The Way Back Home: A 1917 Fanfic

Chapter 3: There Was a Lady

Amelia wiped away the remainder of the stinging tears and dried blood from her face, her hands trembling.

"Where... where are we going, William?" She managed to squeak out amidst the crash of the collapsing barn behind them.

"We need to get the line of the second Devons beyond a town called Ecoust." Schofield removed a knife from his uniformed vest; similar to the one Blake had been wounded with. "We..." He paused, his voice halting with choking grief. "I have to deliver a message to stop an attack that's happening tomorrow at dawn."

Amelia nodded in understanding, her frenzied mind trying to keep up with everything that had transpired within the last hour. She had never felt more horrified, hopeful, and then guilt-ridden in such a minimal amount of time. The weight of it on her body made her want to physically and mentally disappear.

"What if you don't make it in time?" The question escaped from her mouth before she could stop herself. The answer was obvious, but she needed verbal clarification. This was the reality in front of her. She could not dream up something like this.

"There's one more thing to do." He shifted around to answer her question, keeping his eyes on her face. "This dress will be more trouble than it's worth."

The soldier's eyes went down to the dirt at her feet before looking back into her eyes, asking silently for permission from her. After a second, Amelia only gave a brisk, single nod.

Schofield knelt to the ground at her feet, taking a fistful of her flowing skirt in his hand, knife still in his grip. He didn't make eye contact with her. The somewhat dull blade began to cut the fabric around her legs. His hands were deliberately avoiding touching the scratched-up skin of her legs.

"So it won't get caught on anything. It's best to travel practically." He explained bluntly, keeping his focus on ripping the fabric apart to where it was above her ankles but concealing her knees still.

A blush colored her cheeks even though embarrassment was the last thing she ought to have been feeling given the situation and location she was in.

Being in such an intimate position, a soldier kneeling at her feet and handling the clothing around the most sexually revealing part of her body, should have made her feel scandalized and humiliated.

And she was in the period where she would be labeled as little more than a common street woman should anyone else see them in this position.

The tearing of skirts being ripped away into strips broke her away from her thoughts. Schofield stood back up to his feet, putting his knife back into his uniform sheath. Blue pieces of velvet and silk were crumpled in his hands, and his arms reached out to her.

"So no lady less divine may wear it." He gently pushed the strips of the dress into her hands. A soft smile graced his face despite the fog of fatigue within the deep ocean of his eyes, most likely for her sake, considering that his comrade lay dead only a yard away from them.

Amelia grasped his hands within hers in a silent gesture of thanks, gently squeezing them. Her heartbeat began to increase for some undecipherable reason for a few seconds until she released Schofield's hands, hers entwined with the scraps of useless ribbon and silk. Turning away from him to face the dying fire of the barn, she threw the pieces of clothing into the remaining flames.

Blake's words about her dress filled her with a sense of melancholy as she turned to see Schofield going toward where his dead friend lay, pale and motionless. Amelia forced herself to follow, joining the soldier as she knelt by Blake's head, a moment to grieve however brief. She wasn't certain what to do, considering she'd only known both of them for an hour, maybe two.