Lies Told In Silence (21 page)

Helene asked no more questions, and Edward said nothing more. He closed his eyes and leaned back. With the sun warming their backs and a sharp blue sky stretching in all directions, the day felt innocent as long as they avoided looking down. Silence stretched so long she thought he might be dozing.

“You didn’t tell me where your mother has gone.”

“Paris. To look after my brother. He’s in hospital with pleur
isy.” Helene turned towards him. “Do you know anything about that?”

“Nasty and painful. Many of our soldiers have had it. Rarely fatal, though.”

“We pray for him every day. Jean and I are taking care of the house while Maman is away.”

Overhead, a swarm of swallows moved in unison, darting and dipping just above the tree line. The sun, now lower on the horizon, cast long shadows as Edward turned towards her, his eyes dark and questioning. Helene held his gaze, and he kissed her, a light brushing of his lips against hers that sent tremors through her body. He pulled her close, close enough that she could feel the thumping of his heart, and kissed her deeply, one hand around her shoulders, the other touching
her cheek.

Helene wrapped her arms around him, allowing the exquisite sensations to go on and on. His mouth on her lips, her eyes, her chin, her throat. His hands in her hair, on her back, stroking her
arms. His fingers touching her lips, the tip of one ear, the line of her nose. Absolute bliss.

Chapter 28

June 1917

Dearest Helene and Jean,

Guy is finally beginning to improve. I’ve spent the past two weeks soaking him with damp cloths to keep his fever down, changing his linen two or three times a day and feeding him small spoonfuls of broth, which Lucy makes for me to take to the hospital. The doctors have now agreed that he may continue recuperating at home. Last night, Lucy helped me get his room ready, and tomorrow, I will bring him here.

Papa is with me, and I am so happy to be able to see him almost every day.
He sends his love.

I trust that the house is in order. Madame Lalonde has written to tell me how well you are managing. Jean, I hope you are keeping your studies up and helping Helene as much as you can.

Guy also sends his love and will write when his strength improves. If all goes well, I will return to Beaufort before the end of June.

With love to you both,

Maman

* * *

From her position by an ancient stone fence encrusted with lichens, Helene could see a long stretch of the road leading to Beaufort. Folding hills framed her view to the south, and poplars stood on either side of the road like soldiers on guard. The heavy scent of wild roses and quiet stillness of the air made her forget that the world was at war. Instead, she thought of Edward and his soft kisses that had soon become overwhelming in intensity. His kisses were her first, and she blushed at the quiver that ran through her every time she recalled them.

The sun was hot, and the birds, usually chirping as they fed their young, were silent while the brook that ran parallel to Monsieur Garnier’s farm babbled in tune with the peaceful setting. By Helene’s feet was a wicker basket containing cold chicken, vegetables from their garden, fresh bread and a jar of cider, all covered by a blue cloth. It was one o’clock, and Edward would soon arrive, assuming he could get away as promised.

Since their outing on the hill, Helene had seen him only once in town, where she knew that many eyes would be watching, so they had spoken briefly, standing an appropriate distance apart instead of embracing and nodding politely instead of whispering with their heads close and hands touching. During that conversation, they had arranged today’s outing.

Helene smoothed her skirt then touched the knot of her hair to make sure that no tendrils had escaped. Her pink blouse had loose-fitting sleeves and a scooped bodice, which exposed her neck and collarbones while emphasizing her narrow waist. She had tried on many outfits, even some of her mother’s clothes, before settling on this combination, which she thought was both modest and alluring. The only item out of keeping with her dress was the sturdy pair of shoes she wore. Helene had a plan in mind for where they could go to be alone.

A few minutes later, she saw him, at first just a bobbing speck on the rise in the road, but gradually she could see that he was walking confidently and carrying a small knapsack. Helene smiled, though he was still too far away to see it.

Edward
waved and quickened his pace. When he reached her, he drew her into his arms and kissed her—a slow, lingering kiss.

“I’ve been waiting three weeks to do that,” he said, holding her so close she felt his heart beating.

“
Moi aussi
.” She touched his cheek with two fingertips, not daring to do anything more.

“Are we having lunch?” Edward gestured towards the basket, one arm still around her waist.

“Mm hmm. I have a place in mind. Different from last time,” she added when she saw the questioning look on his face.

Edward picked up the basket. “It must be easier to get to.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You aren’t dressed in trousers.” He laughed. “Lead on.”

From the intersection, they headed south for several minutes until Helene found what she was looking for and opened a wooden gate leading to a dirt path just wide enough for a horse and wagon. The path was deeply rutted from spring rain.

“I don’t think it’s used much anymore,” she said. “The woman who lived here went to her sister’s after losing both her husband and son. Maman said she was so depressed the doctor feared she might harm herself. Jean showed me this path.”

“Jean does a lot of exploring.” It was more question than statement.

“Yes. Maman worries about him. He has promised me that he will stay out of trouble.”

Edward raised his eyebrows as if implying she was naïve to believe her brother.

Helene caught his look. “He promised,” she reiterated.

Now that they were off the road, Edward held her hand. The path passed by a run-down building that looked like it used to house livestock. Half the building had no roof, only a stone wall that peaked on one side into a triangle. Two green doors stood open as though the farmer intended to return any minute, and a group of scruffy sheep grazed nearby.

Farther on was a white house with two dormer windows on the second floor and a weather vane in the shape of a rooster at one end of the roof. Although it was empty, the house looked comfortable, tall grasses nestling against the surrounding fence and
a cascade of bright yellow flowers draping one wall. On the porch, they could see a large metal watering can, and beside the house, a white cloth hung limply on the clothesline.

“I wonder if she will return,” said Helene.

“Perhaps when it’s all over.”

They stood for a moment to commemorate the loss this family had suffered then continued along a footpath across the fields. Before long, they began to climb, not a steep hill but one with a slow, steady rise, trees protecting them from the hot sun like a wide umbrella. The hillside was quiet, with only an occasional flutter of wings and soft rustling of nearby animals. They spoke little, each anticipating a secluded spot where they could spread a blanket and be together.

Near the top of the hill, trees gave way to low bushes, and the vista opened to a sleepy haze shimmering over the valley, where angular fields full of crops, in shades of green from chartreuse to jade, defined a landscape that had been farmed for centuries.

“Pretty church over there,” said Edward, pointing to their left where a small steeple and pitched roof nestled amongst yellow gorse.

“It’s quaint inside. Just a few wooden pews and a narrow altar. Room for ten or twelve people and a tiny stained-glass window of the Madonna. Someone must look after it. It was all so clean the last time I peeked in.”

“Do you go to church?”

She nodded. “And you?”

“I used to. But not lately.”

They slowed their pace to cross a small stream, Edward going first then offering his hand to Helene as she stepped carefully from one rock to another.

“Why not?”

“Hard to say.”

Deciding not to probe, she tucked the topic of church away for another time. As they went farther, a rocky outcrop appeared on the far right, its narrow top jagged like a giant saw, its sheer sides impossible to climb. The path went steeply down for a short
distance.

“Here we are,” Helene said. “Farmers use this to shelter from the wind and snow.”

She gestured at a small building built from stone. Its red-tiled roof had no peak but rather sloped straight down from one wall that was higher than the other. Wooden shutters covered each window, thick bolts keeping them in place, and the door, somewhat obscured by the scarlet blossoms of a climbing rose, was low and narrow with an iron ring for a handle.

Helene grabbed the handle and pulled. Nothing happened. She pulled again, still no movement. When Edward tried, pulling with two hands rather than one, the door opened with a sharp grinding sound.

“Swollen from the heat, I think,” he said.

Inside were three stools and a small table, several candlesticks and a fireplace blackened from use. In one corner, a lumpy mattress and broom leaned against the wall; droppings on the floor revealed that animals had been inside at one time.

“It is very dirty.” Helene wrinkled her nose.

“Well, there’s a beautiful view outside.” Edward went out the door, bending his head to avoid the low lintel, then fished in his knapsack and extracted a blanket, which he spread on the ground. He made an exaggerated bow. “Your throne, Mademoiselle.”

Edward leaned back against the wall of the hut, a jacket cushioning his head. “It’s like an oasis,” he said. “A beautiful girl, wonderful food and a peaceful view.” He sighed.

“What’s wrong?” Helene asked.

Edward shrugged. “I’m heading out again. To set up communications before another tussle with the Germans. The doctor says I’m fit for duty.” The grimace on his face implied doubt. “Earnshaw’s happy.”

“Who is Earnshaw?”

“My captain.”

“Where are you going?”

He glanced at her but said nothing.

“Oh, of course. You must not tell me.”

Helene’s shoulders drooped as she looked off into the distance, her eyes blind to gently folding hills and bulging forests. This idyllic time with Edward was at an end, and she might never see him again, never kiss him or hold him in her arms. Though he was her first romantic attachment, she had already imagined a future with him, one with marriage and children and intense joy.

“It’s a bloody mess,” Edward said eventually. Bitterness gave his voice a ragged edge.

“Can you tell me about it?”

He hesitated then put his arm around her to pull her close, and she leaned against him.

“Half the time I’m afraid and the other half I feel like a machine. A robot. Making decisions, responding to chaos. There’s no time to think. Or feel.” Edward snorted. “I suppose that’s why they drill us so often.” He picked up a pebble and threw it down the hill.

“Soldiers are just numbers. Living like animals in filth. Weeks go by where all I can do is wash my face and hands in water already used by others. And the smells—you wouldn’t believe the stench we live with.” Edward paused. “Can I be blunt?” When she nodded, he continued. “Men soil themselves when they’re afraid, and the odour lingers. Then there’s the mud and vomit and the smell of guns. One day, I took a sprig of rosemary from a farm we passed and put it in my pocket so I could inhale its scent every so often. Had it for weeks.”

Helene kept the revulsion from her face, knowing instinctively that Edward would stop if he felt his disclosures bothered her. He needed to talk, just like Francois needed to write. Edward held her tighter.

“The first time
 . . . the first time I killed someone, I threw up.” He shuddered as he spoke. “He was only a few feet away when I shot him. Then I shoved my bayonet into his chest. Couldn’t believe how easily it went through him. He was barely a man, maybe eighteen or nineteen. What does that make me?”

“A soldier fighting for his country and his beliefs.”

“Humph. I don’t think I believe in anything anymore.”

“God will—”

Edward cut her off. “God! I stopped talking to him a long time ago. He isn’t here.”

In the prickly silence that followed, Helene thought about what to say. Finally, she gestured at their surroundings.

“He’s here, in this place, with you and me. Believing in God is what gives me hope.”

“You give me hope,” he said, tilting her chin so he could kiss her.

The kiss lingered. Helene felt the same intensity, the same liquid spinning of her mind. Edward shifted his position so they could lie side by side. He trailed his fingers up and down her arm then caressed the round slope of her hip. Helene drew herself closer, her breasts rising and falling. He held her against the full length of his body and kissed her again.