drowning."

"I told you I'd get the fool locket for you. Why'd you go down there, anyway?" he asked, changing the subject.

"You were taking too long," she replied.

He sat on the edge of the bed and studied her. Why had she gotten to him like this?

He thought about her all the time.

When she wasn't there he worried about her safety. He played and replayed every conversation they had in his mind, turning over everything she said in search of hidden meaning as though the words themselves were smooth, shining river stones he'd saved to reflect on in private.

She was willful and headstrong, impetuous and bossy; also brave and independent. And there were flashes of tenderness just below her surface, though it took a sharp eye and ear to catch them; sometimes it was no more than a softness creeping into her voice that gave her away.

He had begun to love her for all those reasons, both the good and the more dubious qualities he saw in her. Besides, he knew she had saved his life, although now, he supposed, they were even.

"What's that in your hand?" she asked sharply.

He curled his fingers more tightly around the golden sphere of the locket, but it was too late to hide the bit of chain that showed. She lunged for his fist, wrapping it in her own two hands as she 
tried to pry his fingers loose. "Give it to me," she insisted. "It's mine!"

He easily pulled his hand away as he got off the bed. "Not so fast. You promised to be my true friend if I got it for you. Do you intend to honor that promise?"

"But you didn't get it for me. You never went down in the well."

"Maybe I did and maybe I didn't," he said, toying with her. "The fact is that I have your locket and if I give it to you, I will have fulfilled my part of thebargain."

"You didn't go down to get it," she insisted.

"Maybe I've had it since the first day that it clonked me on the head." That wasn't how it had happened. He'd only just found it wedged, like her foot had been, between two jagged stones under the water, but it was possible he'd had it all along, and so that would be his story.

"And you didn't return it to me?" she cried. "You're horrible!"

"That's sort of harsh, sug," he replied, still holding tight to the locket. "I may be a little rough around the edges but I'm not horrible. I was just waitin' for the right moment."

Again, she lunged for his fist. He quickly switched it behind his back to the other hand and held it out to her in the center of his flat palm. "Here you go."

In a flash of movement, she plucked it from his hand and moved swiftly away over to the upholstered chair, eyeing him warily. He lay on the bed and put 
his hands behind his head. "Don't worry. I'm not going to try to get it back. I gave it to you of my own will, didn't I?"

He watched her open the locket and gaze down at the photo inside. His vision remained somewhat foggy from the gas but he suspected that the photo under the glass was ruined. "Boyfriend's handsome face wrecked?" he asked.

Ignoring his comment, she attempted to get her fingernail under the golden frame and pick it up, but couldn't move it.

He went to the dresser where he found a pen. "Let me try," he offered, his hand outstretched to take the locket from her.

She shot him a suspicious glance.

"I'll return it to you," he assured her with a note of annoyance behind his words. Why would he have given it to her if he intended to snatch it away again?

Examining the locket, he saw the blurred picture. Whatever the boyfriend had looked like, he would never know. That was all right. He didn't particularly want to see him. She sure was frantic to get at that picture, though. It wounded him to see how badly she wanted it.

He stuck the pen nib into the frame and gently lifted the frame and glass before handing it to her.

Without a glance, she peeled off the top picture. Quickly crumpling it and tossing it to the floor, she gently smoothed with her thumb the photograph that lay below it.

He came beside her and looked down at the picture in the open locket. The edges of the picture were somewhat damaged by the water, but the people were still visible. They were a very proper-looking man and woman. The woman, though, had lively eyes and Jack saw where Emma had gotten her striking beauty and defiant expression.

For a moment, Emma sat there, transfixed by the faces in the locket, her eyes brimming with tears. So it hadn't been the boyfriend she was after at all, he realized. He could see how much this meant and felt guilty for doubting her and for teasing her about it.

After a moment, she brusquely brushed her eyes dry and looked up at him. "Do you think you could open the other side of the locket for me?" she requested.

He reached out and she placed the locket in his palm. Prying again with the pen nib into the compartment on the other half of the sphere, he attempted to open it, but this time nothing budged. He lifted it to his ear and shook it. "What's in there?"

"I don't know. I've never been able to open it." She looked up at him seriously. "Did you see anyone else around the well?" she asked. "Someone saved me. Whoever it was swam up at me from the bottom of the well."

"Maybe it was some kind of water creature, half man, half frog," he suggested. He didn't want to reveal how he'd gotten into the well. She might try it herself, and it was incredibly dangerous.

"Don't be absurd," she scoffed. "But, still ... it's 
quite odd." She lifted her hand. "My locket, please."

He didn't give it back to her immediately. "Now can I collect my friendly kiss?"

She got up from the chair and cast him an offended glance. "If you don't mind, I've just been nearly drowned. I'd like to find a towel to dry my hair, and to put on some dry clothing."

He stood there feeling her rebuff like a slap. Granted, until now he'd been making this request lightly, as if it were a joke, but that had been to cover his insecurity. He'd never really believed then that she would kiss him.

This time, though, he had dared to think that something had changed... .

Apparently not.

Finding dry clothing in her drawer, she headed for the small bathroom. She closed the door with a slight bang and latched the lock decisively. Something in the resolute clack of the lock told him she had locked him out in every way possible and that she had no intention of ever being his friend or anything more.

"But we made a deal," he said quietly.