Chapter 19
Flanders
“We picked the wrong queue,” Mary said, craning her neck to see the holdup at the front of the line. A pack of men waited impatiently for their issued weapons.
“Shall I find you a ladder, Read?” Henry quipped.
Mary shot him a good-natured glare. If her older brother had lived, the real Mark, she imagined he might be like Henry Danby—silly and imprudent but the best of companions.
What Henry lacked in looks, with his pimple scars and early balding, he made up for in loyalty.
He towered like a spindly beanstalk over not just Mary but all the men there.
When Mary and Henry first met in the infantry four years earlier, he’d mocked her height in a way that made her stomach squirm.
At night, after unbinding her whisper of breasts, she would lie awake with fear that he suspected her secret.
But Henry teased everyone, his humor a tonic stronger than anything the military offered.
When other soldiers got deep into their cups and sneered at Mary’s shyness, he defended her.
She often studied his confident posture—his lifted ribs and direct eye contact.
She scrutinized his behavior and tried to mimic the self-assured way he held himself and spoke with authority.
Thanks to him, she’d never gotten into a brawl.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Henry warned any potential opponent.
It was Henry, not Mary, who boasted of her impeccable aim with a musket and deadly precision with a sword.
“Mark Read here’s got a chilly calm that’d make the Grim Reaper turn coat and bolt. ”
Being noticed was something she’d avoided for most of her twenty-one years. But being noticed for her accuracy in battle, thanks to Henry, had led to esteem and promoted her from infantry cadet to the ranks of the cavalry.
“I don’t need a ladder,” Mary growled.
Henry raised his hands in surrender. “My apologies. It doesn’t take vision to see that Father Time himself has taken up distribution of the rifles.”
She laughed, along with the soldiers within earshot. Would Henry, her best friend since leaving Captain Southwick’s ship, treat her differently if he knew the truth about her?
Of course he would. Sorrow lodged in Mary’s chest. Captain Southwick had dropped her off directly in Holland, not allowing Mary so much as a chance to search for Ma.
As Henry engaged the soldiers ahead of them in conversation, Mary frowned at a scuff on her secondhand boots. She would find Ma someday. She refused, despite the eight years that had passed, to give up hope.
“We’re from Bristol. You?” asked the fellow in front.
Henry turned to Mary. She wished he would answer for them, as he tended to on most occasions. “London,” she said, keeping her voice low. She could sound so much like a man now.
“Been there once as a boy,” one said.
“Hideous place,” Henry retorted.
“Compared to Flanders, every place is hideous,” said another.
Mary had to agree. This country, with its white-beach shores and carpets of bright wildflowers streaking the countryside, would be another sight to describe in full to Ma.
How could something as ugly as a war be fought on such beautiful plains?
Mary didn’t know, but she was grateful for Captain Southwick’s foresight in encouraging her to stay clear of the sea battles.
She had been safer here, all while pocketing a modest salary for her future.
“Do you have your horses?”
“Not yet,” Henry said. “Who in town should we deal with?”
“Brought mine from home.” The soldier shrugged, moving as the line inched forward.
Though Mary had not been on horseback before, she looked forward to her training in Flanders.
She’d never forgotten how much she loved the horses she’d worked with as a stablehand.
She imagined she might feel more powerful, more capable, on the back of one.
With reins in her palms and all the power of a steed below her, she could be free.
After what felt like ages, Henry and Mary reached the front of the line. Mary approached the table first.
“Full names?” said the man in a faint Flemish accent as he checked a long list. He lowered his chin, and a shock of blond hair fell into his face.
“Mark Read and Henry Danby,” she said.
“Former cadets?”
“Yes, sir.”
When he looked up, Mary’s heart caught in her throat.
He was the most beautiful human on God’s green earth.
“This isn’t the infantry. Here, we issue pistols, short muskets, and sabres,” the Fleming said, his eyes the color of high tide as they settled on Mary.
Mary forced her slack jaw shut. She should say something. Her lips should be moving.
Henry laughed from deep in his throat. “Read can wield anything you put into his hands, I assure you. I’m not half bad myself.”
Mary nodded, remembering Henry was there—remembering that the world still existed. “I can hold my own,” she said. Much as she disliked shedding blood, she’d done it plenty in her four years in the infantry. “And I’m a quick study.”
The man blinked, his gaze studying Mary a little too intently.
She held her breath. He looked from Mary, to Henry, then back to Mary.
“I have seen two hundred men today alone, and each assures me of the same.” He leaned forward, and Mary stared at the vein along his throat.
“But you have not yet charged into battle like this—never faced a hedge of bayonets or swung a sword at an enemy clambering along the ground who is unable to meet you as an equal.”
Mary swallowed. Her head swam, whether from the sound of his voice or the horrors he recounted—horrors she already knew to some extent—she did not know. If a soldier could be female, could a siren be male?
“Officer Van Acker, a word?” someone interjected before stooping to whisper into the Fleming’s ear. Whatever he said made Van Acker sigh.
“Very well,” he said with a huff, scribbling something on his ledger. “Welcome to the cavalry. Sergeant Gorst around the corner will see that you get your proper weapons.”
Henry moved, but the soles of Mary’s feet dug into the grass.
“Is there a problem?” Van Acker asked.
“No, sir.” She could feel her cheeks burn as she darted after Henry.
But there was a problem.
Mary no longer had one, but two secrets to keep. If her mild fancy for Master Tansley during her sailing days had been a hazard, this threat was a blazing forest fire. Mary had to survive this war in more ways than most. And to do that, she had to stay far, far away from Officer Van Acker.