How could he top that?
But journalists and fans alike could not know the depths of their newly crowned gold medalist. Where most people would give anything for the attention, Eric had learned to avoid it when possible. This was no feigned avoidance. At only twenty-two, he already recognized that these had been his “days of comfort,” and that temptations befall a man when narcissism comes into play.
Not only was Eric the most famous Brit of his time, he was also an eligible bachelor. It wasn’t easy getting to know a young lady who didn’t recognize him or who already had high expectations of what he was like. Genuine seriousness was hard enough to identify for any young man seeking someone to marry, let alone for the most popular individual in the country. Still, he reasoned, the probability of finding the love of his life in China seemed astronomically low.
For Eric, the crossroads of life had never been dull. This one was no exception.
Once safe and unrecognized in his train compartment, Eric looked through the window dotted with a child’s recent nose prints and chuckled at the reporters who realized, as the crowd thinned out, that they had missed their chance. Again. He situated his belongings, then stretched out, closed his eyes, and let out a long breath, releasing the tension his body had held unconsciously since stepping onto the platform.
Pride cometh before the fall.
The words danced about in his head. Oh, yes. He knew the line well, and he had no intention of dooming himself to its clarion prophecy. But uncertainties abounded, and how he would navigate the waters that lay directly ahead of him had to be determined soon.
But soon would come quickly enough. For now, what he really needed was to rest.
The whistle blew, and with a jerk, the train pulled away from the station, heading toward Edinburgh. With any luck, he’d make it home in time to get a little sleep in his own bed before morning. Before another set of responsibilities lay before him.
After all, the following day was a Sunday.
CHAPTER 2
FOUNDATIONS
Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it.
Proverbs 22:6
September 14, 1909
Sweat beaded across the brow of seven-year-old Eric Liddell that warm September afternoon, and he wiped it toward the line of blond hair slicked with perspiration. “Come on, Rob!” he shouted. “Throw the ball!”
Rob, Eric’s older brother, darted along the dry grass of Blackheath’s meager playing field, his eyes searching for the best teammate to pass to. Finding a ready classmate, he tossed the oval rugger ball, then started toward his brother.
“Look!” he said, reaching Eric. “Mummy and Jenny are here!”
Eric turned in the direction Rob pointed. For a year now, since he and Rob had been enrolled in the London boarding school of Blackheath, their mother and younger sister, Jenny, had visited often, although not usually during class time.
“Should we go . . . ?” Eric began, stopping as Rob pulled him by the shirt sleeve toward their mother and sister.
Mary Liddell bent down to wrap each of them in a hug, then stood again. “I’ve—we’ve—” She looked down at Jenny. “We’ve come to say good-bye.”
Eric cocked his head as his mother swallowed hard. Was this the day his mother had told them about, the day she and Jenny would leave England for China, where his father had returned a year earlier?
“Are you leaving, then?” Rob asked. “For the boat?”
Mary nodded as wisps of dark hair fell away from the pins that held her thick tresses in place at the nape of her neck. She squatted before them, taking their hands in hers. “I want you boys to promise me you’ll be good for the headmaster. And study hard, and write to me as often as you can.”
“Will you write to us, Mummy?” Eric asked, feeling the tremor in his mother’s hand.
She squeezed in assurance. “Every week. Like clockwork.” She looked each of them in the eye. “Now, do you promise?”
“We promise,” they said together.
Their mother gathered them into her arms again, pressing her lips against their moist cheeks. Eric breathed in the fresh scent of her; she smelled like the heather that grew along the hills of Scotland. “I love you both so much . . . and I’ll miss you most terribly. Never forget that.”
“We won’t.”
Mary stood again and drew in a shaky breath. “Say good-bye to Jenny then.”
Both boys gave their sister a hug as their mother continued her instructions. “All right. Off you go, my boys. Back to your play.”
Eric lagged behind his brother in the return, then looked over his shoulder to see if their mother was still watching them. But she and Jenny had already begun to walk away, hand in hand. “Rob,” he said loudly enough for his brother to hear over the voices of the other boys.
Rob cast him a backward glance.
“Do you think it will be many days before we see them again?”
Rob nodded. “Many, many days. Years, Eric.”
Eric’s brow furrowed. Years . . . years without his mother. Without his father. Without Jenny. He took a final look toward the fading figures of the two most important females in his life.
Ah . . . but years with Rob. At least he had his older brother.
BY 1920, SEPARATION WAS nothing new for Eric Liddell. He’d lived with it nearly his entire life.
Born the second son of missionaries to China in the frostbitten winter of 1902—only seventeen months after his older brother, Rob—Eric had left his birthplace at the tender age of five and crossed vast oceans to Great Britain, where he and Rob entered boarding school.
Shortly after Eric and Rob were enrolled, and in the tradition of the day, their parents, James
