Thank you everyone for letting me know you have been able to read the latest chapters. The analytics are still down, but at least the stories are up and viewable! Two chapters tonight and three tomorrow... We're moving right along!

On with the story...

The creaks and groans of the wagon were heard first. And then the clip clops of horses' hooves as it was pulled into the garrison. Slowly, the men climbed out of the back, several helped those too injured to manage themselves, and the driver carefully and painfully jumped onto solid ground and stretched his back. Several musketeers stepped from the confines of the commissary and from the stables and welcomed home those who had been away at war.

Constance rubbed her growing belly and walked from the confines of her apartment and watched the men, some bandaged, a few missing limbs, and others simply too weak to walk by themselves to the infirmary. She stepped forward, placed a supportive hand on one man's shoulder. He nodded, and then was helped toward his barracks.

"When I left," Musketeer Josse Pelland said as he gripped the reins to the harnessed horses, "I had not expected." He glanced at her belly and then bashfully looked away.

Constance chuckled and clapped him on the arm. "It's alright… one hardly speaks of such things."

"Does d'Artagnan know?"

"No," Constance said. She raised her right eyebrow and looked sternly at him. "And he won't until he returns — I do not want him distracted with," she waved her hand toward her stomach, "this." She looked questionably at him and then pulled here eyebrows together. "How is he? Is he well? How is he faring…?"

Josse quirked his mouth and said, "He's tougher than old shoe leather…" he leaned toward her and winked, "but more handsome."

Constance sighed in relief and nodded.

Josse nodded and grabbed the large satchel from the back of the wagon. He placed it on the edge of the wheel and then grabbed a robust binding of letters. "I don't think, Madame Constance, that your condition would distract him all that much." He smiled and handed her the bundle. "I believe he has written one every day since his departure."

Constance smiled, clutched the letters to her breast, and inhaled deeply. Tears flooded her eyes, and she had to pause to collect herself as she lifted the bundle to her nose. "How soon will you be departing?"

Josse looked at the captain's office and then shrugged. "Just as soon as the lieutenant identifies some men to replace those that needed to return. Captain Athos and the others have been strapped for supplies," he paused with a frown and shook his head, "we've had an influx of refugees joining the regiments — though they're keeping their distance — the numbers keep increasing."

"Are the Spanish crossing into the French territory?" Constance frowned and watched Remi step from the office and walk down the steps.

"Can't say for sure," Josse said, "but I know tensions are high." He glanced at Remi and then back at Constance. "If you'd like, I can take some letters back to d'Artagnan if you have any that are ready to go."

Constance nodded, grabbed the folds of her skirts, and returned to her apartment. The fire blazed and warmed the small living quarters. She placed the letters on the table next to her chair and then grabbed the small stack she had written herself. She quickly bound them with a simple blue ribbon she had used to tie her hair and then, with her shawl wrapped around her shoulders, she returned to the cart.

Remi leaned against the wagon and spoke with Josse about the men and the conditions of those fighting the war. The horses had been swapped out for fresh ones, and Remi had ordered one of the musketeers to pack a few supplies in the back for the return journey. Several men were already saddling their horses and preparing to depart.

Constance stepped toward Remi and handed her letters the Josse. "Thank you — will you be taking any more back — any more letters? I know there are several families that would like to get messages to their loved ones. And," she looked at Remi, and then looked Josse in the eyes, "Alice will have some letters for Porthos."

Remi chuckled and motioned toward the bag. "I've already collected them. The families are leaving their letters — those who can afford it — with me and with the men at the gates." Remi smiled and said, "Alice has already added hers to the pile."

Constance smiled and said, "Thank you." She looked at Josse, who carefully tucked the bag into the back of the wagon.

"I'll make sure he gets them."

Constance nodded, glanced toward the men preparing their horses, and said, "You're leaving right away?"

Josse cleared his throat and said, "Yes."

Constance exhaled and said, "Travel safely."

"Yes, Madame Constance, I plan to."

Constance turned, walked a few steps, and looked once more at the men as they prepared to leave. She would visit with those who had returned after they settled in. A few would remain with the Musketeers, but those unable to complete their duties would leave and return home. For some, that meant to their estates to be cared for by their families, and for others that meant returning to nothing. Constance closed the door, took a deep breath, and then draped her shawl on the hook by the door. She looked at the stack of letters on the table. She would prepare herself a cup of tea, grab some biscuits, and then she would sit by the fire and read the words d'Artagnan had taken the time to write. She wanted to know how he was doing, what was happening, and about the war as it continued.