Amelia walked through the gift shop of the Imperial War Museum, her hands clutching onto a thick book of World War One history as she sifted through the pages. Each page gave her even more insight into such a horrific but vital four years into history.
The black and white quality of the photos, along with the blurred colors from the results of the pages being blotched from a printer error, only made her look closer to decipher each soldier's face.
Her eyes were glued to the book as she walked up to the checkout counter, causing her to bump into a few disgruntled and impatient fellow tourists.
She ignored their glares aimed in her direction, not able to remove her focus from the picture in the book she planned to purchase.
Something about it pulled her towards the picture's subject. She looked closer into the picture, trying to look closer to see the facial features of the men in the grainy photograph.
According to the caption below the picture, two soldiers are in the middle of an open field in Flanders, near a casualty clearing station. One of them, a tall dark-haired Lance Corporal, had his hand held out toward the other man, a lieutenant with darker hair and a slightly shorter stature. It seemed like the Corporal was handing something to the Lieutenant, something that glinted in the light similar to dog tags or possessions from a dearly departed comrade.
She read the names that labeled the two soldiers:
(Left): Lance Corporal Will Schofield. (Right): Lieutenant Joe Blake. Schofield hands over the dog tag and family rings belonging to Lt. Blake's fallen brother Thomas Blake, who had joined with him on a mission to deliver a message to the 2nd Devons preventing an attack on German units that would end the lives of over 1600 British men on April 7th, 1917.
Amelia slowly closed the book, holding it to her chest as a chilling shiver raked up her spine as if the temperature in the room suddenly decreased to near subzero.
"Next." The cashier girl at the checkout suddenly called to Aneila, pulling back her attention.
The startled American girl looked up and went to place the book on the glass-case counter.
Amelia looked up at the bespectacled girl preparing to assist with her purchase of the book, History of World War I: BRITAIN.
"Were you able to find everything you wanted?" The cashier asked her in a sincere sweet tone. Her nametag read Lauri.
"Yes." Amelia nodded, looking behind her to see that she was the only customer left in the store. The clock off to the side on the wall read 7:30, only half an hour before the museum was too close for the night.
"Is there something I can try to help you with before you buy this?" Lauri asked, a hint of a faint French accent flowing in her well-meaning question.
Amelia took a step back to look into the glass case of the counter, trying to see if any worthy souvenirs were available.
A framed picture in the glass cabinet caught her eye, black and white, and having one figure in the view from the bosom up...
A young woman, with short blond hair, stared into the camera and pierced her gaze straight at Amelia as she looked at the photograph, dated December 24th, 1918.
A wedding veil wreathed with what appeared to be cherry blossoms crowned upon her head, the lacy material flowing down past where the picture ended. The post-war bride held in her hands a bouquet of freshly bloomed Roses, the remembrance flower of The Great War...
Amelia's mouth hung open in shock her heart began to pound in her chest as she looked closer at the unnamed woman's features.
This unnamed bride looked precisely like Amelia, even in the lack of animated colors within the picture. An exact likeness of Amelia; not just a vague resemblance in her face, but the proportions in her features were exactly similar.
It couldn't have been her, could it?
An ancestor nobody had told her about?
A doppelganger...?
What was her name?
Amelia's breath hitched in her throat, her hands clutching onto the edge of the counter.
"Are you alright, miss?" Lauri asked her with concern as Amelia wiped away some sweat from her brow. "Do you need help?"
"No, I...I'm fine." The American girl held her chin up, reassuring Lauri that nothing was wrong. "Um...that woman in the picture, the bride. Does she have a name?" She pointed to the framed photo, her fingertip smudging the glass slightly.
"No, I don't believe so." Lauri went around to join Amelia on the other side of the counter. "But, lots of women have tried on that ring of hers." Beside the picture sat the bejeweled trinket inside a velvet felt holder, like the one found in a jewelry store.
"Has the ring fit anyone?" Amelia asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.
"No, it's too small for any woman who's tried it on. That's why it's still in this case." Lauri went back around to her side of the counter and opened up the case to pull out the piece of coveted jewelry for an improved visual.
The ring itself was a small round band of smooth gold with a crystal sparkle of round diamond in the center. Simple, but elegant, perhaps something to Amelia's taste should she ever wear such a ring upon her finger.
"Could...could I try it on? If it fits, I'll take it off your hands." Amelia asked despite the logical part of her conscience telling her to just buy the history book and walk away without the ring.
But, she couldn't leave without knowing for certain.
Why did that woman, the anonymous twentieth-century bride, resemble her so much?
Or why did Amelia look like her, and who was the man to meet her at the altar?
As though she were in a trance, Amelia removed the trinket from its satin case, taking a breath to calm down.
A peal of thunder rumbled outside, causing her hands to shake as she slipped the ring upon the appropriate finger on her hand.
It was a perfect fit, like Cinderella and the glass slipper...
Amelia felt Lauri's silent stare on her the entire duration of the payment and transaction of the ring and history book. She didn't even pay attention to the cost of the ring with the remaining amount of pounds she had.
At least it was her final night in London before she was to head back home to her humdrum American life. However monotonous it was, she felt the homesickness creep inside her thinking of her loved ones, even though her family was somewhat distant with their own lives.
She had to remind her mother numerous times that she wouldn't even be in the country for a month; she wanted to see the world while she was still able to...
The gift bag, along with her purse, felt as heavy as a bag of rocks in her hands as she hailed a cab. Water sprinkled on the top of her head, the black London cab providing her shelter from the oncoming storm, taking her back to the final night in her hotel.
The ring still clung to her finger, mocking her with its regal Edwardian splendor. It was a gorgeous token of marital intention, and she had no idea as to why she had spent the last of her English currency on such a prize.
The ride back to her hotel was a silent blur, the rain pattering on the cab and the vehicle's engine the only accompanying sounds.
At last, she was back in her room, stripping off her clothes and changing down into her favorite hot-pink nightgown. The air around her felt sweltering, and she had trouble breathing.
The area on her finger was where the ring began to sting and burn. Battling the urge to gasp out a scream, she removed the ring and placed it on the table by the twin bed.
She needed water. Feeling dehydrated, sweat beaded her forehead as she went to the small hotel room refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water. She began to drink up all the liquid as though she had been stranded in the desert for days.
Then, a strong wave of dizziness threatened her equilibrium. Her breath came out in gasps as she tried to steady herself against the kitchen sink, the water bottle spilling out onto the tile floor of the small kitchen.
Then, the voices invaded her subconscious. They were male and only vaguely familiar, like she was remembering the video footage from the museum earlier in the day, the British accents unmistakably simple to understand.
The room spun around her...
"Why in God's name did you have to choose me?"
"I didn't know what I was picking you for, Scho. Do you wanna go back?"
"Nothing like a scrap of ribbon to cheer up a widow."
"Mum would make me and Joe pick cherry blossoms every year from her orchard back home."
As the room finally ceased spinning around her, Amelia managed to catch her balance on the mirror by her bed.
Gasping out for breath, she looked up at herself, viewing the image of her reflection in the dust-covered glass.
Inside the mirror, she was in a wedding dress, the same one from the photograph, no doubt with identical white lace. In her reflection's hands was the bouquet of Roses, the ring back upon her finger.
And the cherry blossom wedding veil wreathed on her head, tailor-made to fit her...
Why do I look like her?!
That final thought crossed her mind before it finally shut down in shock. Her eyes rolled back into her head as her eyelids closed and everything went black.
Amelia collapsed to the floor, the haunting image of her as a bride mercifully disappearing...
April 6th, 1917
"No matter what, do not let go of my hand!" Schofield and Amelia stood outside the block house, looking up into the flares lighting the pitch-black night sky.
The lance corporal held tightly to her hand like an unbreakable vice as he gripped his rifle with his other hand. More shots were fired at their feet, and Amelia released a scream at the sound.
Only then did she notice that Schofield no longer had his helmet? He wouldn't be so lucky next time if his head was aimed at again for a shot.
They ran for their lives, Amelia panting with the effort of trying to keep her shoes on her feet. She had to be able to run on her own. The last thing she wanted to be for Will was a burdensome woman who needed to be carried everywhere.
The flares continued to light their way as they sprinted as fast as humanly possible, bullet ricochets flying around them to miss hitting them by nothing short of a miracle.
Another coughing fit racked Amelia's chest as they turned around a corner to hide by one of the ruined building structures. The light from above shone like a prison spotlight on them.
Schofield stood against the wall, panting to catch his breath as he looked up at the disappearing flare, the shadows making a Picasso painting with the angles of his face. Amelia fought back tears, enfolding her arms around his waist, her cheek pressed to his chest. His heartbeat began to calm at her touch despite the danger around them. He had to remind himself she was depending on him to stay strong, to be her protector.
His arm that wasn't occupied with his rifle went up to cradle her face with his hand. Schofield's large fingers encompassed the whole of her chin, making her look into his eyes.
"Remember my promise to you, Amelia." Schofield ached to throw the gun aside and enfold both arms around her, wanting to shield her from those damned bullets raining down on them. But now was neither the time nor the place to display weakness.
Amelia nodded her head, a cough escaping her as her chest heaved with an ache, causing her to hope against the fates that she wasn't becoming ill.
"We need to keep moving. I'm fairly sure this is Ecoust." He said the name of the town he and Blake were meant to pass through on their way to save the Second Devons.
They ran again, Schofield still clutching onto her hand. One of the shots aimed at her feet, causing her to jump and nearly trip. The desperate Lance Corporal pulled her along as she managed to keep up with his long strides, his height being much taller than hers.
The ruins around them loomed over Amelia and Schofield, resembling the strange conjuring of monsters from the deepest of their nightmares. The lighting of the flares above them gave the impression of hellfire threatening to expose and burn them for eternity.
It brought to her mind the Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. A mere mortal man going into the depths of the Underworld to save his beloved from an unfortunate demise and would risk everything to preserve her soul.
What was Schofield risking to rescue her from being trapped to get her home?
Before she could contend further with her musings, Schofield had turned a sharp corner, pulling her into the wooden panels and through into the basement of a ruined house. The shadows swallowed them as Schofield's breaths shook, and only then did she hear the running steps of their pursuer, the faceless enemy shooting at them.
Immediately, his arms were around her shaking form as they took a reprieve of safety, concealed in darkness, their faces alight with the flames from a burning building outside.
Her arms were around him again, the tears, at last flowing down her face. She was so disgusted with herself for crying, but what else could she do at the moment?
Schofield's chin rested upon the top of her head, his nose tickled by her hair. He wanted to break down at her feet and cry with her. After all, every man had his breaking point, and he was only human.
He only held her in silence, allowing her to release repressed emotion as he led her toward the dimly lit room that appeared to welcome them with a shambled refuge.
Schofield held his arm out, gently pushing Amelia to stand behind him as he aimed his rifle out, checking for possible danger hiding in the room. It appeared to be deserted, only recently abandoned with a coal-filled fireplace and only a pallet of blankets to make up for the absence of a proper bed.
"It's clear." Schofield released his hold on the rifle, leading Amelia toward the pile of blankets. "You need to rest and eat."
She sat down on the blankets, enfolding her arms around herself as Schofield removed the pack of supplies from his uniform, placing it by her feet.
"Take what you want from there, I'll start a fire." Schofield gently instructed her.
Amelia opened the pack, pulling out the milk canteen and some slices of ham with bread. It smelled delicious, even though it wasn't to her particular preference for meat.
Standing up from the bed with the food and milk in her hands, she went over to where Schofield was poking with an iron poker at the coals to light up a fire. She couldn't help but admire his noble profile, illuminated by the borne-again flames.
"Will, you need to eat, too. And I won't eat a bite until I see you do so." She handed him half of the ham slice along with the bread. He only turned in silence to look up at her before focusing back on the fire.
"I'll eat later, Amelia. For now, you take some and get some rest." Schofield's voice held little emotion, as though he were speaking to a child and ordering her to bed.
Anger erupted inside of her at Schofield's sudden stoic attitude. She went over to Schofield's side and placed the whole thing of ham and bread in front of him.
"No, Will!" Her voice rose in temperance. "Either we both eat at once or we don't eat at all!"
"Amelia..." He said her name, his tone of voice rising with hers, bearing that of a warning.
"William, look at me when I'm talking to you!" She grabbed his uniform before he could react further and pulled the soldier to his feet, allowing him to tower over her.
"What is it you want, Amelia?" He didn't bother releasing her hands from gripping his collar, taken aback by her sudden bout of strength.
"I want to know what this is between us. You saved me at the farmhouse. You've risked yourself protecting me when you have the lives of other men depending on you. Hell, you kissed me only half an hour ago! Who am I to you?" She asked him, moving her hands from his collar to hold his face.
His eyes were cast toward the dirt floor, avoiding looking at her. As though he was ashamed of expressing himself to her...
"Will." Her voice was calm now, coaxing him to tell her the truth. "It's just me here. There aren't any officers you need to hide your emotions from or put on a show for. You can tell me anything that's on your mind."
"Amelia..." He looked up down into her eyes, tears filling his own. "When I found you in that farmhouse, and you collapsed right in front of me..."
He paused as though trying to catch his breath at the memory. The lance corporal managed to continue, taking hold of her hands within his own.
The fire grew in the hearth, allowing light to pool into their peripheral vision.
"When I caught you after you fainted... I just sat there for a moment and held you. Your face was... so pale, almost grey. I...I felt my heart break for you, being so lost and scared."
He blinked back the tears as she led him towards the crudely made bed. They both sat down, their hands interlocked. Amelia nodded her head, blinking back her tears as she encouraged him to keep talking.
"And then your eyes opened again soon after...and then you made me feel more alive than I've felt in years. I knew from the moment you were ordering everyone around when the convoy truck was stuck." A smile perked upon his lips at the recent memory from earlier that day.
"You knew what, Will?" Amelia asked him, already feeling like she knew the answer.
"That I'd never forgive myself if I were to see you die as I saw Blake do the same...right in my arms." He confessed, those damning tears of his finally free.
At hearing those words, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Schofield buried his face into her shoulder, exhausted breaths overwhelming his need to scream. His large hands clutched at her back as though she were a life preserver, keeping him from sinking into the deep waters.
"Are you in love with me, William?" Amelia felt the need to outright ask him, holding the tired soldier in her small, safe embrace. He raised his head to look into her weary, lovely face.
"I knew it was true from when you were sleeping against me in the truck." He held one of her dainty hands in both of his, pressing them to his chest so she could feel his heartbeat vibrating with life. "It belongs to you, Amelia Hunterson, as it always has and always shall."
"And yet, you're willing to make sure I return to my own time to my home?" Amelia asked. "Even if I may not be able to come back?"
"Of course," Schofield answered without hesitation. "I would rather your safety and happiness guaranteed away from here -"
His words were cut off before he could finish his declaration to her. Amelia's arms were around his neck as she quickly pulled him into a kiss, one not as chaste and brief as when Schofield had presented his affection back at the clock-house.
True, they had only known each other for a day, but in the environment they were in, any form of contentment offered was needed.
She had given him a genuine reason to get through this war...
They pulled apart to take a breath, a blissful smile crossing Schofield's face for the first time since Blake died.
"You're so beautiful, Amelia." He whispered to her, his warm breath against her face as he held her close. "Being from this mysterious era of a century forward, you are a rare wonder amongst women."
"My Lance Corporal, my dashing man in uniform." Amelia carefully pulled him down to hover over her on the bed pallet. Their noses and foreheads were touching, basking in their bubble of euphoria. "As you are a rarity among men, especially where I'm from."
Schofield chuckled, a gleeful sensation overcoming him at the resolution that she reciprocated his feelings for her.
"Talk more to me, Will. Say anything that comes to your head." She looked into his eyes, waiting for what heartfelt declaration he would give to her.
Schofield gently pulled her back up into a sitting position so that she was perched on his lap. One of his hands held her fingers, and the other reached to her face, his knuckles stroking down from her temple to her chin. He began to talk again, reciting a poem from his schoolboy days as the soldier felt inspired to give her what she asked from him.
"Your two great eyes will slay me suddenly;
Their beauty shakes me, who was once serene;
Straight through my heart, the wound is quick and keen.
Only your word will heal the injury
To my hurt heart, while yet the wound is clean -
Your two great eyes will slay me suddenly;
Their beauty shakes me, who was once serene."*
She could think of no responding words as she absorbed his mixture of prose and passion. She wove her fingers delicately through his hair, minding the bandages from his head wound.
"Will, there's something I do need to tell you about the future about this war." She whispered, feeling indebted to give him one kernel of hope. Not only to do with this war but about what could be in store for them both in the future.
His expression as he held her conveyed confusion and anticipation with what she had to say.
"What, my love?" Schofield asked, pulling her even closer. One of Amelia's bare legs was freed from her tangled, tattered dress skirt, hooked around his hip to make her more comfortable in his arms. "What do you know?"
"When the war will be over." She breathed, pressing her lips again to his in another era-defying kiss.
He pulled back away from her, and a fire suddenly alighted in his vibrant eyes. Those words he had wanted to hear for so long since from forever ago...
Then, their paradise was eviscerated with the distant sound of a church bell...
Dawn was breaking upon them, and time would cease to be merciful from that moment on...