“No, I do not wish to take it back.”
“So that means . . .”
Her smile widened as pink stained her cheeks. “That I love you.”
“At last! The woman takes pity on this miserable wretch.”
“There was no pity involved. Nor was it because I was lonely or lost. I fell in love with you because after coming to know you, I knew you would forever be a permanent fixture in my world.”
A man’s heart holds a secret chamber where only one woman may enter. A place shaped for only her to breathe life into the darkened recesses and drum out a unique rhythm never before heard. Wynn pressed Svetlana’s hand over his heart, allowing her to feel the existence she thrummed into him.
“I promise to be there for you every day. To walk alongside you and stand firm beside you. I promise to give you shelter in the storms and wings to rise above them. My privilege will be to wipe the tears from your eyes and give you reason to smile again. You are the most precious thing to me and with these words I give you all my life . . . I love you, Lana.”
Tears misted her eyes. In the fading light they were like the first gloss of stars across twilight. “You are an exceptional man, Wynn MacCallan. A good man, and I am proud to call you my husband. In this instance I believe my pride is a good thing and not to our detriment. I am humbled by your heart’s offering and I shall treasure it until my dying breath.” She blinked back the unshed tears. “Which thankfully was not today.”
He pulled her closer and suppressed the utter despair of having nearly lost her that day. His life, gone. “You’re safe, Lana. You, your mother, Marina, and babushka. You have nothing to fear any longer.”
Cupping her hand around his neck, she nudged his forehead down to touch hers. “Will you do one thing for me?”
“Anything.”
“Take me home. To our home. I’m ready to begin living our life.”
He could have shouted for joy. He could have done a backflip. And seriously thrown out his back. But there was one thing above all others that he wished to do.
“On one condition.” He slipped one arm around her waist, while his other hand took hers, lacing their fingers together. “That you dance with me.”
Bending her head, she kissed their entwined fingers. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Epilogue
One year later
Carpets of purple heather bloomed in the growing twilight as the Rolls Royce pulled up to the newly constructed entrance of Harkin Hospital, the county’s first and only self-sustaining medical center. Svetlana stepped out of the back of the motor car and smoothed the front of her white-and-green striped dress. She was still growing accustomed to the ankle-revealing hemlines, but women all over the world reveled in the looseness of post-war fashion. There was even talk of doing away with corsets altogether, but she wasn’t quite ready for that. A woman needed her shape, after all.
She stared up at the freshly painted limestone building with a surge of pride. They had done it. She and Wynn had accomplished something greater than themselves, something they never could have done on their own. It had humbled them both to gratefulness.
Inside, the white tile floors gleamed brilliantly under the newly installed electric lights as the unique smell of disinfectant and bleached linen permeated the air. Her eyes had watered at first from the strong concoction, but it was one of the many things she’d grown accustomed to as the wife of a physician.
“Good evening, Yer Grace,” the front desk receptionist said. Dressed in pristine white with a smart cap atop her head, the young woman was one of the newly graduated nurses from the nursing course offered at the old sugar mill that had been remodeled into a learning establishment. Many of the village girls applied, and several had gone on to be offered positions as far away as Glasgow and Edinburgh while more still opted to remain in Glentyre to be closer to their families.
“Good evening, Nurse Drummond. How is little Lorna?”
“Fine as dew on a lamb’s ear, Yer Grace. Loving the children’s wing, she is.”
Another addition located at the rear of the hospital—an entire wing dedicated to children. The upper floor was for the sick, and the lower provided a nursery of sorts for children whose parents were taking courses or worked all day. It was headed by none other than Katie MacKinnon who had flourished in her training to become a shining example for superintendents. She had revolutionized the service into one of happiness and fun for the children and one of relief for parents who could now go to work unfettered knowing their children were well cared for.
“I’m delighted to hear that.”
Nurse Drummond reached below her desk and pulled out a small posy tied with a red ribbon. “’Tis not much, and sorry we are without the grandness ye’re used to, but a few of us mithers wanted to thank ye proper. The war took all we had, most of us our men, but we’ve a chance now to provide for our families. Ye championed us, Duchess, and we’re ever so grateful.”
Svetlana bent her head to smell the tiny yellow-and-white flowers, taking the humbling moment to blink back the emotion washing her eyes. “Thank you for the honor of allowing me to do so.”
The nurse beamed, then remembered her station and grabbed a clipboard hanging from the wall. “Dr. MacCallan is still in the operating theater. Auld man McGillum ran a saw across his leg out cutting the wood. I’ll be telling him ye arrived when he comes out. The doctor, not auld man McGillum.”
“Thank you. He may find me next door at the Bear.”
The Bear, Glentyre’s newest pub, was connected to the hospital by an outdoor covered corridor that passed through a garden Svetlana had single-handedly planted with white roses, purple hyacinths, and yellow kingcups that perfumed the soft spring gloaming. A short wicker fence cornered off a back section for the dacha garden that provided the Bear and the hospital with fresh vegetables, which were rotated out according to season. Once unclaimed and without roots, the ground and its harvest now flourished to their own free will. As did she.
In the center of the garden stood Constance’s monument dedicated to all the Glentyre Tommies who had served in the war, their names, including Hugh’s, carved for all to remember.
Pushing through the Bear’s heavy oak door, Svetlana stepped into a large room with thick stone and wood-paneled walls, flickering candles, and gas-lit sconces. A long bar ran the length of one wall, which sparkled with dozens of glass bottles ready for pouring. A fiddler and bodhrán player sat in a corner, plucking and drumming to the enjoyment of the patrons who sat at small round tables piled high with beer mugs and empty plates. Svetlana inhaled the rich scents of cabbage, venison, baked brown bread, and potatoes. Russia filled the air.
“Angel, you are here!” The Bear’s proprietor, Leonid himself, barged out of the kitchen through a set of swinging doors. He’d grown thicker around the middle, but life exuded from his every pore. “Come! Come sit.”
Svetlana weaved her way over to him. “I cannot. I’m waiting for Wynn.”
“He is up to elbows in blood and knives. We wait. Sit. Sit!”
With no other option than to do as she was told, Svetlana accepted the offered chair he pulled out for her at their usual table. “Something smells delicious.”
“New recipe.” He turned and barked at one of the servers. None of his staff understood a single word of Russian, but all they had to do was serve their customers food and drink and their boss would be happy. As the server ran back into the kitchen, Leonid plopped into the chair next to Svetlana. “Babushka is making pelmeni with herring caught in the lake—loch? da?—she says addition came to her in dream. I think is vodka inspired, but you taste. Tell the truth.”