***FREE STORY***As World War One rages, in the quiet village of Trevannic, a young stranger washes up on the idyllic Cornish shore. His appearance and origins are a mystery. His Greek god muscular good looks and musical genius charms the little vil...
The following afternoon Janet was in the village attending a meeting of local businesses on the tax regime.
Jill who oversaw the domestic arrangements had split her time between helping Dorcas with food preservation and in the guest room. The guest room had rich natural colours that consisted of polished mahogany wood flooring, mahogany wall panels and a king sized, four poster bed. The rest of the furnishings were colour co-ordinated in cream and chocolate. The floor to ceiling windows had panoramic views of the ocean and local landscape.
The young man had not stirred once since Jan and Luke bathed and placed him in bed the previous morning.
Dr. Mead had driven in from St. Madoc, eight miles away. Together with Janet, he set the broken ankle before putting it in a cast. The doctor observed that the patient couldn't have received better care if he was in hospital.
Although strong sea breeze could be heard battering the cliffs from every direction, a glowing fire burned in the grate, keeping the sick room warm. Jill's fingers nimbly worked knitting needles and wool. Now and then she glanced with concern at their unconscious patient.
The young, attractive stranger that literarily washed up from the sea was an exciting glimpse into what was missing in her life. A combination of adventure, mystery and excitement made Jill's heart flutter wildly.
Until he stirred she was left to imagine what his life might have been like. Was his family large or small and close knit like hers? Was a lover eagerly awaiting news of his return? As Jill's mind raced, her knitting needles clicked rapidly.
Jill started self consciously when Dorcas' entered the guest room arrived with a fresh cup of tea. Dorcas cast a maternal eye on the sleeping man and fluffed up his pillows.
"My, you are a handsome one and lucky too making it out of the turbulent, sea alive," Dorcas talked cheerfully to him. Two of her five sons had been claimed by the cold indiscriminate sea. Shaking off the memory, Docas turned breezily to Jill. "It's lucky I had a wool nightgown to give him," she remarked, "If it was the sheer silk ones you wear....."
Jill quickly interjected in a hushed voice, "Don't talk of my lingerie," she blushed, colour infusing her cheeks, "He might hear you..."
"Knowing you wear sexy lingerie to bed, would incentivise him to come out of this unconscious state I wager, Miss Jill," Dorcas burst into a hearty laugh as she breezed out.
Jill's needles resumed rapid clicking. When she glanced at the bed a few minutes later, she noted a pair of dark eyes regarding her with interest. Jill put down her knitting, rose slowly and went over to the bed.
"Dynnargh dhis...welcome. Don't be afraid," she said self conscious of his intense gaze, "This may be an unfamiliar house but you're among friends."
He murmured words which she could not comprehend.
"Pardon...what did you say," she asked sweetly.
He repeated the same incomprehensible words in a stronger voice. A language she had not heard before. He regarded her earnestly, as if mere intentness would make her understand him.
"Don't you speak Cornish or English?" she asked incredulously.
He looked at her for a long moment. The echo of the last word seemed to penetrate his mind, groggy from medication. Before he could reply Jill recalled German lessons from her school days.
"Sprechen Sie Deutsch?" She haltingly asked if he spoke German.
"Ach ja! ein bisschen," he replied that he spoke a little German.
His face lit up with a smile so radiant that Jill wondered how providence could have weaved an intricate life path that included being found on the Cornish coast yet neglected equipping him for the journey with, Cornish or English.
Jill noted that German was different from the first language he spoke, probably his native tongue. Worry and dismay filled her. There was suspicion of German speakers and Jan Pendered's speculation about espionage no longer seemed so far-fetched.
"Little English....Polish," He gestured to himself as he said, 'Polish'.
"My name is, Jill Widdington," She said gesturing to herself similarly. "What is your name," she clearly enunciated her words.
He nodded understanding her meaning, "Jakob Marowski," Jakob moved as if to get up then winced in pain. It occurred to Jill that Jakob had not yet realised that his body was fevered, badly bruised and his right ankle popped back into place.
That he realised it now, was obvious. He gingerly lay back with closed eyes. When he reopened his eyes, Jill spoke making a gesture to simulate stormy sea waters, then laid her cheek on her hand to re-enact the discovery of his unconscious body in the sea below. She broke a wooden match in two and pointed to his ankle encased in a short cast and the medicine bottles by the bedside. She smiled reassuring him of kind treatment.
Jakob understood and nodded, "The war...it has made a killer of me, to survive...I shouldn't be here," he growled. She didn't seem to understand his meaning. In frustration he grabbed her dainty right hand. To the Cornish woman's astonishment, he lifted it to his fevered lips. The scorching kiss to the back of her hand caused an electric current of fear to course through her body. A reaction he was sure to have felt.
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Unsure she could trust herself around him, Jill gasped. "We all have to survive I'm sure you had good reason if you...did those bad things you say," Jill whispered self consciously.
Jakob's dark eyes twinkled dangerously, his face swollen from jellyfish stings.
April, 27, 2015
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