Beaugny
by
tallsunshine12
A/N: A Caje love story, with an goodly sprinkling of actual French dialogue, translated for clarity directly at the end of each character's lines.
Chapter 1
"Our mission is to clear out the town," said Lt. Hanley to the NCO of 1st Squad, Sgt. Saunders. "The Krauts have been dug in there for two days, but an Allied push is sending them packing all through the sector. We just need to mop up."
Saunders nodded. "I'll get the men ready, sir. What time?"
"0500 hours. Extra ammo, rations for two days, Doc goes along. This may be a stiff one. The Germans have had time to learn every nook and cranny of that town. The French people are still there, too, so we can't use artillery to soften the town up first. It'll be dicey keeping them from getting in the way."
"I understand, Lieutenant," said Saunders. "Anything else, sir?"
"Watch for snipers as usual. That's all, Sergeant."
Saunders left the tent as Hanley got back to his paperwork on the makeshift crates that served as his desk. The sergeant rounded up his men and gave them their orders, sending them after their ammo and rations from supply.
When they had assembled again in their billet, one of a number of tents in camp, he advised them, "Go get chow, then tonight get plenty of rest. No card playing, Kirby. We leave at 0500."
"Is that at dawn or dusk, Sarge?" asked Kirby, laughing a little bit at his joke.
"It's a shame I don't have a blackboard, Kirby. I'd make you write 'I will not bother the teacher' one thousand times on it." Everyone had a merry laugh, especially William G.
Chow that night was reminiscent of meals in the high school cafeteria: some kind of hash, with day-old bread and off-tasting butter, plus watery coffee whose bitterness no amount of cream and sugar could dilute. There was even dessert, but it shivered on the plate and no one ate any of it.
Once in town, after a four-mile march, Saunders split his men up into twos, assigning a couple of green recruits to shadow the more experienced men. The town seemed empty, though there were a few civilians moving about here and there, taking care of chores or making visits. The Germans must have pulled out, fearing the Allied push coming their way.
"I want every building searched, top to bottom. No stone left unturned. If there's still a Kraut in this town, try to take him prisoner. If he shoots, shoot back. Watch for snipers."
The men of 1st Squad, King Company, split up, with Littlejohn taking Reynolds, a replacement on his first patrol, and Kirby letting Rodriguez, another green recruit, shadow him as they made their way house to house, business to business, up one street and down another. Caje was alone, the replacements being only two. Crouched over, he crept along the street, slipping into open doorways. When he found a locked door, he knocked on it, greeted the occupants in French and requested to search their house, being welcomed in every time.
About to enter another vacant building to search it for the enemy, with its wide open door, he heard gunfire near the church and decided he might be needed over there. Running back that way along the sides of buildings, but still keeping low, he came to a stop on seeing a knot of five German privates next to a brick wall. Very animated about something, one of them pulled back and showed just what that 'something' was. It was a someone, not a something, and she was in trouble.
Caje fired a shot into the wall above their heads and followed it up with another. The Germans looked about for cover, dropped down behind whatever they could find, and left the girl standing with her back against the wall. One of them jumped up and forced her down behind the edge of a wagon. Caje continued to exchange fire with them from his position across the street, ducking into the alleyway behind him whenever the Krauts' shots came too close.
Once, when he stepped out to make a shot, he saw Sarge making his way down the street, shooting at the Germans from his vantage point and then diving into cover as soon as they shot back. Saunders must have been headed to the church, too, Caje thought, after hearing the small arms fire. Who knew what was going on there? It was evident that all of the Germans hadn't all left Beaugny.
The girl must have been frightened out of her wits, he thought, feeling pity for her. If a firefight had broken out in his backyard on the bayou, he'd be alarmed, too. Saunders shot one of the men who had reared up to shoot at Caje, the German choosing one enemy over another and paying for it with his life. The other four thought it was time to retreat, so pulling the girl to her feet, they continued shooting as they backed down the street directly opposite Caje.
When he lost sight of them around the corner, Saunders came up and joined his scout, then leapfrogged him as they followed the enemy soldiers. Crouching low, both men kept their eyes on the retreating Germans and their trigger fingers ready to fire at a moment's notice. When they were far enough down the street, putting a fountain between them and the two Americans, the Germans let the girl go and took off at a trot for the end of town. With the girl half-standing in the street, they couldn't fire. It was too risky even to fire over her head, so the Germans got away into the woods.
Caje, who was in the lead at this time, ran up to her and held her by the elbows as she cried into her hands. He found himself smoothing her hair down in back and pulling her close, whispering words in French that Saunders had no need to translate.
He pursued the retreating Germans as far as he dared, not risking leaving town and being ambushed in the woods. He came back and saw that Caje had walked the girl back to where she'd dropped her basket of eggs, something she sold every morning to the locals for bread money.
With her basket on her arm again, and sitting on a step, she shook her head and tried to put a brave face on what had just happened. Saunders left the pair and went on to the church as he'd originally intended, though there was less noise coming from that direction now.
Caje took a seat beside the girl and kept talking to her, wiping her tears away with a finger under her eye. About twenty, she was tall, brown-haired, brown-eyed, and as Kirby might have said, "Stacked." Humbly dressed in a wide, striped skirt and crocheted peasant blouse, whose ties had all come undone, she was beautiful in her way. Caje was taken with her right off.
"Comment tu t'appelles, mon amie?" What's your name, my friend?
"Gabrielle."
"Gabrielle, très jolie. D'ou je viens, on dit, 'Brielle.'" Gabrielle, very pretty. Where I come from, we say, 'Brielle.'
"Et où est-ce?" And where is that?
"Loin d'ici. Dans le pays bayou de la Louisiane. Je suis Cajun." A long ways away. In the bayou country of Louisiana. I am Cajun.
"Je vais mieux maintenant. Merci de m'avoir aidé." I am better now. Thank you for helping me.
"C'était mon plaisir. Je peux te marcher chez toi?" My pleasure. Can I see you home?
"Je dois vendre mes oeufs." I have to sell my eggs.
"Ce n'est pas sûr, ma chère fille. Laissez-moi parler à mon sergent." It isn't safe, my dear girl. Let me talk with my sergeant.
Caje led her over to a house nearby, rapped on the door and again found someone home. He led 'Brielle' inside and gave her over for safekeeping to the older couple who resided there. He intended to ask Sarge for leave to take her home. The abiding quiet of the streets now, the gunfire over, was encouraging. He caught up with Saunders at the church where a sniper had fallen to his death from a high, latticed window. Saunders' own tommy gun had brought him down.
"Check a few more streets, Caje, then take her home. She's safe now, isn't she?" asked Saunders.
"Yeah, Sarge, she's with friends. Thanks."
He fairly trotted off and Saunders didn't have to wonder what Caje was thanking him for. 'Brielle' had been a looker. And in need of an 'older' brother. He laughed a bit to himself, thinking that.
After Caje had completed a house-to-house search of another few streets, running into Kirby and Littlejohn on the way, who shared the news that the town was now clear, he went back to the house where he'd left Brielle. He learned that she'd left a few minutes earlier, waving goodbye as the older couple stood on their stoop. She'd sold them her eggs, so hoisting the empty egg basket a little higher on her arm, she'd walked out of town. Every day, she came in to sell her eggs or cream. She was not going to change her routine.
A bit put out that she had disregarded his advice to stay put until he could take her home, Caje asked the older people where she lived. Uncertain if they should answer, finally the man said that she lived down the road apiece, in a house that had belonged to her family for generations. He thanked the couple, checked in with the Sarge again and receiving his go-ahead, hurried out of town, taking a path in the woods where he felt safest. Many a time the only way around the swamps near home in the states was by deer paths, and in this part of the country, with snipers, he didn't trust the roads.
It was dusk in early October. Shadows were long and uncomfortably man-like, shifting with the slight wind in the trees. It was the time he liked best, though, a secretive time that echoed the dark places in his soul, the deep bayou of his upbringing.
After fifteen minutes, the trees opened to a sloping field. On his right was the road, and the farmhouse sat on his left on another small rise, still intact. Most places in this area had already been shelled once or twice, but Brielle's farm showed no evidence of artillery or even mortar fire. He slipped up to the door as quiet as a mouse and rapped on it. He could hear movement inside and took a peek in a window, seeing Brielle, as his Cajun grandmother would have called her, beginning to set the table in the middle of the single room. Against the far wall, there was an iron-framed bed, while all of the cooking was done over an open fire. Assorted bureaus and chairs filled the rest of the place. A wall-hung mirror reflected the fire.
She looked up when she heard the knock, not used to having any visitors and especially not at night. Living alone, she knew she had to work at keeping her reputation pure, for how could she sell her eggs and cream and soft cheese in town, if no one trusted her?
Her voice was small, almost frightened. "C'est qui?" Who is it?
"C'est moi, Caje." It's me, Caje.
"Il est très tard, non?" It's very late, no?
"Je voulais m'assurer que tu allais bien." I wanted to make sure you were okay.
Brielle put the silverware down next to the single plate and, wiping her hands on her apron, came over to the door, twisting the key and opening it a crack. Peeking through the slim opening, she saw it was the same American soldier who had saved her from the Germans earlier. The crack widened until he could fit inside. He slipped off his beret and held it in his hand.
Stepping back, she remembered her manners. "Voulez-vous manger un morceau?" Would you care for a bite to eat?
"Seulement si tu en as assez." Only if you have enough.
He sat down at the table, laying his beret to the side while Brielle fetched another place setting. She filled his glass with wine, then her own, and setting the bottle down on the table, went back to the fire and from a rod extending over it lifted off a large pot. Caje was on his feet in an instant and helped her manage the pot to the table, where she set it on a thick potholder. He took his seat again and handed her his plate. She put two large scoops of a delicious-smelling stew on it and handed it back.
Setting it down in front of him, he dropped his head slightly, sniffed, and said, "Ça sent merveilleux. De quoi est-il fait?" This smells wonderful. What's it made with?
"Du boeuf, du vin rouge, des oignons et des carrots. Cuit lentement." Some beef, red wine, onions and carrots. Slow-cooked.
Brielle laid some sliced bread on the table, then she took her seat and said a quiet prayer of thanks before they began to eat. "Bénis cette table, Seigneur, et tous ceux qui sont ici." Bless this table, Lord, and all who are here.
The time passed slowly while they talked and drank wine, sharing a rare laugh or two. Caje found out a lot about Brielle, that she lived there alone now that her folks had passed on – both from natural causes, not due to the war. She had a helper or two in summer and early fall to tend the wheat crop and pick the apples in the orchard. In fact, there were two huge baskets full of apples just to the left of the fireplace, all ready for sale in town. All in all, it was a quiet life, one she enjoyed living, she said. Caje was too much of a gentleman to ask why she hadn't married by now, when most French girls would have thought of themselves as old maids. Maybe she had too much to do with running the farm.
When he got back to town later that evening, everyone eyed him with curiosity and amusement, knowing the broad details of where he had been, if not the specifics.
"Had a good time, Caje?" asked Kirby, throwing out three cards with only a glance at them.
"I did. She's a good cook."
Watching the card game, Caje was too sleepy with wine to play, but at the urging of the rest of the squad, he gave them a detailed accounting of the food. For a long while, the smells of beef burgundy, fresh bread and a deep, rich wine filled the air around the card table. Saunders, on his cot reading, eventually gave a "Lights out" call and broke the spell. Just the odor of sweaty socks, unwashed bodies and gun-oil was left.
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An older man with a gouty, red coloring showed up to pick some more apples the next day, at the same time that Caje himself, having the morning off while Lt. Hanley and the Sarge set up a command post in nearby Beaugny, arrived at Gabrielle LeDoux' farmhouse. Since he was complaining of an ache in his back, the man was given the day off and allowed to go home. Out of sight of Brielle, Caje slipped him a few francs for his trouble in coming to work that day.
Brielle, for her part, passed him a jug of cream and a cloth packet of soft cheese to take home. She added a few coins, too, out of sight of Caje.
In the orchard, Caje grabbed the ladder and a long stick and climbed up, batting the apples to the ground. Brielle held her apron open to catch as many as she could, dodging the wilder missiles that flew off the trees. She was laughing passionately with the operation, watching Caje try to stay up on the ladder as a fierce wind began to blow, with the skies darkening. It tilted over once and he grabbed hold of a branch to steady it, pulling himself back around to face the tree and knowing that apple-picking, under the onslaught of that tremendous, gusty wind, was over for the day. He climbed down and while leaves whipped up around them, trees bent double, and Brielle clutched her full apron tightly to her chest, they ran back to the house. Caje stooped to pick up a few of the mushier apples lying on the ground and pitched them against the trees, making a splat! as apple bits slid slowly down the trunks.
Inside the house just before the rain began, Brielle stoked up the fire while Caje sat down in one of the chairs, brushing bits of leaves off his beret. He looked at his wristwatch, then spared a look at the clock on the wall. Both said it was time to go, for he had guard duty from three to eight that evening.
"Je dois y aller maintenant, Brielle. On peut se voir se soir? Au Café de la Paix pour le dîner?" I have to go now, Brielle. Can we meet tonight? At the Café de la Paix for dinner?
"Je n'aime pas cette pluie. Je vais rester ce soir." I don't like this rain. I think I'll stay in tonight.
"Dois-je revenir alors? Je peux apporter des beignets." Shall I come back then? I can bring some donuts.
"J'adorerais ça. C'était amusant aujourd'hui. J'aimerais que ça continue pour toujours!" I'd love that. It's been fun today. I'd like it to go on forever!
Caje stood up, caught Brielle by the arms and softly met her lips. He released her after that and, smiling almost a little sadly, picked up and shouldered his rifle, then he took his leave, heading back to town in the freshets of rain and singing a bit of an old Cajun tune his grandmother had taught him. It was a soft, melancholy air.
Je passe par ta porte et je t'entends rire,
Je passe par ta porte et je t'entends pleurer,
Mon coeur se brise pour toi.
I walk by your door and hear you laugh,
I walk by your door and hear you cry,
My heart is breaking for you.
He fulfilled his guard duty with a light heart, still humming the tune either on his lips, or if the other squad members were around, then he sang it in his head. He didn't think he'd like Kirby's kidding tonight.
"Goin' back out there after guard duty?" asked Saunders, catching up to him on his patrol at about 1900 hours and inviting him to sit down for a smoke. Getting comfortable on the curb of the street was hard, but somehow they managed it. With his silver Zippo, Saunders lit Caje's cigarette and then his own. The night promised more rain, but it had stopped and seemed to be holding off for now.
"I'd like to, Sarge, if it's okay?"
"Sure, sure thing. Just be back in by 2200 hours. We have a patrol tomorrow – early."
"Will do, Sarge? Uh, Sarge?" Saunders nodded for him to go ahead. "I'd like you to meet Brielle. Can you come with me?"
"Three's a crowd, Caje, you ought to know that." Saunders blew out smoke and lazily watched it die away on the cool night air.
"My friend is her friend."
"Only difference is, she's a very different kind of friend. I'd be in the way, for sure."
"Nah, Sarge. She's not like that. I think she'd be happy to have you."
"I can't promise anything right now. Lt. Hanley has a map he wants to go over before tomorrow. We'll see. Come get me at the CP when you're through here."
"That sounds like a plan!" said Caje, enthusiastically. "One hour, more or less."
Both men rustled in their rain ponchos as they stood up, one to continue his slow patrol of the vicinity, the other to march back to Hanley's 'office' and discuss his orders for tomorrow.
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The evening went as Caje had hoped. He and his Sarge walked in the drizzle to the old farmhouse. Brielle had lit a few candles and was, as Caje had said, overjoyed to see his sergeant. Caje handed her a bag of donuts he'd bought before guard duty and stashed away in the billet – luckily, Kirby and his sneaky fingers were playing cards somewhere else – and she placed them on a plate for after dinner.
It was a soup tonight, thick and rich and almost stew-like, with fresh-cooked bread, butter, some of her soft cheese, and the donuts Caje had brought. She set another place for the Sarge and poured all of them a glass of wine. It was soon a festive atmosphere. Caje even tried teaching Saunders that song that had been in his head the whole day. About the third time he flubbed the French pronunciation, with both Caje and Brielle laughing, he knew they had to call it a day and get back. It was just minutes before 2200, or ten o'clock, and they had at least a ten minute walk back.
Lurking in the trees, however, were the same five German gefrieters, or privates, who had been abusing Gabrielle in town earlier. They'd seen the two GIs leave, and were all for shooting them, but their young leader, of no higher rank than the rest, knew that that might bring others to their aid. Allied patrols were even now combing the woods for idlers like themselves.
When the GIs were down the road a fair piece, though they were still within hearing of a gunshot, the five men slipped out of the cover of the trees and started up the path towards the light in the French woman's house. Why had they not thought of this before? Why hadn't anybody? Alone, out there, she was right for the picking, just like the apples that hung from her orchard trees.
Suddenly looking down the road they saw one of the GIs returning, while the other seemed to wait for him. It was just beginning to rain a bit and the moon shone on moving clouds up in the sky.
"Hurry up, Caje! Storm's comin'!" called Saunders.
He himself was head-bare, having left his helmet back at the command post as not fit headgear for a nice French dinner, but Caje always wore his beret, or tucked it in the epaulet of his jacket. However, checking both places, his hand on the top of his head first, then flying to the strap on his shoulder, he realized he'd left it at Brielle's.
Trotting back with a wave of his hand at his Sarge, he clambered up the hill leading to Brielle's cottage, just then spotting the pack of wolves who were also on their way up.
"Sarge!" he yelled. "Krauts!"
A man might leave his helmet, but no man in this war left his gun behind. Both Saunders and Caje were armed, wearing their rifles, a Thompson and an M1, respectively, on their shoulders in going back to camp. Caje knelt behind a shrub and began to fire at the soldiers, while Saunders ran around the bottom of the hill to flank them. He was soon firing, too.
The two surviving men, neither one of them the young leader, who lay with his face in the muddy grass, raised their hands and stood up at the same time. Saunders turned them around and pushed them forward, while Brielle, sensing that the coast was clear, ran out of her house and into Caje's arms. Though she was able to understand English, to quiet her down, he talked with her again in French.
Saunders found some old rope in the shed next to the house and tied up his prisoners, keeping them in the shed and out of the now drizzling rain while he waited for Caje.
"Revenez avec nous, Brielle." Come back with us, Brielle.
"Non, Caje, ma maison est ici. Je ne le quitte pas." No, Caje, my home is here. I'm not leaving it."
"Nous ne pouvons pas vous protéger ici, ma chérie." We can't protect you way out here, my dear.
"Ma maman et mon papa sont enterrés là-bas. Vous vous souvenez, je vous ai dit qu'ils étaient morts de la grippe il y a quelques années?" My mama and papa are buried over there. You remember, I told you they died of the flu a few years ago?
"Oui, cher ami." Yes, dear friend. "Deux fois, je vous ai sauvé. J'espère que ce n'est pas une troisième fois." Twice, I've saved you. I hope not a third time.
"Caje, rendez-moi visite demain. Je vais vous préparer un peu de coq au vin. Vous allez adorer." Caje, visit me tomorrow. I will prepare you some coq au vin. You'll love it.
She reached up and, with shining eyes, put a peck on his cheek. Embarrassed, in his Caje kind of way, he smiled and, in salute, touched the top of his head, realizing it was still bare. Brielle laughed and pulled his beret out of her skirt pocket. Taking it and putting it on, he threw a hand up to it, nodded, and took his leave, following Saunders and the three Germans down the road back to town.
Twisting around once, he called, "Demain soir—coq au vin!" Tomorrow night—coq au vin!
But tomorrow never came for their dinner together. Caje, Saunders, Kirby and the rest of 1st Squad had to march out to take care of a bridge where the Germans had set up machine gun nests. He never returned to Beaugny, not during the war, at any rate.
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