The Way Back Home: A 1917 Fanfic

Chapter 12: Never Enough

Schofield planted himself in his chair at Amelia's bedside, anxiety gripping him with each passing hour as sunset crawled closer with the conclusion of the day. She was in and out of consciousness in the time leading to the sun being buried in the horizon, but Lt. Blake had managed to acquire more food for her on the journey to the hospital, packed in a spare bag for her use.

After awakening from her encounter with Colonel MacKenzie earlier that day, she was able to bathe courtesy of Lt. Blake borrowing a laundry barrel that was the perfect size for her petite frame and a simple set of tan trousers and a loose shirt that hung around her body, but it was an improvement over that tattered blue dress that was beyond repair. Even the worn boots only barely fit her feet, but they'd have to do until she arrived at the hospital where she'd be provided more proper clothing.

After she had dressed in her temporary attire, she begged Schofield to throw the blue dress and her pink nightgown into the nearest fire pit.

He stared at the vibrant photograph of her in his hand, absorbing each detail of color surrounding the smiling woman. The origins of how it had come into his possession still confounded him, and he debated in his head whether to ask her about it.

Even though the concept of showing one's teeth in a photograph was considered an undesirable image to display for his era, Schofield found his lips curling into a rare smile at the sight of her beaming at the camera. He hadn't truly smiled in such a long time that he had almost forgotten what it felt like.

The only two people who had made him laugh and feel happy even for the briefest of moments had been Thomas Blake and Amelia. What he would give to make that feeling permanent...

In the photograph of Amelia, her blonde hair was bunched up behind her head, emphasizing her fair features and the curves of her cheeks, painted with a faint pink flush and her green eyes shining with life. A few stray blonde strands hung on both sides of her face, perfectly framed as though it were intended to be a work of art hung in a museum. He had never seen a woman with such liveliness in her eyes, and he knew if that light within her soul diminished, Schofield would find himself to never be worthy of even looking in her direction.

"Schofield? Lance Corporal Schofield?" A familiar voice sounded from outside the tent.

Schofield placed the photograph of Amelia back into his tobacco tin, placing it onto his chair as he stood to attention

Amelia stirred slowly awake in the makeshift bed, brushing away a buzzing fly from her face. Her hand pressed to her face as she battled against an oncoming headache. As though by nature, her senses picked up that her soldier was still by her side, ever vigilant as he went to respond to the voice calling for him.

"Major Hepburn, sir." Schofield went to exit the tent, briefly glancing back at Amelia to see that she was awakening.

"It's alright." He mouthed to her before turning and lifting the flap of the tent to meet the major outside.

Amelia could only hear the muffled voices, no doubt discussing the topic of her, from only a few meters away. Stretching out her arms, she removed the thick woolen blanket from around her and placed her now shoed feet onto the grass.

Blinking away the blur of sleep from her eyes, she stood up, her legs wobbling from lack of use that day before steadying herself, the muscles within her working to support her slight weight. Despite her new clothing and shoes, Amelia knew she still looked bedraggled, her hair tangled, and her face bruised and blotted with circles under her eyes even though she had slept the majority of the day.

Before her bathing earlier that day, Schofield had given her a small mirror after she begged him for one, wanting to see what she looked like after everything they had endured.