N: I know it's been a very long time since I've published anything. I am working on a chapter for family reunion, my exams are just crazy at the moment. Here is a one shot for you to enjoy. It's a bit different, but I hope you like it. Leave a comment and let me know.
Any and all mistakes are mine.
Monday, 7 August 1942
My darling Ysabeau
I cannot let this dreadful day pass without a word to you. It feels as if a part of me has been ripped away. You have constantly been with me, every day for four months, and my soul is empty now. It has been five days since you have left me, and my heart is a barren field, my mind wanders to images of your gracefulness and your smell lingers on my bedsheets. The war is taunting me and you are my sanity. I lie awake at night with flashing images of your smile, and then it feels as though you are here again. I am longing for you my darling, everything is cold in your absense. Oh how I wish time would be lost, so I can feel you once more.
Your own
Lauren
Wednesday, 28 August 1942
Dear my love
I feel rejoiced. Not in the spirit of your absense, but in the beauty of your soul. My heart has been broken, piece for piece has been torn away. With each mile that lies between us, I shed a tear. I ache to hold you close, to put my arms around you and breathe you in. My love, it will not be long till we can surround ourselves with the comfort that is us. Be strong my darling, defy the evil that is against us, for I am your strength, and you are mine. Think of me when you are weakened, and know that every second of my day is devoted to the undying passion that blossomed during our time spent together. Write to me, so I can imagine the words spoken by you, so I can feel them leave your lips and spill over my heart.
Your loving
Ysabeau
Tuesday, 8 September 1942
My darling Ysabeau
The war is a manifestation of the evil that has flung itself on to this earth. The sheets in my cabin have been stripped of your scent, my feet are cold at night. I wish you were here. While I sit and stare at the stars on this humid evening, my mind is filled with the memories I created with you. I wish I could lie down beside you tonight, and take you in my arms. I wish I could hear you whisper in my ear again that the fools who break humanity will starve of their broken ambition. Your presence is missed my darling, I long to have you with me every day. Saving lives feels bland without you by my side. I am a devil for wishing that you never left this sea of death and despair. My darling, I beg of you to forgive me.
Your own
Lauren
Sunday, 21 September 1942
Dear my love
My thoughts of the future are filled with images of us. I see only you my love, my heart beats for your affection. I am a stranger here, nobody knows me like you do. You have taken my soul and morphed it to fit yours, and I wish to feel your warmth at night. Soon your time will be over, and we will be reunited like we rightfully belong. I think of the life we will have together, a home that will overflow of our love, safe and away from the men who wish to die for nothing. Your smile lingers in my mind, your words call to me with a sadness that cripples me. Hurry my love, save the lives that deserve to be spared, and come home to me.
Your loving
Ysabeau
Thursday, 31 September 1942
My darling Ysabeau
I wait in anticipation every time the postman enters the hall. My skin crawls when he takes his time to hand me your letter. Your words form the sanctuary which holds my sanity. Ysabeau, I fear that I might be losing my mind. I cannot bear the pain of your absense. You have placed me under a spell, and I feel as if my heart has been enslaved to you. Beautiful agony is what I experience every second of every day, your touch is the command I answer to. I feel like a saint with no cause, I feel like a mad woman, because my body defies my attempts to keep going. I simply cannot function without you by my side. Give me love, I beg of you, free me from this hell, and take me home.
Your own
Lauren
Tuesday, 10 October 1942
Dear my love
Lauren, my sweet Lauren, your hurt has been transferred directly to my core. Your words shook me to the depths of the earth. As this world continues to ignore the beauty of our love, I know that we never will. The golden band on my finger proclaims your love to me, and this letter to you, ensures that I will stop at nothing to share my life with you. When the snow of Christmas falls, you will be home. My nerves have been hell-bent, but now I am optimistic. I can picture you on the train, your hair disrupted by the wind as you make your way to me. Time is fading my love, our time is near. Two more months of agony, and then we will be reunited once more. Hold fast to the promise I made before I kissed you goodbye, my heart belongs to you and so it will dance when it meets you again. The farm is here, our home is here. I have warmed the fireplace and I have made the tea, your place is here, and I cannot wait to lie beside you. The war is no place for your kind soul, but broken bodies scream for your healing hand. Stay focused my love, and you will see.
Your loving
Ysabeau
Monday, 29 October 1942
My darling Ysabeau
The distance is palpable, the cold has invaded, the war is ongoing and my sanity is slipping. I have read your letter several times, and each feels different. Your existence rips through me Ysabeau, never could I have thought that an angel would bless me with her love. You are right, like you always are, time is passing by and I am anxious to feel you again. My mind wanders to the soft sport under your ear, I miss your writhing body, I feel your shaking edge. Every night as I lie awake, my body comes alive at the mere thought of your beauty. Your touch controlled me every time we shared our energy, and I long for the euphoria that is you between the sheets. Your words keep me going, and I am counting the seconds till my eyes will fall on you again. I need to know, my darling, are you well? It breaks me not to see you, for when I look into your eyes, I know exactly what your soul is feeling. Time is on our side now, my dearest Ysabeau, and I cannot wait to hear your soothing voice.
Your own
Lauren
Wednesday, 15 November 1942
Dear my love
The town has died down. The rise over the war has subdued, and there is hope in the air. I feel guilty for experiencing safety while I know you risk your life to heal the soldiers who fight to keep us safe. Oh how I wish to speak the words I have been waiting to speak for so long. Three simple words my love, but I promised I would only utter them during our most precious moments. Your words leave me with senses that can only accept your touch. My body is aflame when I think of you. Late at night, when I am all alone, my hands wander in the spirit of hopelessly trying to mimic the way you made me feel. How silly of me, it's tragic how dependent I have become on you. My entire being desires you, nothing else, it is paralyzed without you. We are a few weeks away from embracing each other, and my heart beats in anticipation. During my whole life, I have been taught that love will never last a lifetime, delve into your own mind my love, and look at the future, I see only you and the life we will build together. You need not to worry about me sweet Lauren, I am and will be in seventh heaven for as long as your heart belongs to me.
Your loving
Ysabeau
Monday, 30 November 1942
My darling Ysabeau
The time has come, my darling. I am clearing out my cabin. Every fibre of my being screams in anticipation, I cannot wait to hold you close. The soldiers are healed, I am no longer needed. The war will continue, but our love will live on far, far away from this madness. I will be leaving on the 7th of December. The train will bring me to you. Wait for me at platfrom 3, my darling, there we will be reunited. My mind is filled with wonders of your smell and the sound of your voice. I cannot wait, I feel like a child embarking on a trip, but instead I am starting the route of our enhanced journey. Almost Ysabeau, I am almost with you.
Your own
Lauren
Thursday, 7 December 1942
13:00, Base Camp 3 departure
Dew point temperature was under freezing point last night, and I am shaking from the cold that has made itself comfortable around the base camp. My bags are ready and waiting to be carried to the transportation truck outside, the time has finally come. I will be leaving in a few minutes, but I am taking my time to greet my cabin. This is the cabin that holds the most sacred memories I created with Ysabeau. Our story started here, and I ache knowing that I have to leave it here. New doctors will live here now and soon when I come back, I will be relocated, forever apart from this history stricken room.
As a shadow approaches the cabin, I turn to focus my attention on the young man with his hands firmly in place behind him. He stops directly beside my belongings, and lifts his head, "Ma'am, I have been instructed to take your bags to the transportation truck."
I gaze at him, in admiration of the discipline a soldier carries. I speak up, "Thank you O'malley, I will be right out."
He nods swiftly and removes my belongings from the cabin. I am alone once more. I look around the room, and an uncontrollable smile overcomes me. I have missed her terribly. It won't be long now until I can hold her in my arms again. I bend down and pick up my travel bag, it holds the few sentimental things I possess in this God forsaken place, including the letters Ysabeau has written to me over the course of these few agonising months.
I smile kindly at the nurses when I exit my cabin. They are standing together to wish me well on my trip. I have formed a strong relationship with that wonderful team of spectacular women who spent hours with me as we tried to heal and save broken bodies, and I feel sorrowful to leave them behind. I smile at them once more when I am seated in the transportation truck, and they wave me off as the vehicle roars to life and moves away from base camp 3.
This is it, I am going home. I look around at the other soldiers who will be travelling with me, each waiting anxiously to reach their destination and be rid of this dreadful place. Some have injuries that are still healing, and some will never be able to serve again. It breaks my heart knowing that the war has done this to the brave people that sacrifice themselves for the greater good, and then I wish that I could do more, that I can somehow be of more help. But I know my place is set as a war doctor and my service is needed and appreciated. I do however feel as though I am leaving the base at their own mercy, and it is unsettling.
"Lewis, where are you running off to? I'm impressed they got you away from the operating table."
I look at the young man sitting next to me, his leg is outstretched in an uncomfortable looking position. I treated him the moment he came into the base. I will always remember the agonising, shrill sound of his screams when they rolled him in, his leg was torn to shreds. But now he is healing and on a fast route to a recovery that will hopefully not render him cripple. I smile at him, "My time is up. A group of male doctors are being flown in, so they are sending the women home."
"You were emerengency staff."
I nod at his statement with lips pressed tightly together. The world we live in is filled with Patriarchy and ignorance to the value women add to society. But I have done my part and leaving with a clean concious.
He clears his throat, "So you have a husband waiting for you back home?"
I smile and look down at my hands, swiftly remembering the beautifully firm body parts they have praised, and I look him in the eyes, "Something like that."
He raises a brow, and says nothing. Instead he focuses his attention back to the book he pulled out of his travel bag the moment we were seated. I settle into my seat, knowing that he is fully aware of what I meant. We have at least an hour trip to the train station, and I close my eyes while resting my head against the headrest, tonight on the train I will review the letters, and take pride in knowing that Ysabeau is waiting for my arrival.
When we reach the train station, I am eager to be seated. Every minute that ticks by on my writst watch reminds me that I am one step closer to my darling. The station is filled with people rushing to their platforms, luggage is everywhere and chatter fills my ears as I walk amongst everyone, peacefully making my way to the train. There is a thick cloud of dust in the air, and there is the smell of grease and something vaguely metallic. The scent is protruding, but welcomed since it does not smell like sand and dried blood, a smell I have gotten used to. I hear people arguing over luggage, over time that will be lost due to the trip, over the war that is long not over. It sinks into my ears like led, but I ignore it, I only have one thing on my mind, my darling, and her graceful smile. I clutch the strap of my travel bag while carrying my luggage, being around all of these people has sent my senses into overdrive. It is crowded, and I have no knowledge of any immediate exits for when panic strikes. My eyes dart around with caution while I scope my surroundings, all seems calm and safe, and I exhale a breath of relief when I reach the entrance to the train.
It is warm inside, my sandy scrubs are still clinging to my body underneath my thick fur coat, and I am happy that I will reach my seat in a few seconds. I walk past the facilities and down a narrow hall before I enter the seating space. My seat is number 21, and I can spot it from far away between the rest of the maroon leather seats. So far there is nobody at seat number 22, which makes me hopeful that I will have the space to myself for the duration of my trip, privacy is not a given during these times. I worm my way through people laying their luggage to rest above them, and push my own bag into the provided space when I reach my seat. I scoot into the seat and sit down, my travel bag is on my lap and I am clinging to it with arms wrapped around it while I gaze out the window, my ticket securely in hand. There are only a few minutes left before we depart, and I can feel my nerves rising. I have no problem with travelling alone, but it has always been a nerve-racking ordeal. The dim lights in the train makes me aware that I need to rest, it has been a long day and my body is fighting to stay awake.
The whistle fills my ears, and the doors close in preparation to depart. I watch as people take their seats, and look around for a potential individual that would be taking up the space next to me. But when the train stars to screetch it is evident that I have seat number 22 all to myself. The train chugs and wiggles from side to side as it moves from its resting position, and finally, we are on our way. It will be a night trip, and I will reach North Yorkshire by morning. I move my bag to rest next to me while the conductor starts at the front of the seats to check tickets, and I hear the people adress him as the guard. It swiftly reminds me that I am indeed an American sitting amongts England folks.
It was on a whim that I decided to accompany the England medical base on their emergency trip to Vietnam. World War II has taken off like a flame to gasoline and it spread to other outlined areas, leaving our countries begging for assistance. I did however arrive a few months late to the party and so got stuck with the short straw of the rotating schedule. The head of the female medical team made a few arrangements once my group arrived, and it was then when I saw her for the first time. The woman that inevitably changed my life at first glance.
"Your ticket ma'am."
I drag my eyes from the view that is now of the industrial area before we exit Vietnam, and stare up at the conductor with an outstretched hand, eagerly waiting for my ticket. He wears a polite smile, but with a twinge of annoyance. It is evident that he would rather be somewhere else than on this train, the layer of sweat on his forehead proves it. I hand him my ticket, and he accepts it quickly. He scans the ticket with a concentrating gaze, and after a few seconds he hands it back to me with its first punch.
Always interrupted. There has never been a moment where I have been alone since I left America. When I got to the medical base camp I was with people, when I arrived at camp 3 I was with people, and when I met my darling Ysabeau, I spent every second I could with her. I smiled while the thought of how I met the stubborn doctor runs through my mind. It is a memory that I will never be free of, and one I wish to never forget. I shift in my seat and stretch my feet under the seats in front of me, I am in for a long trip.
It was indeed an insane morning when I met her. On the 9th of January, I was assigned to Doctor Ysabeau Dennis' group of the rotating schedule, and it was indeed the worst group to be a part of. I cannot think that working in the early morning hours is anybody's idea of fun, it certainly is not mine, nor was it while I volunteered. She was huddled over a desk, fast asleep on her arms while everyone else was about and wandering aimlessly, waiting for a rush to come in. I was anxious when I walked into the base and therefore not very happy when the person who was supposed to welcome me was fast asleep. It resulted in me unabashedly waking the sleeping woman, but I did not prepare myself for the sight I received the moment she lifted her head. It felt like an outer body experience, for when I met Ysabeau's tired eyes, my heart closed up shop knowing that it had found treasure that would last me a lifetime.
For someone like me it is rare to find love in the era that we live in. What many people, especially my family forgets is that even though I am a doctor who risks my life to save those of others, I am still a woman who longs for love. The kind of love I experience is different, and therefore it endangers me and my profession. But the moment that woman laid her eyes on me, I knew there had to be some hope left for me. To my surprise, she was not unhappy when I woke her, instead she stood up quite fast and welcomed me with a smile that threw a wonderful dimple in my direction.
I smile as I pull my coat impossibly closer around my body. It is cold, and the windows are condensing. The heat of the people surrounding me will warm up the space soon. I cannot ignore the fact that thinking about my darling Ysabeau warms something deep within the valleys of my heart that has been barren for years. She has truly given me a new purpose to breathe and live. That evening, when I met her, the outlook on my volunteering trip flipped in a split second. It went from doubt and fear, to warmth and deep longing for affection, affection from her hand only.
It was the smile that stretched on her face that made me stop and stare for a few seconds longer than what would be seen as appropriate, but it was not a one man show, she showed me the same reaction. I still remember how my heartbeat increased within a single moment when I was summoned to shake her hand. It feels like it happened yesterday. I have had many love affairs in my life, but not one that made me experience quite what Ysabeau did when we first laid eyes on each other.
As the train worms its way on the turn of the tracks, I feel my mind shifting into a state of nostalgia that is more than welcome. I have warmed up, and the train is quiet. Ysabeau only had four months left of her service when I came on board. I learned early on that she had been there far longer than the other group that went up before I did. And always, the moment panic struck, Doctor Ysabeau Dennis was on the scene, ready to save lives. I have learned that she is fearless and passionate about helping others. She is an angel to the world in the middle of its chaos, and an angel to my heart that has saved me from a strangling solitary life.
She is the woman who turned my world upside down in the matter of four months. Her provocative soul invited my heart to make itself at home with open arms. So I did of course, I was drawn to her infatuating disposition. She is always full of stories, and we have never had a dull moment. I remember how we would walk hand in hand at night, while most of the medical team were in the commute tent, drinking their sorrows away. It was those nights that served as our sacred time and we nursed it with care. I remember how I would sit and listen to the sound of her voice while she told me her life story. She has a rich and exciting story, a story that one could not help but admire, and it makes me question even more how a human being like her, ended up as a doctor leading a quiet and untold life. She has seen many outskirts of the world, and has climbed some mountains, but the story that will never leave my memory, is the one of her first year after school, where she first found herself and made the life altering decision to stay true to herself.
I have fallen in love with her, and we have had so little time together. It seems rather cruel when I think about it, but at the same time I cannot complain. I long for her, I feel this emmense need to be in her arms again. Her energy always surrounds my own figure, and every time we lie down together, I can feel how we become one. Many nights we stayed up till late, talking about this and that, and then she would tell me one of her stories again, and I would fall asleep with her voice prancing around me, the soft angelic sound of her slight English accent always at the perfect frequency.
But Ysabeau is not wholly innocent in this tale. I will wholeheartedly confess that I tried everything I could think of to gain her attention. I would ask for her consultation on a patient even when I knew exactly what the problem was. I would ask her to assist me during surgery, and I would linger around her desk when I was not needed. The dilemma is just that my behaviour danced around the moves she shuffled my way. She would eye me from across the room, without averting her eyes when I caught her. She would walk close to me when we were on route somewhere, so close that she brushed me every few seconds. Her hands would be placed close to mine when we sat at her desk, and she would talk to me about anything whenever we had the time. Ysabeau was a beautiful mix between mysterious and an open book.
I look out the window that is now lightly condensed in the corners, the atmosphere in the train is feeling the people occupying it. Trees and grass are flying past, creating a long line of green next to me. I bury my face in my hands when my favourite thing enters my mind, and I reach into my travel bag to retrieve the physical memories I have of her. In the small tin with an imprinted cherry coke label on it, I find the letters she had written to me in the time I had to stay behind. My darling, she has a way with words, and she never fails to remind me of what she truly feels for me. Underneath her handwritten promises, I find the one and only photograph I have of her. There she is, in her all her glory, with her lucky stethoscope around her neck, smiling with the utmost pride. Her smile is my favourite thing. When she was still at the camp, I used to watch her interact with the nurses. She was always so friendly, and every time she smiled, her dimple complimented her glowing demeanor.
I sigh with content as I place the photograph back where it belongs for safekeeping, and the black inc that has syphered through to the back of the faintly yellow pages tempts me to open up a letter and revisit the emotions I felt when I first read it. With a loving smile, I pull a random letter from my cared after collection. Tuesday, 10 October 1942. I smile wider as her words settle in my heart again, and I gain the exact same feeling I had when I received this letter.
'I can picture you on the train, your hair disrupted by the wind as you make your way to me.'
'The farm is here, our home is here. I have warmed the fireplace and I have made the tea, your place is here, and I cannot wait to lie beside you.'
My mind wanders to the farmhouse she has told me about. Many times she described it: two stories high, three bedrooms, a large kitchen, a patio, and a balcony with blue posts standing out against the pearl white colour of the house. It seems absurd, that this is really what is waiting for me. When I depart from this train, Ysabeau will be waiting for me, and we will live together on the farm she inherited from her grandparents, two lovely folks she has told me so much about. I miss the way her eyes light up when she is passionately talking about her family.
Ysabeau is a sunrise, sunset, stars at midnight, and coffee in the early morning hours person. She enjoys the small things many people forget to pay attention to, and she has opened my eyes to this world while we were in the middle of nowhere. I can still remember how she made up songs at any given moment, how she read poetry to me during lunch time, and how she taught me all the old card games. I cannot remember how many times I have laughed at her sillyness when we were alone in my cabin, or hers. She practically started living in mine the moment our attraction caught a flame, and it is a time that I will never despise.
The train snakes its way around a curve, and I place the letter safely back into the tin while people start moving about. I zip my bag up when the tin is secured and urge my frozen limbs to work with me so I can buy a cup of tea. With much effort I manage to shuffle out of my seat, and I quietly walk down the matted path that goes around the office, leading to the small cafeteria. I tug at my coat when the cold air sends a wave of goosebumps sliding down my spine. Christmas time has definitely come and the snow will be thick this year. While I stand in line I think of how cold it will be on the farm, but then I smile when I realise that Ysabeau will be warming up my feet at night. Today I have clear memories of her. I can smell her everywhere, I hear her voice in every uttered word, I feel her presence, and my mouth remembers the taste of her love.
I add a newspaper to accompany my tea, and glance at the headlines while I walk back to my seat. Every single article is about the war, politics, some other form of patriarchy involving gender roles at home, and callings for young men to sign up and fight when they come of age. I stare with amusement at the propaganda on page three while I take a thankful sip of my tea. Adolf Hitler is properly being kicked under his behind by the massive united boot of the Soviet Union. I shake my head when there is no trace of female flare in this newspaper. Nobody writes or speaks of a woman, an article is not written by a woman, and the photos and drawings are the works of men. With an aggrivated sigh I close the newspaper and set it down, I have no idea how long this war will last, nor how long women will live under oppression.
I think back to the night Ysabeau and I had a long discussion about inequality, and how she passionately stated her opinion. That night I admired her more than anything, and it was that very night where we shared my bed tangled in the sheets, with only our heavy breaths and shaking moments serving as communication. Suddenly I am immensely grateful that people are still allowed to travel between the countries that are not at war with each other, because if it were not for this privilege, Ysabeau and I would probably never see each other again.
I glance at my wristwatch and feel my heart sink to my feet. I have only been on the train for two hours, there are six hours left of my trip. I can feel the warmth of the tea spread through my body, and I lean my head back while I look at the scenery passing by. We have entered a town, it looks to be a small one, but it reaks of poverty and suffering. I frown as I look at the old detereorating buildings, and I feel thankful for the priviliges that I have. Ysabeau talked many times about how she wants to help the community, how she wants to give back more and create opportunities. My darling is optimistic, and she wants to save the world. Perhaps that is what draws me to her completely; not just her beauty, her charm or her strong demeanor, but the fact that she is innocent and still has hope like a child that the world will somehow come to piece. On the days where I felt like the pressure was too much, she would sit on my lap and rub my shoulders, smiling at me with hope. And in those moments, I knew she was telling me to never lose faith.
That is what lingers in my mind as I lie back and embrace the lights from outside flicking by, and as the bright rays reach my eyes, I close them with satisfaction.
It is close to four in the morning when a hand falls on my shoulder, startling me awake from my peaceful slumber. I look to my right and find the conductor with an outstretched hand waiting for me to hand over my ticked. I sit up straight and fish it out of my bag, handing it to him with care. The man looks calm now, the sweat on his forehead is no longer visible, and his demeanor glows of fatique. It is quite understandable, he has been on his feet all day, tending to the needs of the passengers and his superior personnel. Somewhow I can relate to his agony, I have had many days where not a single minute is spared to sit down and take a breath.
When he hands me back my ticket, I manage a polite smile, and before he moves on, I see him return it under his thick brown beard. I return the ticket to my bag and pull at my coat to readjust my seating position. My behind is numb and there is still two hours left of this trip. I feel at peace as I glance out the window, I am merely a lengthy moment away from reuniting with my darling. I have thought of what life would be like in North Yorkshire so many times. Ysabeau painted a picture in my mind with the many stories she has told me about the town, they sound incredible, and almost unbelievable.
On one hot and humid evening, Ysabeau and I sat outside the medical tent, ice tea in hand and our boots touching. We had avoided her knowing and soon upcoming departure for as long as we could, and it was hanging in the air like a sore toe on a cold day. We were silent as we stared into the darkness. The stars were barely visible. Foreign clouds were hiding them and adding to the heat. My heart was beating unevenly, I was afraid of what she might say. I fell for her during the time she had left at the camp and I had no say in her choices. She was not officially mine to hold close and protect, and even though I knew in my heart that she was, we never spoke about it openly. Ysabeau knew to tred lightly, every day I could see the hurt she carried with her knowing she would have to leave soon, and I felt it just as much as she did. But on that night, she spoke honestly about her feelings. She told me how she had wished many times that she could just proclaim her undying devotion to me and take me far away from the war. She told me about the emotions she experienced when she first saw me, how she fell in love with me during the first day of work, and how her heart felt at peace for the first time in a long time. I will always remember the moment she set her drink down and got up from her seat, how she got on her knees next to me and took my hand in hers. The coldness of her skin from the glass pulled me right into reality with her, and every word she spoke out of desperation settled deep within my core.
"Be with me Lauren. After the war, after your time is done here, come to North Yorkshire and be with me. Please, I beg of you. I cannot be without you."
I smile when two little girls run past my seat. They push and pull each other as they make their way to their mother who is patiently waiting for them to walk with her to the cafeteria. That is the image I have in my head when I think of Ysabeau and I together. She brings out the little splash of innocence I have left in me and that is the exact image that leaped into my mind when she asked me to be with her outside the camp. I imagined us, young and together, dancing on the freshly cut grass in front of the large house she had told me about.
On that night I wrote a letter to my parents, telling them that I would not be returning home any time soon, and that I found true love. My heart felt heavy while I did, and I was afraid. My whole life has been the same old repeated story; my parents would advise me to stay quiet about my personal preference when friends and family would ask me about the romance in my life, and I always oblidge. But I know that somehow when I met Ysabeau, the switch that allows me to do what I want in life was flicked up. She opened my eyes, and now I am no longer afraid to be myself when it comes to my loved ones.
Friday, 28 July 1942
Dear mom and dad
I distinctly remember telling you that I will not be writing any letters during my time here, but there has been a turn of events. I have worked here for almost four months, and I cannot explain the outstanding respect and opportunities I have received. It is important for you to know that I have met someone here, Doctor Ysabeau Dennis, an outstanding woman whom I can speak highly of. We have fallen in love, and when I am done here I will not be returning home right away. I will be taking the train to England, North Yorkshire so we can be together. Ysabeau has a farm, and is offering me a place in her home as I have already taken my place in her heart. We wish to be respected in our choice to live together, and when the time is right I will bring her home to meet you. Thank you for all that you have done for me, but now it is time for me to spread my wings and truly embrace the nature of who I am. I want to kindly ask you to inform Helena of my choice and tell her not to worry about me. Ysabeau has taken my heart Mom, she is the girl I have been waiting for my whole life, she is the angel that is guiding me now. I am going to give great grandmother's ring to her as a promise of my love, and I can assure you that she is more than worthy of it. Please, pray for the war to end, pray for the lives that have been lost, and pray for the men who risk their lives to keep us all safe.
Till we meet again.
Your own
Lauren
I remember the way Ysabeau lingered around me while I wrote the letter. She was just as anxious as I was, and she knew that there was no turning back once I sent the letter. In these times it is not exactly the safest thing for two women to openly live together and share a life, both of us are afraid, but excited none the less. On the night before her departure, while we sat on my bed with the gloom lighting of a desklamp in the distance, I gave Ysabeau my great grandmother's ring as a promise that I will come to her when my time is over at the camp. There were tears, and passionate kisses, but also certainty of what our futures held. That night Ysabeau confessed her love to me, and they were the most precious words she had ever uttered to me, and I know that they always will be just that.
I knew I wanted Ysabeau the moment I saw her, but the only thing I want now is for the time to pass so that I can hold her in my arms again. This trip is taking far too long.
The train has slowed down, the wheels have stopped screetching, the whistle has blown and the steam is in the air. I fumble with my travel bag to close it as quickly as I can. We have arrived, and I am anxious to get off of this train. As I stand up from my seat, I fidget with my appearance. The reality of my arrival has set in and there is no turning back now. I cannot help but smile as I patiently wait for the married couple behind me to retrieve their bags and make way. I have watched them during the trip, they have emmense respect for each other and the love between them radiates for miles. It makes me all the more excited to finally set foot on England ground. When they pass, I hurry from my seat and pull my bag from above the seats, my travel bag is quick to follow as I swing it around my shoulder. My insides feel twisted, my entire being is disrupted by trimendous excitement and need, and it is forcing me to quicken my steps.
I grow anxious when I cannot move fast enough. The people are taking their time to depart from the train and I wish momentarily that I possess the power to urge them along. My legs twitch while I wait to take a single step forward. As I wait, I get the image of Ysabeau waiting outside for me. The sun is just starting to greet the new day and I can imagine the way it falls on her features.
When the line starts moving quicker, I reach the exit within a few steps, and as I leave the train, I feel the new day greeting me. My boots make contact with the ground, and suddenly there is a change in the atmosphere. Everything is light and open, I am surrounded by laughter and chatter and people hugging to embrace their reunitement, and my own heart urges me on to search for her in the crowd. The cold of the early morning surrounds me immediately, and I can see my body heat resonating with the cold while I breathe heavily and resemble the train as it steams. I smile politely while stepping away from the exit, the only thing I can clearly hear, is the change in the accent I am used to hearing at home.
Platfrom 3 is buzzing with excitement, and so am I, but I have yet to spot Ysabeau, and fear knocks on my heart. I frown at the mocking rhythm and push the growing sense of doubt to the back of my mind. I have to be patient, I will find her. I smile politely at strangers as they pass me by with luggage under arms, every face looks the same and no face looks like the angelic face of my darling. The cold is biting into my skin, and I can feel my fingers burning from dry redness straining against the thick leather strap of my bag.
When the family before me clears off to their vehicle, the path opens, and as I lift my eyes from the ground, an explosion erupts deep within my core. My eyes fall on the serpentine figure before me, standing there in all her glory, nose red and hair gushing over knowing muscular shoulders. We smile at the same time and like a runner to the finish line, my steps quicken to my darling. Ysabeau leaps forward when I am within reach and my bags fall to the ground to catch her in time. With her arms around my neck, I bury my face into the sea of her vanilla scented hair, and I inhale deeply while memories flood back and bless my soul with love.
The time has finally come, we are reunited. For a brief moment we exist in our own world of affection and isolated holyness, forgetting about religious beliefs and rasional acts in public. I savour every second and feel my eyes gloss over, everything about this moment is all I have ever wanted. My darling, my Ysabeau, she is in my arms again.
When I open my eyes, I catch the mocking and disapproving gaze of strangers as they pass us by, and I let go of her. Ysabeau retracts from me but keeps her gloved hands on my shoulders, and then I see it, the dimple on her cheek that melts my heart.
"You are finally here." She says in a way that sounds almost like she cannot believe the sight before her eyes.
My heart sings at the sound of her voice, and I brush a stray hair from her cheek, "I am, and I am so happy to see you."
She licks her lips while glancing at our surroundings, and then she looks at me with excitement and promise. "Come, let's go home."
Ysabeau and I take my bags and walk closely side by side to her vehicle. I cannot focus on anything or anyone while we do, I am too busy stealing glances at her. I smile when we reach the curb, her car is parked neatly and shining in all its olive-green glory. Ysabeau opens the trunk and loads my belongings inside with care. There is a slight uncertain silence between us, but I know she is composing herself because we are in public. She has respect here and these people know her. I feel a slight stab to the heart, transferred ditectly from society as I wonder when they will ever learn what acceptance really is. Ysabeau closed the trunk and smiles as she approaches me. I watch as she openes the door for me, and I slide smoothly on to the leather seat. The vehicle has a new smell, mixex with mint and vanilla. When Ysabeau enters the car the smile on her face is contageous, and I cannot help but search directly for the dimple.
The moment we are on the road, I am in awe of the town. It is quiet, kind and secluded. Food markets line the curbs, with large barrels of fresh fruit and brown paper bags hanging from the sides. Barbers are blaring blues tunes from their stores, and I count three bakeries and two diners. It is rather sad, how the world is at war right this moment, yet here is a peaceful town carrying on with its normal daily routine. This is it, this is where I will make a home and lead a peaceful life. When the thought rolls around in my mind, I look at Ysabeau who is peacefully navigating us through the town. Her demeanor is calm like it always is. She smiles with content while her eyes stay focused on the road, and she glows all over.
"Staring is not polite."
I smile and rub my freezing hands together, wondering how her fingers are not falling off at this point. "Only when done with insidious intent."
She glances my way, the dimple ever present. "There is always a clever answer with you." Ysabeau starts managing the steering wheel with her left hand and rests the other on my thigh, she falls silent for a moment, allowing glee to settle around us. "It feels like a dream that you are here. I have been waiting for this for so long long."
My hand finds hers. Our bodies ignore the cold, both are equally frosted. I look at the street ahead of us. "This town is so alive and peaceful."
She nods, "Yes it is. It makes me believe that no matter what goes on in this world, my home is here. I have been so excited to show you around, tomorrow I'll be taking you out and we will eat the best waffles at Sam's diner."
I smile, squeezing her hand. "It sounds lovely. Ysabeau are you sure your grandparents are in favour of me living in their house?"
The peg-peg sound of the flicker goes off while we turn on to a more secluded road moving through larger buildings made of brick. These buildings look sad. "We are almost out of town," she says and glances at me. Her eyes seem genuine and kind. "I think my grandparents are more excited to have you on the farm than I am. My grandmother especially, when I came home she noticed the ring first."
My eyes fall on the ring flashing commitment at me while it accompanies her hand that is controlling the car, and I smile. Ysabeau has stayed true to her word, and I am on my way to meet two of the most important people in her life. She clears her throat and looks at me again, "They cannot wait to you have you, Lauren. All they have ever wanted for me is to find true love and bring home a defty young lady. In this time, I am extremely fortunate to have such understanding grandparents."
I nod in understanding. My own parents seem supporting, but I know my mother longs for the day where I will tell her I have met a suitable man. Ysabeau has an incredible support system, and I am overjoyed that she feels safe here.
We fell silent for the rest of the drive. Ysabeau turned up the radio and left it on the only channel that was not having debates about the war. Her car was warm and it tended to my freezing limbs. I took my opportunity and studied her while she drove. I have been so used to her in uniform that seeing her so calm and in her natural state makes her even more alluring. She is natural. Minimal makeup, just something for the eyes, and light gloss on her lips. Her hair is thick and dreamy and it always smells of vanilla. This is what has happened to me. This lady who was sleeping on her desk when I first met her, is now my one and only, and I cannot picture my life without her.
The farm is located a few miles out of town with all the neighbouring farms to the left of it. The grass is usually green with wild flowers lining the fences. So I have been told by Ysabeau, but now everything is dull and brown. There is a big fence guarding the entrance to the farm, and a small golden plaque on the front with their family name on it. I can see the white farmhouse the moment we pass the tall trees lining the uproad. It is beautiful, and looks just like Ysabeau decribed it at the base camp. We ride all the way up to the house. A barn is off to the right of the house and I can see a few horses in the far back.
Ysabeau parks her car next to the one I presume to be her grandparents' car and smiles at me. She smiles, "Are you ready?"
I nod confidently with a racing heart, "Of course."
She raises her eybrows quickly in excitement before hastily exiting the car. I get out as well. It is cold on the farm, and I feel goosebumbs in my neck when the biting wind hits me. Ysabeau's hair flows behind her as she hurries to retrieve my luggage. I turn around and look at the house. It looks peaceful, two potplants are situated at the foot of the small steps that lead up to the house, but the plants are dead.
I smile contently as I turn and walk to her. She hands me my travel bag after closing the trunk. "My grandmother has prepared a feast for your arrival, we are going to eat before we get settled in."
"What did she prepare?" I ask.
Ysabeau leads me away from the car and we set on route to the house. "Your favourte. Chicken pie and cornbread, with cherry pie for desert."
My eyes widen, and I cannot help but smile wider than I already am, "I told you that like when, during the first few days we got to know each other?"
She looks at me with a proud smirk, "Yes, when the kitchen prepared cherry pie."
I pull my bag closer over my shoulder as we climb the steps and pass the small swing on the porch. We stop in front of door and she inhales deeply, hesitating for a moment before turning the patterned silver knob on the old wooden door. It creakes open, and barking rings through the house the moment we step inside. At the end of the hall, speeding around the corner, comes a small poodle wearing a red coat. Its nails scratch and clatter on the wooden floors as it charges toward us.
Ysabeau smiles while setting my bag down, "That's Sandy."
I set my travel bag down and bend next to her and catch the bowl of wood just in time. Sandy stands up against me with a wagging tail, and I smile while stroking her back. Muffled voices come from a far and Ysabeau touches my arm to stand up. Two aged figures round the corner, arm in arm, and I take a deep breath. Ysabeau snakes her arm around my waist and pulls me closer.
"And you must be Lauren." Her grandfather says with a wide smile. His clearly blue eyes sparkles behind his large glasses, and the vest he wears tells me he is a proud man, but humble, since his boots tell the story of an old farmer.
From memory of Ysabeau telling me everything about them, I return a polite smile, "Hello Mr. Dennis."
He shakes his head, his voice pitching, "Oh no girlie, call me Thatcher."
I nod while extending my hand in greeting, his hands are warm against my skin and closes his other hand around mine, "You need to warm up."
"Can I have a turn to greet the girl now?"
I smile at the old woman waiting impatiently next to her husband. Thatcher lets me go and Wilma immediately moves in to hug me. Her short, dark, curly hair never moving out of place when she takes a step. Weak arms wrap around my waist and her perfume engulfs me, "And I'm Wilma." She pats my back quickly and pulls away, "Come, I made you somethting special."
Without warning, Wilma takes my hand and starts leading me down the hall. Before we get to far, I turn back to look at Ysabeau who is smiling widely at me with a thumbs up. We walk down the long hall with a patterned carpet and then left into a large dining room. The light emmerging from two lamps in the corner is dim, and the curtains are a creamy colour, illuminating the safe atmosphere of the room. A whole meal is already displayed on the table, and the aromas soaring from them greet me immediately. Wilma shuffles forward and pats her hand on the chair, "You sit here dear."
"This looks wonderful." I praise while pulling the chair out and taking a seat.
"Nana is a great cook," Ysabeau says as she emerges next to me. "She has won the Church baking day three years in a row now."
"Hush now you." Wilma says with a modest grin.
Ysabeau sits down and like a teenager she scoots her chair closer to mine. I smile at her and rest my hand on her thigh. A homely atmosphere settles around us, and I feel content with the people I am at the table with. Thatcher takes the liberty of pulling out his wife's chair before he takes his own, and instantly I can see where Ysabeau got her proper manners from.
When everyone is seated, Thatcher clears his throat as the head of the table and stretches his hands out to me and Wilma, "Old Bean, will you say Grace?"
Ysabeau nods and and takes my hand under the table. My family is not religious, and I look around with caution. But when everyone closes their eyes, I feel calmly compelled to follow suit. Everyone falls silent, and the respect is almost palpable.
"Dear Lord, thank you for this wonderful day you have given us. We are extremely grateful for your mercy, your love and the blessings you have given us. Lord, we want to thank you for the food we have on the table today, bless my Nana for her effort. Please be with the soldiers Lord, guide them in their journey to keep us safe, bless their families and their souls. We say a prayer today to thank you for bringing Lauren into our lives, and for giving me what I have always asked for. We are grateful Lord. Amen."
I open my eyes and they fall directly on Ysabeau. One of the first things she told me about herself was that she is a Christian, but I have never heard her say a prayer. She did not do it when we ate together back at the base camp. Before we start eating, Ysabeau and I remove our coats and hang them over the chairs, and all while we dish up, I am proudly aware of the ring on her finger.
I have had a lovely dinner with her grandparents. Wilma and Thatcher are down to earth just like their granddaughter and are accepting me as one of their own. They are interested in my life, they want to know my story, and they want to know what my ambitions are. They are very impressed and happy about the fact that I am also a doctor and apparently Ysabeau has told them so much about me that the conversation led to me questioning their life story as I had no more information to share about myself. It has been a long time since I have sat down at a table and ate dinner. Ysabeau is definitely English born and bread because back home in America we have dinner in the living room with the radio on. It is a wonderful change, to go from what I am used to, to stepping into a new home and abiding by new rules.
I have noticed that Wilma and Thatcher avoid talking about Ysabeau's parents. That is a story Ysabeau has not told me yet. The story about her parents. She gracefully danced around it every time the topic moved in that direction, and I never asked because I want her to tell me in her own time. But I cannot help but admire the many small photos displayed on the walls. There are many pictures of a little girl smiling on adventures with her parents. Horse riding, cooking, reading, and in front of the church. I wish that I can see them properly, but I know that back then cameras was not as good as they are now. Now they can produce a much larger photo. My heart aches to hear this story of Ysabeau's life that I have not heard yet, I can feel it hanging in the air, and for some reason I am afraid to hear it.
I helped clear the table and her grandparents allowed us some private time as they went outside to the porch swing with tea and books. Ysabeau and I carry my bags up the stairs, and I follow closely behind her. The sound of clocks ticking is clear in the house, compliments to Thatcher who designed Grandfather clocks in his time and is now a collector.
She opens a door and allows me to enter before her. "This is our room," she says as she closes it behind her.
I turn around and smile at her with tears threatening to make their appearance. We drop our bags simultaneously and rush to one another. Ysabeau catches me and wraps her arms tightly around my waist. All the memories come flooding back from when I was alone at the base camp. The sad goodbye we gave, the letters, the nights where I searched for her in the stars, the moment I realised her smell had disappeared from my sheets. This is a once in a lifetime blessing. Holding her again is all I have wanted. Things like this does not happen. I have managed to find a beautiful, down to earth woman who makes my heart sing and fall in love with her. I stayed in touch with her and traveled the world to be with her. This is privilege in its purest form and my entire being bids a massive thank you to the universe. Because here I stand in the arms of the love of my life. Away from all the Christian do gooding and filanthropy, away from the judgement and the laws. We are safe and together and I feel whole again. We pulled it off, as my father always says and the ring on her finger cofirms my hopes. She never gave up on what we have, and I knew that she wouldn't.
When she pulls away, her red, teary eyes mirrors my own, and I reach up to wipe a tear rolling down her cheek. We laugh nervously through stopped cries and just look at each other, holding on for dear life to be sure that this is not a dream. The feeling in my chest is one that cannot be explained, it is overwhelming and lovely all in the same sense. Is this what true love feels like?
I rest my palm against her blushing cheek, "I have dreamt about you standing on that platform so many times Bo, when I saw you I had no words. I did not realise the impact you would have on me."
She smiles at the nickname, her eyes never leaving mine, "I think my grandparents must be tired of hearing me go on and on about time not going by fast enough. My hands were shaking while I drove to that platform, but when I stood there waiting for you, my whole being was calm." She comes closer to me, almost whispering, "It's insane that you are here."
"It feels insane, things like this just does not happen."
She nods sadly, "I am blessed with grandparents that are open to new things."
I smile, running my hands through her hair, "They love you."
"And I love you."
I feel a tingle in my chest, and the will to stop the crying dissipates withing seconds. I pull her closer to me, and as quick as you can say Nazi, my lips are on hers. It is as if years of built up tension leaves my system the moment I feel those familiar soft lips touch mine. It is all I have been thinking about, and the pleasure it brings is like none other. Her arms snake further around my waist until I am pulled snug against her, and my hands rest on neck. Ysabeau opens her lips, and link them with my own. Soft, warm, strawberry flavoured chapstick, and vanilla shampoo surrounds me. She is a tender lover, and a skilled kisser. This moment cannot be described to others. Forbidden love is what we have, though it should not have to be that way. But being so close in a connection only we understand and sharing feelings and love, makes it all the more beautiful.
It reminds me of this one part in a poem Ysabeau once read to me while we sat on my bed. I pull away slowly, much to her groaning agony and smile. Running my hands over her arms, I smile lovingly, "Say the poem."
Her eyes light up, and she speaks in a soft, slow tone, "there are no moments. we have to rent. it is lonely. but it is homely. a shadowed love. is not enough. for heart felt truths. and its many roots. will forever stay present. it is never a peasant."
I tickle her nose with mine. The frequency of her voice just speaks to the strings of my heart. I have missed having her this close, I have missed having her on my arm, I have missed seeing her smile, and I have missed truly knowing that there is hope.
Here I stand in the arms of my darling Ysabeau, happiness and contentment flowing in the energy between us. I now have promise in the value of her touch, I am on the brink of euphoria, and us, on the threshold of forever.