Prompt: Battle (Post WWI)
Jeanne paced back and forth in the living room. It was an odd sight and very unlike her. For being the personification of Montreal, she had gone through a lot. Enough that not many things still bothered her today. However, this wasn't a usual thing. This was November 11, 1918. Today, the Great War has ended. It was still hard to believe, even though she picked up the newspaper and read it herself. She wasn't the only one. A lot of people in her city had a hard time believing it. At least, not until their soldiers returned home. Hopefully, all of them alive. But from the shrieks of distress and heartbreak of her neighbours so far, maybe not.
The thought made her more and more nervous. This made her pace more.
Matthew may be Canada, but he wasn't safe from death either. It wasn't unheard of that nations died or disappeared after battles or wars. Holy Roman Empire was a good example of that. And from the way that the people of the land were acting, everything looked ready to fall apart. This could be simply the humans or… no, she couldn't think of that. Jeanne refused to believe that her husband has died or disappeared. He may be gentle and soft spoken, but underneath it all, he was strong. Strong and determined, while also promising her that he'd return.
The blonde woman would be damned if he broke his promise.
But it didn't mean that she wasn't worried sick. The letters they sent each other stopped months ago. It still couldn't mean that he was…
No, it wasn't that.
Jeanne stopped her facing in front of a window. Her brown eyes looked up at the cloud-filled sky, as snow began to fall. The reflection stared back at her with tears escaping the brown pair.
He had to be alive. He simply had to be.
-ooOOoo-
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Two days have passed so far. It took every ounce of her will to not hide in her house. She watched as families reunited. Meanwhile, she saw others collapse from grief and sob uncontrollably. Sons, husbands, brothers, grandsons and uncles were taken away from those families. The only thing that they had left of them was an official letter stating their deaths. The military barely sent back any of the dead bodies, and instead buried them in a huge mass. Either here or where the battles were, Jeanne didn't know.
Didn't know and didn't really care.
The woman watched in silence as everything unfolded. Meanwhile, she wondered where Matthew was.
So many of the men returned. Some with broken bones while others missed limbs or other body parts. Few were whole. Her neighbours on the left had lost a grandson, while the one on the right was alive. Alive, but both legs were missing and thus stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of his life.
Jeanne barely noticed the new habit she took up as she waited. A locket with a picture of her and her husband was played with. She barely let go of it and started to go to sleep with it on. Whenever she thought of Matthew, one of her hands shot towards the necklace. Before bed, every night, she gave out a prayer. A familiar one that she repeated over the last 4 years. Tonight, it was no different. In her night garments, she kneeled on one of the sides of the bed. Her shaky hands clenched onto the silver chain. The locket with the picture dangled freely in mid-air.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
"Please, please, bring him back to me safe and alive. Please, God."
-ooOOoo-
Day 5
Still no sign of Matthew.
By this point, most, if not all, came back. Either that, or the families got those death letters. Jeanne has decided that it was a good thing that the letter hasn't arrived for her. It gave her a bit of hope. However, she still felt anxious. That anxiety began to turn into depression. It didn't help that current nights were filled with celebration, screams or wails. She barely slept anymore. Not only those noises, but now nightmares plagued her sleeping state.
Right now, Jeanne tried to make herself some dinner. The key word being tried. When the kettle shrieked to announce it was ready, she reached for it. Without a tea towel, at that. She cried out in shock as a burning sensation took place on her palm. As fast as possible, she let go. Gasping in pain, she looked at her shaky hand. There were blisters and bright redness on her palm. Damn, she got a burn. Painfully, she tried to close it and gently cradled it against her chest. A sob escaped her lips as she collapsed onto her knees. With the other hand, she covered her mouth to stop the sound from escaping.
Where was he?
Forcing herself to get up, the capital city stumbled her way to a cabinet in the kitchen. Opening it, she found bandages and grabbed one of them. She then walked over to a bucket filled with water and pushed her burned hand into it. A sharp inhale could be heard. She bit her bottom lip to muffle the cry of pain. The woman stayed like that for a long time. How long she couldn't say. It took awhile, that was for sure. After her hand felt numb, she pulled it out and dried it onto her skirt then wrapped it up. It turned out to be a poor job with how shaky she was.
Gently and slowly, she rose. Soft footsteps echoed through the kitchen as she got closer to one of the windows. Looking outside, her backyard looked like a winter wonderland. So beautiful, as the snow sparkled underneath the full moon sunlight. She rested her forehead against the cooled glass. The cold felt welcoming and almost brought an escape from reality. How could something appear so beautiful after such a horrific war? Never had she seen or heard of such a giant magnitude of war before. The simple stress of the war left many here on edge. She could only imagine how everything was in Europe right now.
Turning around, Jeanne quietly moved towards the stove. She turned off the heat and, this time, grabbed the tea towel. With it being held by the other hand, she took the kettle off the spot. Only to relocate it to the spot next to where it sat. A long yawn escaped her lips.
She guessed she could skip dinner, again. Maybe tonight she'd get some sleep.
-ooOOoo-
Day 10
Jeanne sat outside on the porch in a rocking chair. The biting cold air of late November didn't bother her. She grew used to the cold since childhood. While others huddled inside for warmth, she sat outside with only a blanket. One gifted to her by Matthew years ago. The howls of winter passed through the empty neighbourhood. Her hair, usually neat, got ruffled in result. Exhaling a poof of air, she watched as the cold air blew away into nothingness.
Tired brown eyes stared at the spot.
Tears silently ran down pale skin. Her throat, sore, has long since gave out on sounding her distress. All it did, at this point, was close in a painful manner. What was the point? Matthew wasn't going to come back the more she cried. In fact, she began to dread the possibility that he was dead. There was no one else to return. No more letters were sent out. Everybody was where they were meant to be, except for her husband. The blonde Canadian, no where in sight. No letter to tell her of his fate.
Closing her eyes, Jeanne curled up in her rocking chair. Her head rested against one of the arms, ignoring the sharp coldness against her skin. Jeanne didn't care that everyone could see her by only peeking through their windows. If they kept to themselves, nothing really mattered.
With her burned, wrapped up hand, she grabbed her locket once more. Its soft, cold, metal surface brought little hope to her heart and soul. All it did was remind her of the broken promise.
-ooOOoo-
"Matthew, my dear lad, you need to rest. You woke up only yesterday from a coma."
A British voice all but begged of his son. The blonde Canadian, already on his feet, was packing his suitcase with one arm. The other got wrapped up in a case and propped up. The usually timid and quiet man was anything but that right now. Looking up, violet eyes glared through his glasses at the other man. The sound of a case being slammed closed echoed loudly in the shocked room.
"I am going home. I've been gone for too long."
"But-"
"Au revoir, père. Prends soin. (1)"
-ooOOoo-
Day 14
Jeanne sat in the living room with a steamed cup of tea in her hands. Her burned hand was almost completely healed, which should be a relief. However, she didn't care. She stared with a blank expression at the fireplace. The medium sized fire crackles were the only sounds in the house. Once more, she curled into a ball in self comfort. Once in awhile she sipped her tea, but soon it turned cold. There wasn't much on her mind anymore. Not since she grew to accept that Matthew might be dead. Not knowing what to do with herself, Jeanne has isolated herself from her community. Though, it wasn't unusual. A lot of families of deceased soldiers began to isolate themselves for a time of mourning. So, not many came to bother her since a few days ago. After they realized that her husband hasn't returned, which could only mean one thing in their minds.
The woman was thankful for the lack of interruptions. She had no desire to entertain her concerns guests and put up an act of being okay.
Getting up, the blonde went to the kitchen to clean her empty cup. Things began to change just as she finished cleaning and drying the cup.
Knock, knock, knock
She heard. Jeanne resisted the urge to sigh. Of course, when she thought about the neighbours, they had to show up. Putting down the empty and dry cup, she moved to the front door. Before opening it, she stood in front of a window that rested beside the door. The white, lace blinds were pushed aside so that she could see who it was. After all, some people needed more convincing than others. So, she needed to adjust her acting.
To her shock and disbelief, the last person that she expected stood there.
Running to the door, Jeanne all but threw it open. Her hands flew to cover her mouth. Tears began to fall when she confirmed who it was outside the door.
A tired, injured but a very much alive Matthew stood there. The nation gave her a soft smile before a cry of surprise flew from his mouth. He barely caught himself as his wife threw herself at him and into a tight hug. His non-broken arm wrapped around her waist to hold her in place. The woman held onto him like her life depended on it as she sobbed in relief. She feared that if she let go, he'd disappear. Unintelligent words left her lips, but the blonde man could guess what she was saying. Resting his cheek on her head, he simply replied with a few words. Ones that she waited to hear for so long.
"I'm home"
(1) Au revoir, père. Prends soin. – Goodbye, father. Take care.